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doesn’t break your camera,” taunted Claude Ann.
    The other cop, a white guy with a horsy face and no neck, slung an irascible look at Claude Ann. “Please go inside the hotel, ma’am. Harsh words will only inflame the situation.”
    “Then do your job, officer. The whole bunch of ’em oughta be jailed for trespassing.”
    “All of Hawaii is our land,” came a loud voice from somewhere in the crowd. “Can’t trespass on our own land.”
    The reporter secured her mike around her neck and approached Claude Ann. “Are you a spokesperson for Uwahi Gardens? Has the Land Use Commission okayed the proposed sale?”
    “No.” Claude Ann backed away. “I mean, I don’t know about the Land Use Commission. I’m Xander Garst’s fiancée. And these people are nothin’ but bullies and hooligans.”
    “Does Mr. Garst have confidence that the Commission will grant approval?” The reporter held the mike under Claude Ann’s nose.
    “You’ll have to ask…”
    The big woman’s voice rolled over Claude Ann’s. “Dey can approve anyting. Don’t mean it’s gonna get built. Garst can’t cockaroach no more land dat belongs to Pele.”
    “You’re freakin’ nuts!” said Claude Ann, and stormed into the lobby.
    Marywave, looking curious but uncertain, scrambled out of the back seat and followed her mother inside. Dinah held back, fascinated by the confrontation and the real-life manifestation of the Pele myth in modern Honolulu. Who were these people and what had Xander Garst done to get them so worked up? For all its touristic and commercial trappings, maybe Hawaii wasn’t as tame and Christianized as she’d assumed.
    “‘Aihui!” yelled a bare-chested, angry young man, pointing straight at Dinah. “Pele gonna bust you, too.”
    Dinah was dumbfounded. What had she done? “Officer, what’s that word? What does it mean?”
    The white cop rounded on her. “It means go inside. Right now! That’s an order.”
    Well, a-LO-bloody-ha. She about-faced and stalked into the lobby, repeating the strange word to herself so she’d remember it. ‘Aihui. ‘Aihui. She’d find out what it meant.
    At the reception desk, an attractive Asian woman was apologizing profusely to Claude Ann. “The Olopana regrets this unpleasantness, Ms. Kemper. We’ve asked the police to keep the protesters farther from the entrance, but they haven’t been very effective.”
    “It’s not your fault, but this is the third time in a week.”
    “We appreciate your patience. The manager told Mr. Garst he’d file for an injunction, but Mr. Garst doesn’t want to give them any more publicity.” She handed Claude Ann an envelope. “He left you a message and he said for me to tell you that every hour he’s away from you is torture.”
    Claude Ann nudged Dinah in the ribs. “Isn’t he just the darlingest man in the world?”
    Dinah forced a smile. Judging from the hubbub outside, there was some difference of opinion.
    While the receptionist checked Dinah in, Claude Ann turned away and read her message.
    As with the plane ticket, Dinah’s hotel bill was pre-paid, so registration was a simple matter of signing her name and accepting her key card.
    Claude Ann finished reading and said, “Xan’s runnin’ late on account of business. You wanna go to your room and freshen up before dinner?”
    “In a few minutes.” Dinah surrendered her suitcase to a hovering porter. “I need to walk around a bit and unwind.”
    “Don’t snack and spoil your dinner.”
    “I won’t.” She watched as Claude Ann strode across the lobby to the elevators with Marywave scuffing along behind. When they disappeared, she crept back to the door and peeped out at the action.
    The fireworks had fizzled and the protesters were already dispersing into the shadows. Dinah felt a sense of relief for Claude Ann, but the anthropologist in her couldn’t help feeling disappointed. It wasn’t every day one had the chance to interact with pagans. The TV people had turned