Killer Confections8 Delectable Mysteries(20)

Luckily for me, the odds of the sun shining in Hilo before we flew home were about as high as the odds of me snapping onto a flimsy rope hundreds of feet above terra firma.

Once we escaped Hilo, the rain magically disappeared and the sun popped out, creating an enormous arched rainbow against the blue sky. We stopped at the Punalu’u Bake Shop on our way to the coffee farm. I managed to make a quick pit stop without succumbing to the purchase of any more pastries.

At the rate I was eating my way across Hawaii, I would need to jog around all 266 miles of the Big Island to work the calories off.

Koffee Land occupied five hundred acres near the quaint town of Honaunau, at the southern end of the Kona coffee district. Regan’s employer was one of Kona’s largest coffee farms. Most of the eight hundred growers on the island cultivated far smaller holdings, anywhere from one to five acres.

A brilliant lime green sign adorned with bright violet letters announced our approach to Koffee Land. Even the lava rock entry bore the KL logo. A long, winding paved road ended at a modern-looking building, the impressive visitors’ center. Covered lanais on three sides allowed tourists to sit and enjoy distant ocean views while they sipped their coffee.

As our group ambled up the sidewalk, we admired the brilliant red blossoms of the bougainvillea bushes planted along the walkway. I pushed open the heavy Koa wood door and my nose led the way into the coffee-scented gift shop.

Welcome to Starbucks on steroids.

A young girl dressed in shorts, a lime green polo shirt with KL embroidered on the pocket, and a name badge that read Tiffany, smiled at us.

“Welcome to Koffee Land. Is this your first visit?”

“Yes,” said Mother. “My daughter-in-law, Regan Bingham, is supposed to show us around.”

“I’ll let her know you’re here. Would you like to sample some of our award-winning coffee while you wait?” She pointed to a beige granite-topped counter across the room bearing seven large carafes and a variety of condiments.

Silly question. Liz and Brian were already pouring coffee into paper cups before the young woman could finish her sentence. The rest of us followed suit. Labels on the tall silver carafes told which beans had been ground to make the coffee inside. Small bowls in front of each silver cylinder displayed the actual Koffee Land beans: Standard medium and French roast, Gold label premium versions of each roast, and something called Peaberry. Plus toasted coconut and chocolate macadamia nut.

Yum yum. By the time I’d tasted all the versions, I’d have so much energy I probably could run all the way back to the hotel. We jostled each other as we sampled small cups of the steaming liquid.

“Aloha, everyone.” Regan joined us, her arms spread in welcome, but her smile seemed strained, and she looked exhausted. Her lime-green shirt hung on her petite frame and emphasized her pallor. It wouldn’t surprise me if Regan had dropped a few pounds in the last couple of days.

Criminal investigations can do that to people. In fact, being a murder suspect is the only weight loss program that ever worked for me.

“There are so many choices,” Mother said. “Can you explain the difference between the assorted roasts?”

Regan pointed to the bowls. “See the difference in the color, size and shape of the various beans? The lightest beans are our medium roast, which technically produces the purest tasting Kona coffee. Many people, especially Starbucks regulars, prefer the darker French roast. The higher temperatures required for their roasting removes some of the natural flavor though.”

I mulled that over. “So if I prefer a light roast, I’m not a coffee weenie. I’m really a coffee connoisseur?”

“That’s correct.” Regan reached into one of the bowls, grabbed a small round bean and passed it around. “Now the Peaberry is our most robust bean.”

“Peaberry coffee usually costs more, doesn’t it?” Stan asked.

Regan nodded. “It occurs when the coffee cherry yields only one bean instead of the usual two. It’s very rare.” She paused. “Sort of like a good man.”

Before she could elaborate, the door opened and six more caffeine-seeking tourists entered. Regan looked at her watch. “Darn. I hoped to take you on a private tour, but we’re short-handed today. Victor needs to leave to help his wife and daughter prepare for Keiki’s funeral.”

“Keiki’s funeral?” I asked. “Why would your staff be involved with that?”

“Oh, I guess you didn’t know,” Regan replied. “Victor is married to Keiki’s mother.”

“Her father works here too?”

“Victor is, I mean, was Keiki’s stepfather. And he doesn’t just work here.” Regan gnawed on her lower lip. “Victor is my boss.”