Semi-retired journalist Natalie Seachrist, her detective boyfriend Keoni Hewitt, and their feline companion Miss Una, have moved to a cottage in Lanikai on the windward side of O`ahu where their seaside bliss evaporates when a neighbor is found garroted as foretold in one of Natalie's visions. In the cross-hairs of a wily adversary and driven by her expanding visions, Natalie ponders whether resolution of the gruesome murder lies in the deceased’s transnational past, or among her innocuous companions.
Murder on Mokulua Drive, is the second Natalie Seachrist Hawaiian cozy mystery written by Jeanne Burrows-Johnson. Like Prospect for Murder (the award winning first book), Murder on Mokulua Drive features the lush environs of the Hawaiian Islands, snippets of pan-Pacific history, a cast of characters, chapter aphorisms, floral art pagination folios, a guide to pronouncing Hawaiian vocabulary, and a glossary of non-English and specialized terms. Natalie Seachrist, the protagonist, is a semi-retired journalist whose visions lead her into pathways she does not initially understand. Through her investigations of crimes unusual, Natalie is joined by her twin brother (a psychologist), her boyfriend Keoni Hewitt (homicide detective turned private investigator), his former partner Honolulu Police Lieutenant John Dias, and her silent but fleet-footed feline companion.
Excerpt
MURDER ON MOKULUA DRIVE
PROLOGUE
"Each man should frame life so that at some future hour fact and his dreaming meet."
Victor Hugo [1802 - 1885]
As in many of my visions, I look down on a sepia-toned scene. My eye is caught by a moonbeam striking the left side of a steepled structure. Even in the dark I can tell it is hewn of aged tufa travertine stone slabs, like the church where my Auntie Carrie Johansen’s parents were married. In the shadows, arches frame what I know are stained glass windows, despite their being boarded to prevent the escape of light.
I now find myself standing on icy ground. I round the left corner of the building and glide down a flight of stairs. Wisps of light seep from beneath a metal-strapped oak door that creaks as it opens. I move within. Wrought iron fixtures dimly light the narrow hallway. I smell the mustiness of closed spaces. An opened doorway on the right invites me within.
Unobserved, I enter and see a small group of people seated in worn pews set in front of a partially disassembled altar. Dressed in wardrobes drawn from a mixture of seasons, these people are of varying age and features. A tall, snow-haired priest in black wool cassock with white pleated ruff at his throat smiles at his guests. He nods at a father giving his small daughter a sip of tea from a mug held securely to prevent spillage on the rounded cobble floors of the frigid stone basement room.
Outwardly, the scene is calm. But an undercurrent of nervous energy declares the imminent arrival of an unspecified something or someone. After a while, several blonde churchwomen in long winter coats and hats emerge from a door to the right of the altar. They set down closed boxes on the floor in front of the pews and beckon to the five seated women of varying coloring and ages. The women rise and glance uncertainly at the men and children surrounding them, then move forward in a line as though preparing to receive communion.
As the boxes are opened, most appear to hold clothing and shoes. Seeing the contents revealed, the women smile and politely examine the choices they are offered. Quickly selecting several items, they return to their waiting families. Two bend to focus on footwear for the people of their concern; the others hold jackets, coats, and heavy sweaters against their loved ones’ torsos. Moving back and forth between the boxes and pews, they make decisions regarding what will prove most useful. Once the needs of every person in the pews have been met, the women turn to choosing things for themselves.
The churchwomen leave with their lightened boxes. After a while, they return with trays of open-faced sandwiches and thermoses of hot tea, brandy and chocolate. The priest moves among the non-parishioners, smiling at the women, nodding solemnly to the men, and patting the heads and faces of the children. The food is consumed with obvious restraint, but I sense the adults are wondering when they will again have the opportunity to eat or drink their fill.
Again, the churchwomen exit. They re-enter the room and pass out satchels of foodstuffs to each of the families and receive smiles of gratitude for their hospitality. Unaware of my presence, the priest walks out the main door into the hallway. The visitors earnestly pass whispered words from woman to woman, man to man and family to family. After some time, the priest returns, accompanied by three men wearing long and heavy overcoats. The light in the room increases and I close my eyes to its brightness.
When I reopen my eyes, I am standing in a forest of young pine trees interspersed with older Norway spruce and beech wood. Two families I recognize from the church basement pass close enough to have touched my arm. Bundled in multiple layers of clothing, each member of the party walks carefully, watching the frosted trail unfolding before them. They are led by a short, stocky man wearing a brown leather cap, black turtleneck sweater, heavy seaman’s jacket, and leather overalls. His thigh-high boots move steadily along a worn path, until he arrives at a small clearing.
Next is a father in a Homburg hat who cradles an infant. Three women, two young and one older, follow with four children of indeterminate age. At the end of the line, another father carries a small girl. Having turned to check on his charges, the guide approaches the front of a small barn with a high thatched roof. He opens a narrow door to the left and then gestures for the people following him to enter. Hesitantly, they look at one another and then the man. Seeing their fear, he enters the doorway himself and then turns back to assure them he has no intention of locking them within. After the father and his daughter enter, I hear the door latch click shut.
Listening to the hoot of one owl calling to another, I watch the harvest moon materialize sporadically from behind cirrus clouds. When it is has crossed to the far side of the murky sky, the barn door reopens. In single file, the party resumes their silent trek along the forest path.
The small girl and baby still sleep in the arms of their fathers, who hold gloved hands across the children’s faces. I do not know if this is to keep them warm or to prevent their cries from escaping. After many turns, the trees diminish in size and number. With an upraised right palm, the leader signals for everyone to halt. He gestures for the people following him to sit among the scrubby underbrush that stretches from the wind-blown tree line to a pebbled beach.
The way-shower then extracts a flashlight from his large pocket. Holding it at chest level, he transmits three bursts of light. Shortly, a similar signal flashes from above the water that laps gently against the shore. The man then returns to sit with the people who await him with fearful expectation. Soon a rowboat arrives with a young man at the oars. Beckoning to the father holding the small girl, the old seaman gestures for the family to follow him to the craft that will carry them to a trawler prepared to carry them on the final phase of their journey to freedom.
Taking the girl into his strong arms, the man in the leather overalls wades out to the boat. As he sets the child carefully on a splintered bench seat, her knitted hat comes loose and reveals a face framed with tight blond curls. In her nervousness she clutches the gold Star of David at her throat. The man reties her hat and pats her shoulder before turning back to the shore. Signaling for his remaining flock to come forward, he helps each person into the boat.
Once they are seated, the man bids farewell to his charges. Baring his white-blond hair, he doffs his hat in salute and nods to the oarsman. As the boat moves outward into the bay, the small girl opens her bright green, almond-shaped eyes and whispers a few words in flawless Danish, “Farvel og tak for den lækker risengrød.” While I do not speak the language of my maternal grandmother, I know that the child is expressing gratitude for the rich rice porridge that is a specialty of holiday celebrations in Denmark.
A hint of pink kisses the gun metal gray sky as the boat travels across the sound. From above, I study the mottled seascape speckled with boats of many sizes and types. The chugging of motorized fishing trawlers and speedboats registers as a soft purring beneath a symphony of bubbling water moving against wooden hulls and the flapping of canvas on boats with sails.
Few people are visible and those who can be seen are mordantly silent. A distant shoreline is faintly discernible where the predawn sky touches the horizon.
Professional Reviews
https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/jeanne-burrows-johnson/murder-mokulua-drive/
A semiretired journalist in Hawaii who experiences visions tries to solve a neighbor’s murder in this second installment of a mystery series.
No longer constantly overseas as a travel writer, Natalie Seachrist has more time to spend at home in Hawaii. She’s preparing to leave her Waikiki condo but decides to stay at her aunt’s cottage in Lanikai. With help from her boyfriend, Keoni Hewitt, and her twin brother, Nathan Harriman, Natalie gets settled at the cottage and mingles with neighbors. But before long, she has a vision. Her sepia-toned visions often show her an event during or before its occurrence. This time, she sees a concealed man murder one of her new neighbors, but Natalie convinces herself it was nothing more than a nightmare. She unfortunately learns the next morning that the same woman from her vision has mysteriously died. Luckily, Lt. John Dias, the old partner of former homicide detective Keoni, is on the case. John, whose grandmother had a gift akin to Natalie’s, willingly listens to her breakdown of the vision. Putting together the skills of John and Natalie, who’s an exceptional researcher, the two hope to prevent one particular individual from getting away with murder.
The most striking feature of Burrows-Johnson’s (Prospect for Murder, 2016) book is a winsomely detailed setting, from seafood and Kona coffee to Hawaii’s generally relaxed ambiance (including a hammock on the lanai). As such, the story’s mystery is simply another task for Natalie, along with moving to Lanikai and planning Keoni’s surprise birthday party. Nevertheless, the protagonist is first-rate. Natalie, for example, despite using her visions as an investigative tool, produces a significant break in the case with mere deductive reasoning. Her special ability does factor into the probe, but she would have made headway on smarts alone. The plot offers a couple of impressive twists, and though some of the case unfolds outside of Natalie’s first-person narration, the protagonist sees it through to the end.
A diverting tale led by a smashing amateur detective whose dexterity far exceeds her paranormal gift.
Murder on Mokulua Drive: A Natalie Seachrist Hawaiian Mystery
by Jeanne Burrows-Johnson
Artemesia Publishing
book review by Jordana Landsman
"…it had seemed like life was finally moving away from deadly matters."
If life is what happens when you’re making other plans, then in a cozy mystery, murder is what happens when you’re making life. Such is the way of things for Natalie Seachrist who, in her second outing in this series, is at a relatively happy crossroads—moving in with her boyfriend Keoni and relaxing into a warm and welcoming community—until murder interrupts the peaceful idyll.
Shocked by the death of a new friend and deeply troubled by psychic dreams that may have foreshadowed and revealed details about the murder, Natalie and her close-knit community of colorful characters are rocked by the jarring homicide and desperate for answers. Life gets further complicated when a face from Natalie’s past arrives to solve the case, making for a crowded and potentially awkward situation just when Natalie and Keoni were set to enjoy this new stage in their relationship.
This author knows her genre, and she skillfully blends familiar ingredients that faithful cozy mystery readers will appreciate. The story is further enhanced with several compelling flourishes. First, the author draws on the rich history of Denmark’s safe evacuation of its Jewish population during World War II and integrates this legacy into her 21st-century characters. Next, while cozy sleuths are often known for their intuition, Natalie’s dreams are downright prescient, bringing a mystical quality to the crime-solving activities. Finally, the book’s love affair with its Hawaiian setting is contagious, and the location details create an alluring atmosphere. All these added components bring depth and freshness to a familiar format. If the mystery itself fails to hold the reader at seat’s edge for the final reveal, the book creates sufficient curiosity that, when paired with the friendly cast and creative touches, the novel makes a pleasant and satisfying diversion for a cozy afternoon.
10
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Natalie Seachrist has had a vision in the night of a Jewish child fleeing Denmark to Sweden with her family during WWII. But Natalie has no idea who this child could be or why she’s had this particular vision. Though she is sure the reason for the vision will become clear at some point. Instead of dwelling on it, she turns her attention to moving house. With the death of her aunt Carrie, she has inherited White Sand Cottage, in Lanikai near Kailua on the windward side of Oahu in Hawaii, and she has to clear out her condo in Waikiki. Her boyfriend, Keoni, is there to help not just with the move but with the renovations at the cottage as well.
As they settle into the cottage, they get to know their neighbors and all seems picturesque and idyllic until one of the neighbors, Miriam Didion, is murdered. Natalie and Keoni, a retired police officer, are determined to help find the murderer before he or she can strike again.
Initially, it was the gorgeous cover that drew me to this book. I loved the sunset view and the fact that the story was set in Hawaii made it all the more interesting. I liked the character of Natalie and I felt that as a narrator she was able to create quite an intimate setting. It felt like she was talking to me personally from the comfort of the cottage. I don’t often get this warm and cozy atmosphere in mystery stories, so I appreciated this aspect of the book.
Overall, I was impressed by the character development in the book. I felt that I got to know everyone rather well. The use of Hawaiian words and explanations was also a very nice touch, making me feel that I was part of the local culture. It also made the setting seem more realistic. I enjoyed the ending and was intrigued to find out a little more about Miriam and how the story tied back to the beginning of the book. I also liked that just because Miriam and “her ladies” were retired and older, it didn’t mean they weren’t lively and active. It’s nice to read about characters of all ages, and this book had the young and the old. The story had many layers as well as some twists and turns, which kept me glued to the pages, particularly the story of Samantha and Luke.
I’m excited to discover a new mystery writer, and I’m hoping there will be more cases for Natalie, Keoni, and Miss Una to solve in the not-too-distant future.
