Hula Done It? (17 page)
There was only one solution.
I needed Nana.
I cocked my head as a muted, rhythmic humming filled the corridor. Photocopier. Geesch, I guess Etienne wasn't the only workaholic. Hard to believe someone would be up at this time of night slaving away in the business center. This was a cruise! Those of us who didn't have our heads stuck down a toilet were supposed to be having fun!
I clicked the "Start" icon to turn off the computer, but paused when another idea hit me. Hmm. Maybe a back door approach would prove more successful. Returning to the Google screen, I typed in the words "Sandwich Island Society," accruing a total of fifty-five hits in five-tenths of a second.
I scrolled down, finding websites that listed officers, purpose, and conference sites, but nowhere on the websites nor on connecting links did I find any information that expanded what Duncan had already told me. Nuts. While I was at it, I typed "World Navigators Club" into the search field and was given the opportunity to explore twelve thousand eighty-seven possible connections.
Right. Like that was going to happen.
I scanned the information on the first page, pausing when I ran across the name
Nils Nilsson
, and a web address with a snippet of text that read,
former president of the World Navigators, arrested on suspicion of assault with intent to...
Eyes glued to the screen, I clicked on the address and zipped through an Associated Press article dated five years ago.
Oh, my God
. According to the article, Nils had been taken into custody for assaulting Dr. Hiram Quilty, a respected Boston College history professor, with a baseball bat.
Euw
. But even though there were witnesses to the assault, the professor refused to press charges, explaining that he never really got a good look at his attacker and was hesitant to trust eyewitness accounts of men who'd been drowning their sorrows over another Red Sox loss in a pub on Boylston Street. Nils was subsequently released and no formal charges were ever filed. The police suspected that Nils's friends might have used strong-arm tactics to influence the professor's decision, but they could never prove the allegation.
I stared wide-eyed at the screen. Nils Nilsson had clobbered a history professor with a baseball bat? His friends might have threatened the man further? Who were the friends? Ansgar and Gjurd? A tingle crawled up my spine. Was it just me, or did I see a pattern linking Nils Nilsson to the foreshortened life expectancy of university history professors? And I bet I knew what kind of history.
I brought up the home page for Boston College and clicked on the faculty/staff directory.
Aha!
Just as I'd suspected. Dr. Hiram Quilty was a professor of world history, the Early Explorers Period, from 1400-1799. And dollars to doughnuts, he pushed the theory that Christopher Columbus had discovered America, and that James Cook had been
the
penultimate explorer ever to sail the seven seas.
I powered down the computer, my heart thumping in my throat. I was paired up for dinner with a man who was not only suspected of assault with intent to kill, but whose favorite hardwood was a baseball bat.
I zigzagged to the door and into the corridor, where the sounds of the photocopier continued to hum. As I passed the glass window that fronted the copy center, I saw a familiar head of blond hair hunched over the copy machine and felt a little embarrassed when Jennifer French gazed up to find me looking at her. I flashed her a smile and gave her a little finger wave.
Not surprisingly, she didn't wave back.
As I headed for the elevator, I wondered what was so important that she'd be copying it close to midnight on a stormy night at sea.
Nana answered her door on my second knock, opening it a crack to peek out. "Emily! Come in. Come in, dear." She threw the door wide. "Isn't this storm somethin'? I never seen nothin' like it. And lookit you. You're not even curled up in a ball wishin' you was dead."
That's what I loved about Nana. No matter the day, the hour, or the situation, she was always happy to see me. "I'm sorry for the surprise visit," I apologized as I crossed the threshold, "but I have a favor to ask. How would you feel about doing a late-night computer search? I started the process, but your advanced search skills are more refined than mine. I'm looking for information on a name: Basil Broomhead. I got twenty-two thousand eight hundred hits on the last name, so I need you to whittle it down to something more manageable. I'm not sure if Basil Broomhead has any connection to Professor Smoker, but I kinda think he might, so your search could really help."
"AAAGHHCKK! AA-AAGHHCKK!"
I stared at the bathroom door, cringing at the sounds. "Oh, no. Tilly?"
Nana nodded. "She says she done okay in some typhoon in the South China Sea some years back when she was escapin' a boatload a pirates, but this here storm has done her in. You okay, Til?" she asked, tapping on the door.
The toilet flushed with a wall-vibrating
WHOOOOSH
.
Nana nodded with satisfaction. "Yup. She's okay."
"Tilly encountered pirates in the South China Sea?" I marveled as I seated myself on the sofa. "Real pirates? I didn't realize pirates were still around."
"Oh, sure. But more typically, they're wearin' business suits and workin' on Wall Street." She sat down on the sofa beside me. "This storm's leveled everyone. You shoulda seen 'em at supper. They was staggerin' back to their cabins even before the entrees showed up. Old folks, young folks. Even Bailey's sick. I seen her earlier in the evenin' when I went to her cabin to give back the tube a sunblock she lent me today, and she looked worse'n Tilly, if that's possible. Kinda like she could be dead by mornin'. They could
all
be dead by mornin'."
"AAAGHHCKK! AAAAAAAGHHCKK!"
Nana shook her head. "This whole thing has got me to thinkin', Emily."
"About what? Not signing up for any more cruises?"
"About the wave machine I was thinkin' to buy for the new Senior Center pool. Maybe I should go with the waterslide instead."
I nodded. "A waterslide would be nice. So you're not sick?" I asked switching gears. "Not even a twinge?"
"Nope. But between you and me, dear, all this buried treasure business has got me pretty antsy. I could really use somethin' to take the edge off."
Even though I'd only been on the job a year, I was seasoned enough to know that it was a bad sign when the holiday grew so exciting, the guests started having nervous breakdowns. "Do you want me to take you down to the infirmary?" I asked in concern. "I bet the doctor could prescribe a low-dose tranquilizer that might calm you down."
"A pill?" She scrunched her face up like an apple doll. "I don't want no pill. I was thinkin' more like a good stiff Shirley Temple. With extra cherries."
I rolled my eyes.
"Them extra cherries give it a real kick."
"AAAGHHCKK! AAAAAAAGHHCKK!"
I winced at the bathroom wall. "Poor Tilly. Is there anything I can do?"
"Well, if you want me to check out that fella's name on the internet, you could stay here until I get back. I don't wanna go off and leave Til by herself."
"Deal." I gave her a high five. "Basil Broomhead. See what you can dig up."
She bustled around the cabin, changing into her sneakers and grabbing hold of her pocketbook. "What have I forgotten?" she asked rhetorically as she stood in the middle of the room.
I reached into my shoulder bag, pulled out my wallet, and handed Nana a twenty-dollar bill. "Buy yourself a couple of Shirley Temples while you're at it."
"You don't need to do that, dear. I'm filthy rich."
I smiled affectionately. "Don't stunt my generosity. Drinks on me. Okay?"
She flashed me a smile as she removed the bill from my hand. "I don't know if the bars handle cash, but I'll try. You're a good girl, Emily. I'm glad your nice young police inspector has woke up enough to realize that. And to do somethin' about it."
"But he
hasn't
done anything about it!" I tossed my head back and dug my fingers into my scalp. "He...he's left me in limbo!" Which was not a preferred destination for any Catholic these days, since its existence had been struck from the books.
Nana speared me with a quizzical look. "Wasn't it him what got you upgraded to that nice Royal Family Suite with balcony?"
"I'm not sure now! It could be him. It could be Duncan. And no one has said anything about the roses."
"What roses?"
"Don't ask. It's too frustrating to even talk about. Etienne hasn't returned my phone call. Duncan's seasick. I don't know what to do! How can I choose between them? I'm so confused."
"Maraschino cherries," Nana said with quiet authority.
"Excuse me?"
With a little spring in her step, she came to sit beside me. "Back when I was a girl, my pa hired a couple a young men to help out on the farm during the summer. Real nice fellas. Good-lookin'. Hardworkin'. Polite. And not to toot my own horn or nothin', but they was both a little sweet on me."
I inhaled a patient breath. "Is this a parable?"
She fluttered her hand to quiet me. "Anyway, my ma used to make the best homemade ice cream, so for dessert at our noon meal, she'd serve us all ice-cream sundaes with nuts, chocolate sauce, and one maraschino cherry to top it off. Them cherries was a real delicacy back in them days. And we all liked 'em so much, we'd save 'em to eat last. Yup, them cherries made it reeeeal easy to know which one a them fellas deserved a second look."
I bowed my head with trepidation. "Please don't tell me that one of them choked on a pit and died...which narrowed the field to one."
"Maraschino cherries don't got pits."
Right. I knew that. "Okay, so how did you know which guy deserved the second look?"
"It was real simple, dear. The one what sat to my right used to steal the cherry from my bowl and pop it in his mouth before I could get to it. The one what sat to my left used to make up for it by givin' me his."
Aw, that was so sweet. "So what happened to the guy who sat on your left?"
"I married 'im."
The floor dipped beneath us, causing my stomach to float up to my throat. "Whoaaa. That was a good one."
"AAAGHHCKK!" echoed from the bathroom.
Nana patted my knee. "I'm outta here. I got work to do." She gave the room a final once-over. "I keep thinkin' I'm forgettin' somethin'."
"Come back if you figure out what." I walked her to the door, my mind still focused on a detail of her story that still bothered me. "Nana, if the guy on your right used to steal the cherry from the bottom of your ice-cream dish every day, how come you didn't just eat the cherry first?"
She stared at me oddly, her eyes glazing over. "You're right, dear. Hunh. I never thought a that."
I returned to the interior of the cabin, watching the rain that pummeled the porthole for a while, mesmerized by the brute force of the storm. I hoped the glass didn't pop out. That never happened. Did it?
Feeling my mouth go a little dry, I opened the minirefrigerator in search of water and came face-to-face with Griffin Ring's teak box, perched on a shelf between a tube of Fixodent and a bottle of prune juice. I blinked in surprise. Gee. What an odd place to hide a treasure. But when I eyeballed the safe above the refrigerator, I realized the box was too large to stow there, so the refrigerator was actually a brilliant place to hide it. Hmm. Had the girls found the correct pressure points to open it yet?
Sliding the box off the shelf, I walked to the sofa and sat down, cradling it in my hands. I shook it gently, listening to the mystery object rattle inside and wishing that I'd been born on the planet Krypton so I'd have X-ray vision. I slid my palm across the top and fingered the sharp-angled corners, but it remained as much a brick as it had earlier. I rattled it again. What in the world was in there?
Tap tap tap
.
I sidled a look in the direction of the door. "Did you remember what you forgot?" I called out. Placing the box on the sofa cushion, I heaved myself to my feet.
"AAAGHHCKK!" Tilly cried as I passed the bathroom.
WHOOOOSH
went the toilet. Yup. Sounded as if she was still doing okay.
I pulled open the cabin door, grinning as I realized what Nana had probably forgotten. "Let me guess. You forgot your key --"
Pshhhhhhhhhht!
Pain seared my face and eyes, burning like liquid fire. "EHHH!" I screamed, clawing at my eyes. I ground my fists into my eye sockets, blinded. Then I felt the door slam me backward, driving my head into the wall like a well hit racquetball.
My life flashed before my eyes in that instant. The footlights of the Broadway stage. My marriage to Jack. Etienne's kiss in the Hotel Chateau Gutsch. The ghost in Ireland. My hair catching fire in Italy. Duncan's kiss in his little Speedo. And as I slid to the floor, I realized that if I had to live my life over again, there was only one thing I'd do differently.
I would have asked, "Who's there?" before answering the damn door.
"T
illy was here when it happened, but she was mannin' the bathroom, so she didn't see nothin'."
Nana's voice floated toward me, distant and muffled, as if engulfed by fog.
"My granddaughter was collapsed on the floor when I come back. And the way she fell, she was blockin' the bathroom door, so I had to roll her over so's I could get Tilly out. You s'pose she got thrown against the wall and hit her head when the ship went off kilter? It couldn't a happened no more than fifteen minutes ago, but it scared me when I seen her passed out like that."
As I drifted slowly back to consciousness, instinct told me that I was flat on my back, on a surface that was softer than a floor. It also told me that I was better off unconscious, because the moment full awareness hit, so did the blistering pain. Air seethed through my teeth as I sucked down oxygen. "My eyes!" I fisted my hands against my eyelids, trying to scrub the sting away.
"Don't rub," a man instructed, tugging on my arm. "If you're experiencing eye irritation, rubbing will only make it worse."
"I can't help it!" I flapped my elbow to shoo him away and continued grinding my fists into my eyes, discovering only too late that constant rubbing made the pain worse. "Someone sprayed something into my face. It burns!" I heard heavy footsteps cross the floor, a rush of water in the bathroom sink, and the man's voice again, back at my side.
"Try this." He teased a wet cloth under my fingers. "Hold it against your eyes instead of rubbing."
The cloth momentarily eased the acid sting on my face and cooled the burn on my eyelids. I let out a relieved breath. "Bless you. That feels so much better."
"Can you tell me how you ended up on the floor?" the man asked. "I'm Dave Israelstam, by the way. Ship's doctor."
The incident replayed on the backs of my eyelids like a 3-D flick at an IMAX theater. "Someone knocked on the door. I answered it. I heard a hissing sound, and the next thing I know, my eyes are swimming in jalapeno pepper juice and the door slams me into the wall. That's the last thing I remember, other than wishing I hadn't opened the door."
"So you suffered a blow to your head. That gives me something to work with." He cupped my head in his hands, probing the back of my skull with his fingertips. "Oh, yeah. Big knot back there. You'll want to ice that."
"I already have peas," I said helpfully. The edge of the bed sank low as he sat down beside me.
"Can you tell me your name?"
"Didn't Nana tell you?"
"She did. But I'd like to hear it from you."
I would have executed a major eye roll if my eyes had been able to do anything but water. "Emily Andrew."
"Do you know what month it is?"
"I hope it's October, because tomorrow night is Halloween and I've rented a really spectacular costume."
"Isn't that costume shop somethin'?" Nana piped up. "Who are you goin' as, dear? Tilly thought I'd make a good Marilyn Monroe, but I can't see it. I think to be really convincin', I'd need to be a lot taller."
"Where
is
Tilly?" I asked.
"Over here." Her voice was a sandpaper scratch wrapped in misery. "Wishing I'd never escaped those gators on the Limpopo. Being eaten alive would have been a so much kinder way to die."
"Can you tell me how old you are, Emily?" Dr. Israelstam continued.
I sighed dejectedly. "Old enough for people to start calling me ma'am. Do you think you could ask me something a little less personal? Like my social security number? I know it by heart. I could recite it for you."
"Are you experiencing nausea? Headache? Confusion?"
"No nausea. No headache. And the only thing I'm confused about is why anyone would do something like this."
"You s'pose it was a Halloween prank?" Nana questioned.
Dr. Israelstam cleared his throat. "It's a possibility. Pepper spray compounds are sold virtually everywhere these days. And if you live in a state where they're illegal, you can order them online. I'll give security a heads-up. They have zero tolerance for antics like this. It's not the kind of experience we want to provide for our cruise guests."
I flipped the cloth over on my face, my heart slowing as I pondered a sudden, terrifying thought. "I'm...I'm not blind, am I?" I'd won accolades for playing Helen Keller back in high school, but felt totally ill equipped to handle the real thing.
"Pepper sprays burn like the devil, but they don't usually result in corneal damage. I'd like to check your pupils, though. Can you open your eyes for me?"
Could I? I slid the cloth off my face and tried to unglue my eyes, but they stung too badly to open even a sliver. "I can't do it. They really smart." I made a blindfold of the cloth again and pressed it to my eye sockets. The bed bounced slightly as Dr. Israelstam stood back up.
"Okay, Emily. Here's the plan. I'm going to take you down to the infirmary. We'll wash your eyes out, then I'll run a few neurological tests."
"Neurological tests? But...I don't need any tests. I'm fine!"
"Anything here you need to take with you?"
"Her shoulder bag," Nana piped up. "Right there at the foot a the bed."
"Really, Dr. Israelstam," I said, stalling. "I'd tap dance for you if I could see the floor. There's nothing wrong with my brain. You need proof? Listen to this. I can recite the alphabet backwards."
"Up you go." He circled his hand around my elbow, coaxing me to a sitting position.
"Z -- Y -- X -- W -- V -- U --"
"Chances are, your injury is probably benign --" He eased me to my feet, steadying me with a firm hand.
"I can recite all the former presidents of the United States in order. Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison --"
"-- but any head trauma that produces unconsciousness can be potentially serious."
"-- Monroe, Adams, Jack --" I stopped midname. "How serious?"
"You could be looking at stroke. Brain hemorrhage. Coma. Death."
Death?
Yeah, death was pretty serious.
"It's your call, Emily, but if I were in your shoes, I'd want to play it safe."
I exhaled a frustrated sigh, fumbling to keep the compress over my eyes. "But you don't understand. I've been upgraded to the Royal Family Suite with balcony. Do you know what that means?"
"I'll have someone from my staff call your cabin and inform your other family members where you'll be."
"No, no. It means concierge service! You can't ask me to relocate. Please. This is the best room I've ever had in my life. Do you understand? My life!"
"You'll like our rooms, too," Dr. Israelstam assured me as he guided me across the floor. "How do you feel about cozy?"
In an effort to ward off stroke, brain hemorrhage, coma, and death, the infirmary staff took my vital signs, tested my reflexes, and flashed annoying lights in my eyes at frequent intervals. Like...every time I was about to doze off.
"Do you know what your name is?"
I cracked a bleary, sleep-deprived eye at the nurse. "What time is it?"
"It's 2:00
A.M
."
"Why do you keep asking me what my name is?" I dashed tears from my eyes and tented my hands over my mouth as I yawned. "Look, I don't normally do name tags, but if you'll let me sleep, I'll make an exception. You can slap it right on my forehead. I don't care. Just stop waking me up."
"It's on your chart: neurological checks every fifteen minutes. No sleep for you tonight, Miss Andrew. We don't want you to lapse into a coma. Can you squeeze my hands?"
I'd rather have squeezed her throat, but I couldn't say that out loud, especially when she was making such a dogged effort to keep me from turning into a hundred - and - twelve - pound brussels sprout.
"So far, so good," the nurse said after she'd completed her checks. "You can go to sleep now."
"I can? But you just said --"
"For a half hour. You're doing so well, I can start thirty-minute checks."
Oh, goody. That would give me just enough time to doze off before she woke me up again. Settling back into my pillow, I pulled the sheet up to my chin and stared up at the ceiling, thankful that at least I could open my eyes again. They still smarted a little, but the horrible burning sensation was gone.
Had Nana been right? Was this a random Halloween prank? Or had someone found out her cabin number and knocked on her door with the intent of causing injury?
But...who would want to hurt Nana? For what reason? Who was even
well
enough tonight to be roaming the decks? I knew firsthand that all the usual watering holes aboard ship were deserted. The only people I'd seen who were still ambulatory were the photographer, the fat guy in the bar, the bartender, and --
An image of a photocopy machine flickered in my mind.
And Jen.
I frowned up at the ceiling, wondering if that was somehow significant. She'd seen me in the corridor outside the business center. Could she have followed me up to deck seven thinking I was going to my own cabin? Could she have wanted to teach me a lesson for sticking my nose where she thought it didn't belong? Did she live in a state where it was legal to carry pepper spray?
I tossed the theory around in my head, realizing that if I was right, I could conclude that I'd been the intended target, not Nana. That made me breathe a little easier. But the pepper spray factor still bothered me. I could understand mailmen carrying it to deter vicious dogs, but why would Jen need it on a Hawaiian cruise? Did she mean to fend off potential muggers in the spa? Get rid of admirers at the pool?
I forced my eyes open, trying to stay awake. Cruises had a reputation for being incredibly safe. Why had she armed herself? To protect herself against what? If you asked me, Jennifer French could probably take on a company of Marines and come out the victor -- a thought that caused me to shift my thinking around to a new angle.
What if she was carrying pepper spray not as a defensive weapon, but as an offensive one? What if she'd brought it to use on Professor Smoker if he refused to meet her demands about trying to reverse the honor board decision? What if she
had
used it on him...to incapacitate him right before she flipped him overboard?
My eyes froze as I relived the moment when Shelly Valentine had flipped Carl Leatherman onto his back. Shelly had taken self-defense courses at college. Had Jennifer done the same thing? Did she possess the same physical capabilities as Shelly? Might they even have been in the same class?
I noted the time on the wall clock, worried my lip in indecision, then picked up the bedside phone and punched in a number. "If you were asleep, I apologize for waking you," I said when Nana answered.
"Tilly's hurlin' in the bathroom again, dear, so I'm wide-awake. Are you doin' any better?"
"You bet. Nana, when you went down to the computer room, did you hear someone running the photocopier in the business center?"
"Nope. Was I s'posed to?"
"Did you notice if anyone was working in there when you passed by?"
"The place was empty. I know 'cause I looked through the window."
So Jennifer had left by then. Did that mean she'd finished up her work and gone back to her cabin, or that she'd followed me?
"By the way, dear, I never got to tell you earlier, but I done your computer search and I didn't come up with nothin'. It took me a while, too. About ten minutes."
"You searched twenty-two thousand eight hundred references to Broomhead in ten minutes?"
"What can I say? Response time was a little slow tonight. Anything else you want me to search for tomorrow? I already got a request from Tilly. She wants me to pull up some information on eighteenth-century puzzle boxes so's maybe we can figure out how to open --"
Puzzle box?
My heart thudded to a stop. "Oh, my God! The puzzle box! It didn't fall onto the floor and break, did it?"
"It can't break, dear." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "It's in the refrigerator."
"No, it's not. I found it when I was looking for bottled water, and...and I took it out. I left it on the sofa when I answered the door." I hesitated nervously. "It's still there...isn't it?"
"Hold on." I heard feet shuffling away, then back. She picked the receiver up again. "It mighta been there when you answered the door, dear, but it's not there now."
"It's gone?" I said in a small, guilt-ridden voice.
"The only thing on the sofa is the cushions, and a few cracker crumbs, on account a I'm force-feedin' saltines to Tilly when she's not in the bathroom."
Damn! Damn, damn, damn! Why hadn't I made the connection sooner? Jennifer French hadn't been after Nana
or
me.
She'd been after the treasure.
Twelve hours after being admitted to the infirmary, I was released with a clean bill of health and bags under my eyes that rivaled twenty-five-pound sacks of flour. The rain had stopped, but the seas were still heavy enough to confine guests to their cabins, which was a blessing in disguise, because when I arrived at the Picture Gallery on deck five, I didn't have to fight the crowd. Unlike the other night, I had the whole place to myself.
I wasn't sure what I was hoping to find, but as I located the section entitled
DAY THREE -- KAUAI
, I had a gut feeling that if I looked closely enough, something would leap out at me. The ship's photographer had been so relentless in his pursuit of the perfect Kodak moment that I expected to find some surprises amid the hundreds of photos posted in the display cases. Yet, as I eyeballed the array of glossy prints, I hoped my goal wasn't too ambitious. Geesch. Talk about looking for a needle in a haystack. But I considered it my duty, since I was the one who'd dragged the puzzle box out of its hiding place. I felt it was up to me to track it down and get it back.
I searched scads of happy faces leaving the ship for the morning excursions, and a few faces that didn't look so happy. Bailey was posed against the "Welcome to Kauai" panel all by herself, her mouth zipper straight, her eyes anxious. No surprise there. I found all of my group in sequential photos, wearing their standard seed corn hats, wind suits, and leis.
Leis?
No one gave
me
a lei. Shoot. Maybe they'd run out by the time I disembarked.