Hula Done It? (9 page)
I nearly leaped out of the kayak at the sound of a horn blasting behind us. I swung around to find a flat-bottomed barge with a pitched canopy chugging down the middle of the river in our direction, looking like a supersized roadside vegetable stand without the vegetables. FERN GROTTO TOURS was splashed in big red letters across the side, and when the horn stopped blaring, I could hear Hawaiian music echoing out over their speaker system. Tourists hung over the sides, toasting us with icy beverages and waving giddily at the scenery. The floor space was crowded with beer-bellied men in T-shirts and shorts swirling their hips and jerking their arms as if they'd all been zapped with the mother of all stun guns. One guy got so out of control, he swatted himself in the face with his hand and went down like a bull elephant. I shook my head. This was what happened when you tried to teach the hula to a bunch of white guys whose main source of exercise was pressing buttons on the remote control.
I waved as they passed, thinking how cool and refreshed they looked under the protective covering of the roof. The sun was sweltering.
"Do you remember that old Elvis Presley movie,
Blue Hawaii?"
Jonathan continued as I quartered the kayak into the barge's wake and met the foot-high waves head on. WHAP. WHAP. WHAP.
"It's the one set in a Polynesian resort surrounded by a grove of palm trees."
The waves sloshed against our hull and pitched us back and forth before rolling toward the shoreline and making a
whooshing
sound against the bank. Piece of cake -- we didn't even get swamped. The kid in the Marlins cap had been right; this was one tame river.
"Do you realize we passed the resort where that movie was filmed when we turned off the highway? The Coco Palms. It's been closed since '92 because of hurricane damage, but Tattoo from that old TV show,
Fantasy Island,
used to drive his jeep through that very grove after he yelled, 'De plane, de plane!'"
"Hello, dear!" called Nana as she and Tilly glided effortlessly past us in their blue kayak. "I think the two Dicks are headin' out to sea, so if they don't show up at the Secret Falls, you'll know where to look for 'em. Too bad your cell phone's on the fritz. You coulda put the Coast Guard on speed dial."
My shoulders slumped involuntarily. Oh, God. They couldn't possibly get lost at sea, could they?"
"How's that for a coincidence," Jonathan piped up. "Did you know
Gilligan's Island
was partially filmed on the island of Kauai?"
I gave Nana a weary thumbs-up. "Thanks for the warning."
"You bet." With barely a splash they propelled themselves forward, heads high, backs straight, paddling left and right in perfect unison. My mouth fell open as they sliced through the water at a pace that defied every speed record known to man for nonmotorized watercraft. Wow. They were really fast.
"Where'd you learn to kayak?" I yelled after them. "The Senior Center?" The town had recently added an Olympic-size swimming pool to the complex, thanks to a generous donation from Nana. Windsor City now had the distinction of being home to the second largest body of water in Iowa, so anything was possible.
"The Limpopo River in Africa," Tilly shouted back. "A matter of necessity. The crocodiles were hungry. If I wasn't fast, I was lunch!"
"Did you ever see
The African Queen?"
Jonathan chimed in, as Nana and Tilly became a speck on the horizon. "That particular movie wasn't filmed in Kauai, but
Throw Momma From the Train
was. And
Body Heat
. And
Honeymoon in --"
"So what's been your favorite part of the cruise so far?" I cut him off. I'd obviously judged Beth a little too harshly.
"That's easy: the scavenger hunt. I collected more good junk than you can ever imagine. A dozen erasers. A bunch of paper clips. And I met scads of people who were really curious about my arm. I've got all their names here in my backpack."
I heard the distinctive
zzzzt
of a zipper being opened and some grunts that reminded me of the sounds I make when my cars keys get lost in my shoulder bag. "Here we go. Buford Whitelaw, indoor environmental consultant. Melissa Beard, certified transpersonal hypnotherapist. Raymond Robinson, Alpha vending services."
I peered over my shoulder at him. "What did you do? Make a list?"
"They gave me their business cards. We only needed one for the scavenger hunt, but people were really willing to give them away, so I collected a whole stack. Cyrus Pittz, All faiths cremation service."
Uff da
. Was he planning to go through the whole stack? Left. Right. Left. Right.
"Vanessa Lyon, Globalcom Technologies. Percy Woodruffe-Peacock, Sandwich Island Society. Dennis --"
"WHAT?" I turned around so fast, I heard my spine crack. "You have Percy Woodruffe-Peacock's business card? Can I see it?"
"You know him?" Jonathan asked as he handed me the card.
"I've met him." I stowed my paddle and allowed us to drift as I skimmed the card. "Name, address, and society affiliation. Not much help. You don't happen to know what the mission statement of the Sandwich Island Society is, do you?"
Jonathan shrugged. "Sounds like it has something to do with owning Subway Sandwich franchises. That'd be my guess."
Why hadn't I just asked them on the bus? That would have been the smart thing to do. Nuts. "Thanks anyway," I said, handing the card back. Taking up my paddle once more, I stroked quickly to angle away from the overhanging branches onshore, then heaved a sigh when Jonathan started chattering again.
"Hey, Emily, did you see the writing on the back of the card here? Some words scribbled in ink. You want me to read them to you?"
"Be my guest." Left. Right. Left. Right.
"At the top it says, Hit Parade, and under that are two names. Dorian Smoker and Bailey Howard." He paused. "Smoker. Isn't that the name of the guy you were talking about at dinner last night? The one who got pushed overboard?"
I stilled my paddle midmotion, my heart suddenly racing. "Yeah. It's the same name." Dorian Smoker's name appears on a "hit parade," then he conveniently ends up dead? Hit parade. Was that a deceptively innocent way of saying, "Hit List?"
I suspected I'd just learned the mission statement of the Sandwich Island Society.
"So a bunch of actors from the
Jurassic Park
movie were forced to ride out the hurricane in the ballroom of the Westin Kauai Lagoons in Poipu," Jonathan babbled, his wingtips clomping close behind me, rustling the leaves that littered the ground. "That was back in '92. I thought the first movie was much better than the sequels. Didn't you?"
I managed to tune him out as I blazed a trail in the direction of the Secret Falls, kicking leaves and twigs out of my way as I went. Our index card map was comically inadequate in the landmark department, but I wasn't worried. Finding a waterfall in the woods should be child's play for someone who'd found Victoria's Secret in the Mall of America without having to consult the directory.
I rolled to a stop, listening for sounds that might indicate a distant waterfall, but all I heard was chirping birds, creepy insect sounds, and the burble of water rushing over pebbles in the stream to our right. "Do you have any idea how far we've walked so -- OOFF!"
I skidded face-first into the leaves and underlying mud, air whooshing painfully from my lungs as Jonathan fell like a ton of bricks on top of me.
"I'm sorry!" he yelped, elbowing my head and stepping on my shoulder bag as he scrambled to his feet. "I didn't know you were going to stop. Are you all right? Did you break anything?"
I opened one eye to find him crouched in front of my face, nose to nose with me, his head close enough for me to see that the mysterious black scrawl on his duckbill was in actuality the signature of someone by the name of -- I squinted and tried to focus. Bowel Gas? Man, penmanship in the electronic age had really gone to hell in a handbasket.
I spat a mouthful of local flora and fauna at him. "I'm fine, just...give me some room." I boosted myself to my knees and swiped a gob of mud from my chin. "I suppose I should look at the bright side. A mud treatment like this would cost me big bucks aboard ship." I pondered the gunk on my hand. "You suppose it's the right kind of mud?"
"I'm sorry, Emily," he apologized again, helping me to my feet. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to --"
I held up my hand for silence. "I'll warn you next time I decide to stop. Okay? Now, can we just keep walking?"
I set a pace traipsing through the leaves and mud at double time, keeping my eyes peeled for hidden tree roots and my ears pricked for the roar of a waterfall.
"You're a nice person, Emily," Jonathan's voice echoed out behind me. "If I'd fallen on Beth like that, there would have been hell to pay. Did I tell you I thought I saw her last night? Outside the infirmary. Wouldn't that have been an awful coincidence? Beth showing up on the cruise with her new boyfriend? I'm sure glad I was wrong, but no kidding, her tattoo was exactly like Beth's."
A cluster of ferns tickled my mud-caked shins as I ducked beneath the branch of an unfamiliar broad-leafed tree. "A lot of women are into permanent disfigurement these days," I conceded, "as long as it's done tastefully."
"Beth called it durable body art. She said using one's anatomy as a living canvas was very cutting edge."
I could remember when having two holes pierced into the same ear was considered cutting edge. Oh, God. I
was
a ma'am. I
was
getting old.
"Did you know that the shoulder has replaced the chest as the venue of choice for body art these days? Unless you want something more panoramic, like the Pacific fleet. That's where Beth's tattoo was. On her shoulder. A pink rosebud with a trail of leaves twining after it. It was awesome."
I slapped an insect dead on my arm and kept walking. "What were you doing in the infirmary last night? Were you sick?"
"Captain's orders. He recommended I ask the doctor for something to calm me down. But the person who really needed the tranquilizer was the blonde who looked like Beth. Man, she was chewing out that girl in the yellow vest something fierce. What a temper."
I arched my brows at that. Bailey had been wearing a yellow vest yesterday. And she'd left the infirmary last night before the second seating. "Do you remember anything else about the woman in the yellow vest? Age? Hair color?"
"She was probably your age. Midtwenties or something."
Aw, bless his myopic little eyes.
"And her hair was all pulled back into a long curly ponytail. You couldn't miss her hair. It looked like she'd backed into a cat. That's about all I can remem -- No, wait. She was wearing really stylish glasses. The kind I might be able to afford after I find a new job."
Bailey. It had to be. But why would anyone be picking on her? Especially after what she'd been through yesterday. Then again, if she was number two on someone's hit list, being yelled at was the least of her problems. Which reminded me.
"Hey, Jonathan, would you do me a favor and save Percy Woodruffe-Peacock's business card? The captain might want to take a look at the writing on the back. It could be important. Okay?"
"I won't let it out of my sight," he said, sounding thrilled to be asked.
As we forged ahead through a little mushroom field, I became aware of a noise in the background that I hadn't heard before. A far-off sound that was neither bug nor bird. A deep, continuous rumble that echoed through the forest and sent shock waves up my legs.
"Do you hear that?" asked Jonathan, impressing me that he could hear anything through those ear flaps of his.
I nodded. "Sounds like a freight train, which means it's either a tornado...or our waterfall!"
We bounded over rocks and gullies and hurtled decaying tree trunks. When the rumbling grew so loud that it vibrated the bones in my chest, I spied an unexpected plateau through an opening in the trees, and a river of angry white water cascading downward into a circular pool that was rimmed by spurs of fractured rock.
I stepped into the opening and stared in awe, my mouth hanging open. The Secret Falls. Wow. I hadn't expected them to be so tall. So noisy. So...so...
"I say!" I heard Basil Broomhead shout over the roar of the falls. "I do believe we've found it!"
A
chorus of groans and curses thundered in disappointment. To the left of the pool, where a sweep of sparsely forested terrain sloped upward to an impossible height, heads popped up from behind rocks, trees, ferns, and stumps, like ducks in a shooting gallery. Basil knelt before a freshly dug hole, thigh to thigh with Percy, brandishing a clod of mud in the air. "See here! I've found it!" Percy thwacked his arm and looked to be admonishing him to shut up. Basil screwed his face into a petulant pout and thwacked him back.
"So what have you found?" Nils yelled at him.
"Hey, I was digging in that spot first!" shouted the honeymooner who'd been all over his bride. "Whatever that thing is, it's half mine!"
"Nice try, bud," a middle-aged woman in a straw hat balked. "Finders keepers."
Oh, no! Poor Tilly. It was so unfair that someone else had found her treasure. Talk about rotten luck. I regarded the mob of treasure hunters who'd abandoned their minor excavations to gather around Basil.
On the other hand, if Professor Smoker's killer had set his sights on acquiring whatever Griffin Ring had buried here over two hundred years ago, Tilly's not finding the treasure knocked her out of contention as a future target for foul play. That certainly made
my
life a lot less stressful.
I observed the mob dynamic playing out around Basil and smiled. Gee, how nice that he'd found the treasure. And so quickly.
I caught movement in the tail of my eye and shifted my gaze to find Nana picking her way toward me over the rocks. "I guess you heard," I said in greeting. "Someone found the treasure. Is Tilly devastated?"
"Pffft."
Nana waved her hand dismissively at the crowd. "It won't be nothin'."
Crows of laughter suddenly erupted from the crowd, along with hoots and snickering. As quickly as the crowd had gathered, it dispersed, leaving Basil and Percy to ponder a silvery object resting in Basil's palm.
"Can you see what that thing is?" I asked Nana. She'd undergone cataract surgery a few years back, so her eyesight was even better than mine.
"Bud Lite. Some other fellas already dug up two other cans. I'm thinkin', six-pack."
Not knowing whether this was reason to be encouraged or
dis
couraged, I looked out over the landscape, searching for familiar faces. "How come I'm not seeing any of our group out there in the fray?"
"Alice, Osmond, Margi, Bernice, and Lucille are on them rocks over there, gawkin' at the waterfall. They never seen one before. Bernice and Lucille seen them famous Rhine Falls when we was in Switzerland; they just can't remember doin' it. Don't know where the Dicks and their wives are -- probably halfway to Tahiti by now. And you might wanna separate Bernice and Margi on the trip back upriver 'cause a Margi's eye."
"What's wrong with Margi's eye?"
"Nothin', other than it's big as a boiled cabbage because Bernice steered 'em into them branches what hang over the riverbank."
I winced. "Is she in much pain?" I started to go for my Excedrin.
"Nah. She's got a cold pack on it now, so that's holdin' the swellin' down."
I stilled my hand. "Wow. She's prepared for any emergency, isn't she? She actually brought a cold pack with her?"
"What she brung with her was one a them jumbo condoms a hers, so she just filled it with water and tied it off. Works real good. Only thing is, folks are startin' to stare 'cause they're wonderin' what she's doin' with a breast implant stuck on her face."
Jonathan came bulldozing through the leaves on his pale, spindly legs to stand cautiously beside me. "Wow," he said, gaping at the waterfall. He clomped around in the other direction. "Wow," he said, gaping at the slew of divots gouged into the ground. "Funny no one mentioned land mines to us."
I remembered my manners and introduced him to Nana, who scrutinized his hat with wistful eyes. "My Sam used to have a cap with earflaps like them. Only his was beaver. A real nice one, too. Used to wear it ice fishin'. L. L. Bean. Had a lifetime guarantee against pillin', mattin', and mites." She sucked the corner of her lip into her mouth. "Can't recall what I done with it after he passed on."
Jonathan whipped off his hat to show Nana the duckbill. "See this? Mine's signed by Bill Gates. It's a little hard to decipher his handwriting, but it really says Bill Gates. This hat is my most prized possession."
"My Sam was partial to that hat a his, too." A grin suddenly lit Nana's face. "Shoot. I remember now. I buried him in it."
Oh, God. "Where did you say Tilly was digging?"
"She's not. She's so upset about the mess everyone's makin', she's just rockin' back and forth, mutterin' Swahili under her breath."
I eyed her skeptically. "You know Swahili?"
"Learnin' Channel special." She gave the bottom of my tank top a tug. "Emily, them two hotties what we saw in the lecture room yesterday are diggin' holes hell-bent for election. The blonde is drawin' some kind a chart, and the brunette is takin' measurements. Like they done stuff like this before." She bobbed her head toward a humpbacked rock in the foreground. "There they are. Eleven o'clock."
I've often wondered what the state of accurate direction-giving would be if the first clocks had been digital instead of analog. I followed her gaze. The two women were less conspicuous today than they'd been yesterday, dressed in cropped T-shirts and mid-thigh shorts, elbows pumping as they hollowed out a section of black earth. They appeared calm, focused, and methodical. Scientific, almost.
"They certainly are tidy," I observed. "Look how they're storing all the soil in that one isolated spot. Everyone else is so haphazard." I studied their movements with an eagle eye. "They sure act like pros. They even look like they've gotten their hands on some special kind of digging implements. What do you think those things are?"
"Teaspoons," said Nana. "They'd be better off with cereal spoons, but there was a run on 'em at breakfast this mornin'." She pulled an enormous spoon from the pocket of her jacket and regarded it proudly. "I got the last one."
I shook my head. "So tomorrow's breakfast crowd shovels down their Cocoa Puffs with what? Forks?"
"But, Emily, don't you think it's suspicious that them two are here lookin' for" -- she sidled a look at Jonathan -- "you know what? They got a map and everythin'."
I sighed. "I'd be all over them if they were the only ones digging. But look at this place! Everyone's digging. Everyone has a map!"
"That's the thing, dear." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Bernice didn't sell them two girls a map. She didn't have to. They already had one."
My eyelids flapped up into my head like jet-powered window shades. "Excuse me?"
Jonathan made a choking sound beside me. "That's her." Spinning around so that his back was facing the digging activity, he angled his head toward me and said in a stage whisper, "The blonde with Beth's tattoo. She's here!" He stabbed a finger toward the humpbacked rock.
I looked from the blonde, to Jonathan, to the blonde again.
That's
the blonde he was talking about? She really got around. Staring daggers at Professor Smoker yesterday afternoon
and
cussing out Bailey last night. And...she had a map. The synapses in my brain started firing off like the cannon section in the
1812 Overture
. Okay, now I was suspicious. I was
really
suspicious.
"I'm so nervous, my knees are shaking," Jonathan confessed as he straightened his hat. "Did she catch me looking at her? Is she staring at me?"
He was wearing earflaps.
Everyone
was staring at him.
"IS THERE SOMEBODY HERE NAMED EMILY ANDREW?" a male voice belted out.
I looked out across the grounds to find a middle-aged guy in a lime green muscle shirt and flowered shorts waving a baseball cap in the air. I waved back. "I'm Emily!" But who in the world was he?
He trotted the short distance toward me, the flab beneath his muscle shirt bouncing up and down like the contents of a half-filled water balloon. He gave me a flinty look as he slapped a cell phone into my hand. "It's for you. And I don't give a damn if it
is
an emergency. I have to pay the roaming charges, so you better make it short."
"An emergency?" I stared at the phone in dread. Oh, God. Had something happened to Mom or Dad? My brother Steve or his wife? The boys? Heart hammering in my chest, I raised the phone to my ear. "H-hello?"
"Ciao, bella."
"Etienne? Oh, my God. Are you all right? What's happened? Where are you? What's wrong?"
"You're angry with me," he said rather tightly in his beautiful French/German/Italian accent. "That should explain exactly what's wrong."
I opened my mouth to reply, my thought process derailed by the three curious sets of eyes riveted directly on me.
"You needn't deny it," Etienne continued. "You left without calling. You didn't send a good-bye email. I feel fortunate that you bothered to send me your itinerary."
I smiled stiffly at my expectant audience. "Hold on, would you?" I said to Etienne. Then to the trio, "It doesn't sound good. You suppose I could have a little privacy?"
Mr. Muscle Shirt executed a serious eye roll before jabbing a finger in the direction of where he was digging. "I'll be over there when you're done."
Nana took Jonathan by the arm. "You go ahead, dear. Don't fret none about us. We'll just mosey around some."
I settled on a nearby rock, my initial dread transforming into butterflies. "I'm back," I said into the phone. "But you have me really freaked out. How did you know that guy was on the kayak adventure with me? How did you know he had a cell phone? How did you get the number?"
"I'm a police inspector, Emily. I do things like that regularly."
"Yeah, well --"
"Do you want to tell me why you're angry with me?"
I pinched my lips and stared dismally into space. "I was hoping we might have this conversation in person."
"This is the best I can do for the moment. I'm working a big case that's just come in, so --"
"You're
always
working a big case." I heaved a despairing sigh. "You're always...busy."
Silence.
I watched Nana pop the cap off a Magic Marker and scribble something on Jonathan's cast. Aw, that was so sweet.
I heard throat clearing on the other end of the phone. "Long-distance relationships are the hardest relationships to maintain," Etienne said with well-practiced Swiss logic.
Okay, that was encouraging. At least he was thinking about the "r" word. "You've finally come to that conclusion, have you?"
"One of my coworkers just bought a satellite dish. He saw it on an American television show. Have you ever heard of Dr. Phil?"
Men!
How
could they all be so clueless? What caused it? Testosterone? Beer? Drinking directly out of refrigerator milk cartons?
"Am I ever going to see you again?" I pressed, my heart breaking. "Because I feel as if you've put me on a shelf where all I'm doing is gathering dust."
"Emily, darling, I --"
"No, don't 'darling' me! Just let me finish. I don't need a lot of glitz and glitter. I just want what my mom and dad have. What Nana and Grampa Sippel had. A simple life with each other. A shared future. Laughter. It's not flashy; it's not always perfect. But it's quiet, and steady, and in its own way, it's magical." The line crackled with static. "Hello? Are you still there?"
"I want those things, too," he said in a voice that could have melted wax. "I love you, Emily."
"I love you, too, but --"
"Don't give up on me,
bella
. Please."
I watched Nana drag Jonathan toward the rock where the cheerleaders were digging, and thrust her Magic Marker at them.
"You mean everything to me, Emily. I want what you want, but mostly what I want is...you. Beside me. Naked, except for a ring on your finger."
Ring? Ring was good. Ring was very good! I watched the brunette inscribe Jonathan's cast and hand off the Magic Marker to the blonde.
"Emily, will you believe me when I tell you this situation between us is going to change soon? Not months. Not weeks. But very soon?"
"What about the big case you're working on?"
"Perhaps big cases don't have a part in my life anymore. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting your parents yet, darling, but I want what they have, too. Especially if it includes you."
"What about your family reunion? Does the 'naked' and the 'ring' part come before or after your
Nonna
Annunziata's approval?"
He laughed. "You need no one's approval,
bella,
but perhaps you'd set the date aside anyway. Sicily is beautiful at that time of year, and I know an out-of-the-way cove that no one visits, except for an occasional gull. We'd have the whole beach to ourselves, and we wouldn't even have to heat up the massage oil." His voice dipped to a husky whisper. "The sun could do it for us."
Oh, God. If I said no, would I be ruining the best chance I'd ever have for true love? What if he really was willing to change? Did I love him enough to give him one more chance? Was happiness waiting just beyond this hurdle, or was my life heading toward the "Why Did This Relationship Fail?" section of some woman's magazine?
"Emily?" he prompted.
I watched the blonde slap the Magic Marker back into Nana's hand and return to her digging, never raising her head as Nana tried to strike up a conversation. After a few moments of being ignored, Jonathan clutched Nana's arm and assisted her around the pit. It was kind of sweet the way he held her forearm, guiding her to safer ground.
The same way Grampa Sippel used to do when he'd take her ice fishing with him.
I sat mutely for a heartbeat, wondering what she'd give to have Grampa back again.
"Emily? Did we get cut off?"
"No...I'm here." As I watched them amble toward the waterfall, I realized that my decision had been made for me. "All right. I'll wait for you, Etienne, but --"
"Say no more. I love you,
bella!
You won't be sorry. Thank the gentleman for the use of his phone.
Sei piu bella d'un angelo. Voglio essere con te per eternita."
And then he disconnected.