Hula Done It? Part 17

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 s.h.i.+ft 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 had used it on him...to incapacitate him right before she flipped him overboard? used it on him...to incapacitate him right before she flipped him overboard?

My eyes froze as I relived the moment when Sh.e.l.ly Valentine had flipped Carl Leatherman onto his back. Sh.e.l.ly had taken self-defense courses at college. Had Jennifer done the same thing? Did she possess the same physical capabilities as Sh.e.l.ly? Might they even have been in the same cla.s.s?

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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d! The puzzle box! It didn't fall onto the floor and break, did it?" My heart thudded to a stop. "Oh, my G.o.d! 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 cus.h.i.+ons, and a few cracker crumbs, on account a I'm force-feedin' saltines to Tilly when she's not in the bathroom."

d.a.m.n! d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n! Why hadn't I made the connection sooner? Jennifer French hadn't been after Nana or or me. 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 ent.i.tled DAY THREE -- KAUAI DAY THREE -- KAUAI, I had a gut feeling that if I looked closely enough, something would leap out at me. The s.h.i.+p'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 s.h.i.+p 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? Leis? No one gave No one gave me me a lei. Shoot. Maybe they'd run out by the time I disembarked. a lei. Shoot. Maybe they'd run out by the time I disembarked.

I found Duncan and reminded myself to call him when I got back to my cabin to see how he was feeling. Scanning some more, I discovered Gjurd in a solo shot without Nils or Ansgar, and Sh.e.l.ly looking good enough to be on the cover of Sports Ill.u.s.trated. Sports Ill.u.s.trated. She wasn't wearing a lei either, which confirmed my suspicion that the supply had run out by the time I'd left for my helicopter tour. She wasn't wearing a lei either, which confirmed my suspicion that the supply had run out by the time I'd left for my helicopter tour.

I spotted Percy and Basil looking goofily English in a picture high above my head and wondered where they'd gone yesterday. They were both wearing leis, so they must have left fairly early -- though according to Duncan, not with his tour group. Had they gone off on their own to partic.i.p.ate in some nefarious Sandwich Island Society activity?

I whipped through photo after photo, finding no surprises -- until I reached the middle of the second display case, where I found a glossy shot of Jennifer French standing in front of the Kauai panel, her tattoo exposed, her hair a riot of straw, her expression cool and smug. I arched an eyebrow at the photo. Hadn't Sh.e.l.ly told me that Jen had planned an all-day spa treatment on the s.h.i.+p yesterday? Obviously, she hadn't spent the entire day in the spa. So where had she gone when she'd disembarked? What had she done? Could her leaving the s.h.i.+p explain how she'd learned that Nana and the gang had unearthed Griffin Ring's treasure?

Shoot. How come I was ending up with more questions than answers? Logically, Bailey could have told Jen about the treasure, but that seemed highly improbable since the two women hated each other so much. So if Bailey hadn't spilled the beans, who had? Bernice?

I sucked on the inside of my cheek. Bernice would normally get my vote, but the gang had threatened her within an inch of her life if she blabbed. Even Bernice wasn't willful enough to misplace all that trust, was she?

I continued with my visual inventory, running into a slew of recreational photos. An enormous splash frozen in time as someone belly flopped into the pool. Poolside guests sipping frosty beverages. A guy making like Spider-Man as he scaled the climbing wall on the top deck. A quartet of ladies in bowling s.h.i.+rts playing miniature golf. A prostrate body with what looked like cooked spinach slopped all over it.

I eyed it more closely. Hey, that must be the Ionithermie treatment Nana had talked about. I curled my lips in distaste. Euw. If she saw this picture, I bet she wouldn't get anywhere near that treatment room. Spinach gave her gas.

I skimmed over a face painted peac.o.c.k blue with cuc.u.mber slices over its eyes. Two women reading magazines under hair dryer hoods. A stylist wielding a blow-dryer as if it were an unholstered gun. A manicurist sitting at a table opposite -- I zeroed in for a closer look. Huh. It looked as if Sh.e.l.ly had gotten back in time to have her nails done yesterday, because there she was in the nail salon -- I s.h.i.+fted my gaze from Sh.e.l.ly to the woman beside her -- sitting right next to...Jennifer French? Okay, so Jennifer had spent at least part of her day yesterday in the spa. But should I be deducing something from this, other than that archaeologists-in-training probably had to sink a bundle into restorative nail care? Was it possible that Jennifer had learned about the treasure from Sh.e.l.ly? But how could Sh.e.l.ly have found out what had happened on the Wailua River kayak adventure, when she'd spent the day with me? Unless...

Unless Sh.e.l.ly and Bailey had run into each other on the s.h.i.+p before Sh.e.l.ly's nail appointment. Sh.e.l.ly and Bailey were on speaking terms, weren't they? That could explain it. Bailey had told Sh.e.l.ly, who repeated the story to Jennifer. And the rest, as they say, was history.

I dusted my hands off with satisfaction. d.a.m.n, I was good. Now all I had to do was catch Jennifer red-handed with the puzzle box and force her to admit she was the one who killed Professor Smoker.

Unfortunately, this was the part that always gave me a teensie teensie bit of trouble. bit of trouble.

Feeling confident about my theory, though, I returned to the DAY ONE -- AT SEA DAY ONE -- AT SEA and and DAY TWO -- WELCOME TO KAUAI DAY TWO -- WELCOME TO KAUAI displays and briefly reexamined the photos I'd seen two nights ago. No new detail grabbed me by the throat. The same guests boarded the s.h.i.+p. The same people posed for predinner photos. The same faces showed up for their prepaid excursions. I recognized the cell phone guy in the muscle s.h.i.+rt without effort. The honeymoon couple with the matching T-s.h.i.+rts. Percy Woodruffe-Peac.o.c.k in his kayaking shorts and bow tie, and Basil Broomhead in his plaid knickers and slouch cap, just like that famous golfer used to wear. What was his name? I snapped my fingers to trigger my memory. Something like -- displays and briefly reexamined the photos I'd seen two nights ago. No new detail grabbed me by the throat. The same guests boarded the s.h.i.+p. The same people posed for predinner photos. The same faces showed up for their prepaid excursions. I recognized the cell phone guy in the muscle s.h.i.+rt without effort. The honeymoon couple with the matching T-s.h.i.+rts. Percy Woodruffe-Peac.o.c.k in his kayaking shorts and bow tie, and Basil Broomhead in his plaid knickers and slouch cap, just like that famous golfer used to wear. What was his name? I snapped my fingers to trigger my memory. Something like -- Wait a minute. I lasered a look at Basil's knickers again. Oh, my G.o.d! That was it! Golf! That's why Basil Broomhead's name was familiar to me! I'd seen it written down on the sign-up sheet for the golf simulators, directly above the name Dorian Smoker! Eh! Had the two men accidentally run into each other that first day near the simulators? Had Basil seized the opportunity to eliminate the first name from the Sandwich Island Society's. .h.i.t list? I lasered a look at Basil's knickers again. Oh, my G.o.d! That was it! Golf! That's why Basil Broomhead's name was familiar to me! I'd seen it written down on the sign-up sheet for the golf simulators, directly above the name Dorian Smoker! Eh! Had the two men accidentally run into each other that first day near the simulators? Had Basil seized the opportunity to eliminate the first name from the Sandwich Island Society's. .h.i.t list?

Oh, my G.o.d! Had I just blown my Jennifer French theory to h.e.l.l? Was it Basil, not Jennifer, who'd killed Professor Smoker? And if Basil had done the killing, had he also stolen the treasure? But why would he want Tilly's treasure if he already had one? WHY WAS THIS SO FREAKING COMPLICATED?

Frustrated and confused, I circled around the display case, stopping dead in my tracks when I ran into Nils Nilsson on the other side, standing before a column of photos. Oh goody, just my luck. I was alone in a room with Nils Nilsson, of felonious - a.s.sault - with - baseball - bat fame. I wondered if he'd notice if I shuffled quietly backward and started running.

"Do you know how one goes about purchasing these photographs?" he asked without removing his gaze from the display case.

Since I was the only other person in the room, I guessed he was directing that question at me. "Uhh -- You see those numbers in the bottom right-hand corner of each photograph? I think if you give that number to someone in the general store, they'll have copies made for you."

He nodded his thanks before slipping back into statue mode. I slatted my eyes at him. There was definitely something weird going on here. "Did you find one you like?" I asked, inching closer to see what he was looking at.

He bobbed his head toward the case. "The boarding photo. You think it's a good likeness, yah?"

"I noticed that picture the other night. Yeah, it's a great shot. You guys are really photogenic."

"It's especially good of Ansgar's hair. I think his family will like it."

"Yup. He has one great head of hair. Soooo..." I said, angling to snare more information, "did he ever show up last night?"

"Yah." He turned his head, looking down at me with dull eyes. "But not aboard s.h.i.+p. He showed up on the hiking trail to the Secret Falls with his head caved in. Ansgar is dead."

Oh, my G.o.d. The dead body the paramedics had been discussing at the hospital had been Ansgar? A lump the size of Delaware caught in my throat. "Nils, I'm so sorry."

He nodded. "There was much compet.i.tion between Ansgar and me. There has always been great rivalry between Nilssons and Norstedts. But I would not have chosen to beat him in this way."

I hoped his use of the word "beat" was a linguistic faux pas and not a subliminal reference to anything more deadly.

"His identification was missing," Nils continued, "so it took the authorities many hours to notify his family. Gjurd and I will leave the s.h.i.+p once we reach Kona, so we can fly back to Kauai and accompany his body home."

"You're going to finish the cruise? You're not going to fly back to Kauai right away?"

"The authorities tell me they cannot release Ansgar's body for many days yet. Not until their investigation is complete. Gjurd and I feel that Ansgar would want us to finish the cruise, despite the misfortune that has befallen him."

"But...are you sure it's Ansgar? If his identification was missing, how --"

Nils slapped the tattoo on his upper right arm. "His name was here. Like mine. Ansgar Norstedt. World Navigators Club Ansgar Norstedt. World Navigators Club. This was how the authorities traced him."

"But...you said last night that his name was listed in the computer as having reboarded the s.h.i.+p."

He gave his beard a thoughtful scratch. "I was wrong."

A frisson of unease snaked up my spine. Okay, so if Ansgar hadn't reboarded the s.h.i.+p, who had?

Chapter 14.

By three o'clock, the heavy sea had lost its fizzle, going flat as old ginger ale. By four o'clock, guests began crawling out of their cabins, looking anxious to make up for lost time. By five, I'd checked in with each member of my Iowa contingent, and by six, all eleven of them were gathered in my Royal Family Suite, listening to the sordid details of what they'd missed in the last twenty-two hours.

"I contacted the head of security this morning about the puzzle box's disappearance," Tilly informed us, "but it was a rather disappointing conversation. He wanted to know if there was anything of value inside the box, and when I said I didn't know if the contents were valuable or not, he sighed condescendingly and instructed me to reexamine my cabin. He suggested I may have forgotten where I stowed the box and might actually have hidden it on myself, as so often happens with cruise guests, and I quote, 'of a certain age.'"

Boos from the room at large. Hissing from the d.i.c.ks. "So'd you set that fella straight?" Osmond called out.

Tilly smiled archly. "I certainly did. I thanked him for his time, told him to have a nice day, and hung up the phone."

A thunder of applause. Hoots. Hollers.

Yup. Midwesterners could deliver tongue-las.h.i.+ngs that were second to none.

Tilly motioned for quiet. "Since it's obvious we'll receive no help from s.h.i.+p's security, we're left with only one recourse. We'll have to band together and find it ourselves."

"Woo! Woo! Woo!" yelled the d.i.c.ks, pumping their fists in the air. Head bobbing from the women. Margi leapt to her feet and did the jump-around, knocking Osmond off his chair with an errant hip. Bernice raised her hand.

"How come Emily gets the penthouse suite when the rest of us are booked into kennels? Does the bank know about this?"

"Emily thinks her sweetheart paid for the upgrade," Nana defended. "Isn't that romantic?"

Bernice crossed her arms defiantly. "Sure he did. If you ask me, something smells funny."

"No one did did ask you," Osmond countered as he struggled back into his chair. "So there." ask you," Osmond countered as he struggled back into his chair. "So there."

"Don't pick on Bernice," Lucille Ra.s.smuson scolded. "I smell something, too. Florally. Smells like" -- she sniffed the air -- "a funeral parlor."

I crooked my mouth into a smile. "I had a few flowers in here earlier, but they, uh, they didn't survive the storm."

"Hey, why am I wet?" Osmond asked as he regarded a dark stain on his pant leg.

Moans all around. "Maybe you should cut back on those diuretics," d.i.c.k Stolee teased.

"It's the carpet," I apologized. "It got a teensie bit wet...because of the flowers."

A half dozen hands went down to test the floor. "Teensie bit wet?" complained Bernice. "It's soaked!"

"Watch this," d.i.c.k Stolee instructed as he popped out of his chair. He bounded across the floor at a dead run, a.s.suming a surfer's stance as he skidded the last ten yards, geysering water in every direction. I looked heavenward and shook my head. Oh, G.o.d.

Grace Stolee let out a guttural sound that I suspected her husband had heard many times before. "Would someone kindly kindly tell the human squeegee that if he tears his ACL or breaks his hip, I'll be taking the bike ride down Mount Haleakala without him?" tell the human squeegee that if he tears his ACL or breaks his hip, I'll be taking the bike ride down Mount Haleakala without him?"

"Si'down, knucklehead," d.i.c.k Teig barked out. "You're p.i.s.sing your wife off."

Tilly grabbed the nonstick fry pan we'd confiscated from the kitchen and gave it a whack with a meat-tenderizing mallet, creating a sound like an out-of-tune Chinese gong. BOINNNNK! BOINNNNK! "Order, people. I'll have order!" "Order, people. I'll have order!"

Osmond gave his hearing aids another tap. "Would you give that thing another whack, Til? Seems to help the ringing in my ears."

BOINNNNK! "All right, I'm turning the meeting over to Emily. She's devised a plan, and I think it's a good one. She'll give you the logistics." "All right, I'm turning the meeting over to Emily. She's devised a plan, and I think it's a good one. She'll give you the logistics."

"Show of hands." Osmond stood up. "All those in favor of turning the meeting over to Emily?" Ten hands shot into the air. "Opposed?"

Bernice raised her hand. "Doesn't anyone else want to know who Emily's sleeping with to get set up in a room like this?"

"The ayes have it," Osmond announced. "Take it away, Emily."

Tilly thrust the meat tenderizer at me, looking as if she wanted to get rid of it before she was tempted to use it on Bernice. I set it down on the table in front of me and stood up. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice. The thing is, we don't have much time to execute my plan. I'm afraid that once the gangplank goes down in Maui, our thief is going to hightail it off the s.h.i.+p with the puzzle box. So if we don't catch him or her sometime within the next three hours, we may not catch him at all."

"So what's your plan?" d.i.c.k Teig called out.

"I have a stack of photos here, and if my instincts are right, one of the people I'm about to show you is responsible for Macing me, stealing the puzzle box, and killing Professor Smoker."

"You think the three incidents are related?" inquired Alice.

"I can't prove it yet, but that's my theory."

Low groans. Head shaking. Raised eyebrows.

"What?" I protested.

"We've heard your theories before," d.i.c.k Teig complained.

"Yeah," Lucille Ra.s.smuson agreed. "You're always wrong."

"Well, I'm not wrong this time. I'm positive I'm on the right track."

"That'd be a first," grumbled Bernice.