Hula Done It? (11 page)

Riiiight. Leeeeft. Riiiight. Leeeft.

As I navigated a wide turn around a bend, a gust of wind slammed into us like a class-three hurricane, lifting our bow out of the water and driving us back as if we'd hit a giant deflector shield. My hair flat-lined. My eyebrows nearly blew off my face. My cheeks stung. I bowed my head against the force of the gale, realizing with horror that the river was now acting as a wind tunnel.

"My hat!" cried Jonathan. "My Bill Gates hat!"

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. Leeeeeeeeeeeeft.

"Over there! To the right! Hurry, Emily! Right, right, right. You've gotta save my hat!"

TOOOOOOT! TOOOOOOT! The horn from the Fern Grotto tour boat blasted behind us. I whipped a look over my shoulder to find it suddenly within spitting distance, its flat little bottom and canopy bearing down fast.

Forty yards.

Thirty yards.

Holy shit.

Rightleftrightleftrightrightrightleftright.

TOOOOOOOT! blared the horn.
OH, GOD!

Twenty yards.

Ten yards.

Rightleftrightleftrightrightrightleftright.

"Turn around!" Jonathan screamed, grabbing his paddle and plunging it into the water like a rudder to stop me. "That hat is one of a kind! The only one ever offered on eBay. A collector's item! You've gotta turn arou --"

CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUNCH!!!

"P
eas will help bring down the swelling."

"Peas?" I peered at the female doctor in the emergency room cubicle. "Dried or frozen?"

"Frozen. Preferably in a bag. Without butter sauce. Just keep refreezing them."

"Baby or snow?"

"Whichever is cheaper. Don't make the mistake of eating them afterward." She stuck her pen in the pocket of her lab coat and offered me a warm smile. "You're done here, Miss Andrew. Ice that lump for a few days, and you'll be fine. But I'd advise against any more kayaking trips on the Wailua. Next time, you might not be so lucky to escape with only minor bruises. Be thankful you were wearing your life jacket."

"Do you know anything about the condition of the man who came in with me? Jonathan Pond?" I tested the matzo ball of a knot over my eye, hoping the swelling might have gone down already, but no such luck. I looked down at myself, assessing the damage. My clothes were damp, my shoulder bag was waterlogged, and my new short, sassy, ridiculously expensive, frizz-free hairdo was in ruins.

In other words, I was a mess.

On a brighter note, at least I'd been wearing waterproof mascara.

"I don't know anything about Mr. Pond, but I can check for you."

She returned in ten minutes with an update. "He's scheduled for more X-rays and a CT scan, so we're going to keep him overnight. His doctor wants to make sure there's nothing going on other than the broken arm."

"Can I see him?" Although I didn't know if that was such a good idea since all I really wanted to do was...WRING HIS FREAKING NECK!

"He's having a psych evaluation at the moment, so probably not." She lowered her voice. "He apparently keeps babbling something about a hat. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

A cab picked me up at the hospital in Kapa'a and transported me to Kojima's market, where I forked out a month's rent for a bag of generic frozen peas minus butter sauce. Living in an island paradise had to be the most idyllic thing on earth, until you had to eat. I figured the leading cause of death in most island communities wasn't heart attack, but sticker shock.

We headed south on Route 56, through Waipouli, Wailua, Kapaia, and Lihue, arriving at the cruise ship terminal in Nawiliwili just as the sun was setting. My peas were in a major thaw, so my primary goal on ship was to make a mad dash for my mini refrigerator, though my so-called "freezer" compartment probably wasn't big enough to store my 'Giant Economy Size Family Pack' of baby peas. Nuts. I should have bought broccoli florets; they probably would have taken longer to thaw.

"Miss Andrew," the security guy at the ship's entrance said as I handed him my room key/identity card. He checked the information in his computer, then made a little whistling sound. "I'm going to have to keep this, so you'll need to visit the Guest Relations Desk on deck four to be issued a new one."

"A new key? What's wrong with that one?"

"Your name is flagged on the computer. That's all I can tell you."

"Why is my name flagged?"

"They'll tell you at Guest Relations, ma'am."

I was so irritated by this further disruption of my schedule that I didn't even bother getting upset about the "ma'am" thing. I charged up to deck four by way of the central staircase and took my place at the back of a ridiculously long line where people were purchasing tickets, exchanging tickets, and switching table assignments. By the time I got to the desk, twenty minutes had elapsed and I had enough water in my plastic grocery bag to support marine life. "Do you have another key for me?" I asked the agent wearily. "Emily Andrew?"

He punched something into his computer, consulted the screen, then unlocked a drawer, riffled through the contents, and handed me an envelope. "A new stateroom assignment for you, Miss Andrew. Sorry for the inconvenience."

"What happened to my old stateroom?"

"You've been upgraded."

I bobbled my grocery bag, sloshing water everywhere. The agent grinned. "Ice cream?"

"Baby peas. Why have I been upgraded?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, but your steward has already moved your belongings, so you can go right up to your new cabin."

I glanced at the number on the envelope. Cabin number fifteen-fifty-eight. "What deck is this on?"

"Deck ten." He gestured with his thumb. "Straight up."

"And you can't tell me why I'm being moved?"

He gave me a two-handed palms up and shook his head. "Sorry. Enjoy your peas."

I hopped the elevator to deck ten and found cabin fifteen-fifty-eight close to the elevator bank on the ship's starboard side -- which said to me, outside cabin! I inserted my key and opened the door, then stood paralyzed in the doorway, sure someone had made a terrible mistake.

The room expanded to penthouse proportions. Directly opposite me stood floor-to-ceiling glass panels that looked out on a long private balcony. A baby grand piano occupied the center of the room on a circle of inlaid tile. Pillars rose to my right and left, guarding the foyer, while other pillars marked the entry to the bedroom and the dining area. An elegant sectional sofa wrapped around the outer wall, perfectly positioned for its occupants to watch the flatscreen TV that occupied the interior wall. Potted plants abounded. Plush pillows. A circular coffee table with a quartet of armchairs surrounding it.

I crept farther into the room, my eyes flitting from corner to corner. Recessed lighting. Glass dining table. Minibar. Wet bar with full-sized refrigerator. Hot damn! I raced across the floor, dropped my bag into the sink, and stuffed my baby peas into the freezer.

I ranged a look across the room to the bedroom and sprinted in that direction.
Oh, my God.
King-size bed with closet space galore and glass doors opening onto the balcony. I slid the closet door open to find my clothes hung up and all my shoes neatly arranged on the floor. I ran into the bathroom, dazzled by the whirlpool tub, the separate shower, and double sink. It even had a bidet, though I had yet to figure out how to use those things.

I strolled back out to the living room, wondering who was to blame for assigning me the wrong stateroom, because somebody had definitely goofed up. In my experience giving a guest an upgrade usually meant transferring them to a room with a coffeemaker, or a toilet that flushed. It never meant giving them the room with the baby grand.

I picked up the phone, hesitant to make the call, but knowing it was the only thing to do. The way my luck usually worked, I'd just get settled in when the real occupants of the room would show up at the door. And guess who'd be out on her ear?

"This is Emily Andrew in cabin fifteen-fifty-eight," I announced to the man who answered my call. "There's been a mistake. I'm not in the right room. This looks like the penthouse suite, and my cruise package basically entitled me to an interior cabin in the bilge."

I heard a flurry of clicks on a computer keyboard. "There's no mistake, Miss Andrew. Cabin fifteen-fifty-eight, which is our Royal Family Suite with balcony, is your new assigned cabin."

"But I didn't
pay
for a Royal Family Suite with balcony."

"The extra charges have been paid by someone else."

Someone else?
"Does the 'someone else' have a name?"

More keyboard activity. "Your benefactor wishes to remain anonymous. Is there anything else?"

I had an anonymous benefactor?
Uff da
. Was this a scene straight out of
Great Expectations,
or what? "So this is actually my cabin? No one is going to kick me out? I have your word on it?"

"My name is Jason. If you have any problems, feel free to contact me and I'll take care of it personally. Although, you do realize that occupancy in our Royal Family Suite with balcony does entitle you to concierge service?"

I sat down after I disconnected, stunned. Was concierge service like having your own valet or butler? Someone to press your clothes and polish your shoes and draw your bath for you? Hmm. I wondered how they'd feel about styling my hair and blow-drying my shoulder bag.

I was gazing around the room, trying to guess how much this cabin had set someone back, when it hit me. Duh! This wasn't about the money. It was about all the intangibles I'd talked about earlier. Intimacy. Nurturing. Commitment. It was Etienne's way of making amends for his long absence!

I leaned back in my chair, accustoming myself to the opulence of my surroundings. Wow. He didn't do anything halfway.

Awash with excitement, I slid the phone over, read the printed instructions on how to make an overseas call, and punched in Etienne's number. I didn't care if the going rate
was
an astronomical $7.50 a minute. A surprise like this was simply too spectacular to ignor --

"This is Miceli."

"You are
the
sweetest man! This is the most incredible, the most romantic --"

"Please leave a short message," his voice continued. "I'll get back to you."
Beeeeeeeeeeep!

I opened my mouth, disappointment spilling out in fractured phrases. "You're not...Shoot! Umm...I wanted...Never mind. Umm...Will you --"

CLICK.

Damn! Well, he'd know it was me. He'd call me back. But in the meantime, I couldn't keep my good fortune to myself. I punched up another number.

"You won't believe where I am," I gushed when Nana picked up.

"Emily? Are you all right, dear? We been real worried about you."

"I'm fine. Never been better! I'm in a cabin with a whirlpool bath, a baby grand piano, and get this, concierge service. And...I'm in love!"

"No kiddin'?" A pause. "Who with?"

"With Etienne, of course! He's talking about a ring, Nana. And commitment. And he surprised me with this unbelievable room upgrade. I could burst!"

"How nice for you, dear. Is that fella Jonathan there with you? We was frettin' about him, too."

"Jonathan. Oh, my God. Wait 'til you hear about Jonathan." I gave her the blow-by-blow -- from boat mishap, to rescue, to ambulance ride to the hospital. "They're keeping him overnight for observation, but I expect they'll release him tomorrow. So, did the bus driver wait for us at all before he decided to take off?"

"'Bout fifteen minutes, then he said he had to get us back to the ship 'cause he was on a schedule. But a couple a them outfitters stayed behind with a van to drive the three a you back once you showed up. I guess they have to make allowances for people bein' late when the wind kicks up like it done today."

"Three of us? Who else was missing besides me and Jonathan?"

"One a them Norwegians. The wiry one what wears his hair like Farrah Fawcett used to. It was the strangest thing. All three a them was at the boat ramp when we got back, but when it come time to leave, the little one went missin'. Nils said we should go on without the little fella 'cause he sometimes liked to explore on his own, so that's what we done. The Coconut Market Place is just up the road from there, so I'm thinkin' he went shoppin' for souvenirs."

Souvenirs, or a pawnshop to get rid of whatever he and his buddies had dug up at the Secret Falls today? I suspected he'd make his way back to the ship with a lot more money than when he'd left.

Frustrated, I slumped down in my chair and rubbed the knot on my forehead. None of this was turning out the way I'd hoped. I just wish I knew what the Vikings had found, why one of them had disappeared, and if those two incidents were connected to Professor Smoker's death. "Switching gears completely, what are you and Tilly signed up for tomorrow? Are you going to try to do your zodiac raft trip?"

"Nope. We're all doin' the same thing we done today, only we're actually gonna dig. No more gawkin' at the scenery. Tomorrow, we're gettin' down and dirty." She lowered her voice in a secret agent kind of tone. "We even picked up some dessert spoons for what Tilly calls 'more refined diggin'.'"

Oh, God. I shook my head tiredly. "You stole more silverware at dinner tonight, didn't you?"

"You bet. But we're gonna give it back!"

Okay, so what if the Vikings
had
already found the treasure? Nana and the gang would still have a good time looking. They'd certainly had a great time today. And no one had gotten hurt.

Well, no one except...me. "Sounds good, Nana. Go for it."

"You wanna join us, dear?"

"I'm doing Kauai by air tomorrow, but maybe I'll catch an aerial view of you paddling up the Wailua from the helicopter." Which reminded me in a roundabout way of a question that had been burning a hole in my brain since yesterday. "Say, Nana, this might be a stupid question, but who discovered America?"

"Bjarni Herjulfsson," she said without missing a beat. "Why do you ask, dear? I thought everyone knew that."

Having missed dinner, and deciding that half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich wouldn't sustain me until morning, I took a quick shower, blow-dried my hair and my shoulder bag, and reluctantly left the luxury of my Royal Family Suite for the Coconut Palms Cafe, which was now only one deck above me.

The cafe wasn't a popular place at night. Most passengers preferred ordering from the menu in the main dining room rather than schlepping a plate around an archipelago of food islands. But for those who preferred casual cuisine to elegant, the cafe was the place to be, the bonus being, you had the whole restaurant, and every morsel of food in every overflowing serving tray, all to yourself.

I filled a plate with a sampling of fruit salad, tropical salad, pasta salad, spinach salad, and seafood salad, then pondered where, amid the sea of empty tables, I wanted to sit. This was more overwhelming than walking down the cereal aisle at Fareway Food!

I finally set my tray down at a table conveniently located near the dessert station. But as I pulled the chair out, I realized I didn't have the whole cafe to myself.

At the far end of the room, in a shadowy corner far removed from the soft spill of overhead lighting, I saw a solitary person hunched over a plate of food, her back facing me. And though I couldn't see her face, I had no trouble recognizing who it was.