"Last time I saw you, you were planning to head home." I set my tray down on her table. "What happened?"
Bailey Howard slid her designer specs higher on her nose as she looked up at me. "All flights out of Kauai are booked solid. Aloha Airlines apologized profusely, but they're down a plane because of instrument problems, so I'm out a seat until we arrive in Maui." Her gaze drifted to the lump over my eye. "What did you do? Get coldcocked by a coconut?"
"Boating accident. Mind if I join you?"
"Be my guest. After the day I had, I could use some company."
"That doesn't sound good. What happened? Did it go badly with the police?"
She shook her head. "They were really nice. Took my statement, then told me I was free to go. Easier said than done. So I ended up spending the entire day in my cabin, climbing the walls."
I set my flatware out, shook out my napkin, and dug in while Bailey scanned the cafe with wary eyes.
"I probably shouldn't be here right now, but one more minute in that cabin and I would have ended up in a rubber room. That cubicle isn't a stateroom; it's a prison. If I had claustrophobia, I'd never be able to survive."
If she had claustrophobia, she probably would have been advised to cash in her 401K so she could afford the cabin with the piano, flatscreen TV, Jacuzzi, and floor-to-ceiling glass wall with attached balcony. "I -- uh, I got a chance to talk to one of Professor Smoker's students today," I said as I chomped down on a pineapple chunk. "A woman by the name of Jen. I think you probably know her. Blond hair? Killer tan? She accosted you and Professor Smoker after his lecture yesterday?"
"Jennifer French." She exhaled a quick breath. "The bitch."
A waiter in a red vest and pressed trousers took my drink order and hurried off to fill it. "I got the impression from a brief conversation that she thinks the same thing about you."
Bailey leaned back in her chair, taking a moment to polish her glasses on her napkin. "You know what I wish? I wish the earth would open up and swallow Jennifer French whole."
"I heard she was yelling at you outside the infirmary last night."
"You
heard? The whole ship probably heard!"
"What's her problem?"
"I gave her an F on a final exam last semester, and she won't let me forget it."
"You flunked her? You were teaching a course?"
"Yeah. For the past two years." She paused for the waiter to serve my iced tea before speaking again. "I was Professor Smoker's teaching assistant. Jen cheated on her final exam, so I flunked her. Well,
we
flunked her. She pleaded her case before the honor board, but they arrived at the same conclusion. She'd gotten hold of copies of past exams, so she knew in general what the final essay question would be, and that's cheating."
"A lot of colleges make previous final exams available to students. Where's the crime in that?"
"Professor Smoker
never
made his exams public. That's the difference. We have a strict code of honor at the university, and Jen violated it, so she got exactly what she deserved. An F."
Uh-oh. "Did that F prevent her from graduating?"
"Of course it did. But she's not going to lay that at my doorstep. It was her own fault. She tried to convince Professor Smoker to overrule the board's decision, but their ruling is always final. Not that that meant anything to her. Why do you think she's on this cruise? She wanted to get Professor Smoker alone in paradise so she could work on him to manipulate the board into changing its decision. Unfortunately, she made such a scene after the lecture yesterday that he told her not to approach him again until she grew up. She left in a huge huff, which is pretty typical behavior for her."
"And that's the last time they saw each other?"
"As far as I know."
But I wasn't so sure. "If you and Professor Smoker parted company while he checked out the golf simulators, they could have seen each other again." I looked her square in the eye. "It could have been Jennifer who confronted him at the rail. You said yourself you weren't sure if the person was a man or a woman."
"But..." Bailey's eyes widened in shock. "Are you implying that Jennifer might have killed Professor Smoker? Look, she may be a certifiable nutcase, but I don't think she's capable of murder."
"You'd be surprised who's capable of murder." I chased a shrimp around my plate with a fork, trying to look nonchalant. "I guess you knew Jennifer was sleeping with the professor."
Bailey's mouth tightened in what I gauged was either anger or pain. "They all wanted a piece of him. It was a constant feeding frenzy. They were always throwing themselves at his feet, and he couldn't say no."
Seemed intellectuals had trouble with the simple thiings in life, like one syllable words.
"But I can't
believe
she'd kill him over a freaking grade!" She propped her elbows on the table and braced her forehead in her palms. "What was the big deal? She could have signed up for another semester. Gone to summer school. Taken a course online. It wasn't the end of the world."
"Maybe it was to her. Did she miss out on the job of a lifetime because she didn't graduate on time?"
"How should I know? Her major was archaeology. I don't keep up with all the disciplines. But I suppose --" She expelled a long puff of air and pinched her eyes shut. "I think I read something about a private firm holding interviews on campus to recruit seniors for a major dig someplace in Africa. Maybe that's what set her off. But this is so deranged! The World Navigators and the Sandwich Islanders hated Professor Smoker. They're the ones who threatened his life. They're the ones he was supposed to be worrying about. Not Jennifer French."
Sandwich Islanders.
Damn. "Um...speaking of Sandwich Islanders, you're probably not in the mood for any more bad news, but I saw Professor Smoker's name scribbled on the back of one of their business cards today."
"Why is that bad news?"
"Because the scribbling appeared to be a hit list, and Professor Smoker's name was at the top."
"Hit list? Are you serious?" She pressed her fingertips to her mouth. "You see? I told you they hated him. I told you --"
"The really bad news is, your name was next."
"My --?" Panic starred her eyes like Independence Day sparklers. She clutched my arm. "Where's the card? Let me see it. If the police need evidence, this'll --"
I groaned. "I don't have the card."
"Who does?"
"No one does. It's sitting in a backpack at the bottom of the Wailua River." I tapped the lump above my eye. "The boating accident I mentioned? I got wounded. The backpack drowned."
"So...so what am I supposed to do?" She slapped her hands on the table and tapped her fingers in agitation. "I'm on the Islanders' hit list. Jennifer hates me. Everyone knows I witnessed Professor Smoker's murder. And the Navigators are threatening to file suit against the cruise line if I don't take over the lectures for all the Cook excursions. They
really
want me off on my own, and one can only ask why. So tell me: how am I supposed to fend off all my detractors until we reach Maui?"
I wondered if that was a rhetorical question, or if she really wanted an answer.
"Well?" she prodded.
Okay. She really wanted an answer. "This probably isn't the answer you want to hear, but I think your only option is to stay in your cabin and order room service."
"I can't
stay
in that cabin another day!" she wailed. "I'll lose my mind. There's only one movie channel and it keeps replaying
Weekend at Bernie's
-- a film about a man who spends a normal weekend partying and water-skiing. The only thing is, HE'S DEAD! How can you water-ski if you're dead? The worst movie in the history of filmmaking...and they keep torturing me with it!"
"Have you checked the listings for tomorrow?" I hedged.
"No. Why?"
"There's a sequel."
She slumped forward onto the table and crossed her arms over her head. Poor thing.
Weekend at Bernie's II
did seem like cruel and unusual punishment. "If you want to escape from your cabin tomorrow, you could come on the helicopter tour with me."
She uncrossed her arms and lifted her head. "Are you crazy? Helicopters are death traps. They crash all the time over here. No way are you going to get me into one. You have any other suggestions?"
I shrugged. "You could sign up for the Wailua River Kayak Adventure. My group of Iowans are planning to do that tomorrow. You've already met my grandmother and Tilly, and there's nine more that'll be going. You'd be pretty safe if you stick with the group."
"Kayaking sounds a lot more inviting than another day climbing my cabin walls." She bobbed her head back and forth with indecision. "Okay, I'll do it. But will you come with me while I buy my ticket?" She darted a look around the room. "I'd feel better if I wasn't alone."
After accompanying Bailey to Guest Relations and escorting her back to her room, I headed for the General Store on deck five to check out rental costumes for the big Halloween party.
Racks of costumes filled half the store's floor space, satisfying every fantasy imaginable. Southern belles. Belly dancers. Pirates. Clowns. Cowboys. Vampires. Gladiators. Mother Goose characters. Knights. Ladies-in-waiting. Marvel Comic characters. Disney characters. Looney Tune characters. Civil War generals. Roaring Twenties flappers. Hollywood movie stars. And a healthy assortment of fruits and vegetables. There were shelves of wigs, theatrical makeup, beards, mustaches, full-face masks, half masks, and a wall of accessories that included medieval and modern weaponry, gaudy jewelry, eyewear, fake teeth, and enough feather boas to start an aviary. I made a quick choice, grabbed it off the rack, charged it to my room, then made my way through a series of adjoining rooms until I arrived at the room I was looking for.
The Picture Gallery was a maze of glass display cases showcasing all the photos our eager photographer had snapped so far. I heard oohs, aahs, and peals of laughter as passengers milled in front of the cases, poking fingers at faces they recognized. I was hoping that if some individual photos of the group turned out well, I could use them in my proposed newsletter.
I circled the perimeter, reading signs labeled
DAY ONE -- AT SEA
and
DAY TWO -- WELCOME TO KAUAI
. Squeezing between two groups of onlookers, I worked my way to the front of the
DAY ONE
case and began skimming pictures.
I found a rather striking photo of Nils, Ansgar, and Gjurd as they boarded the ship -- boy, Ansgar's hair was really photogenic -- and a typical one of the two Dicks as they made horns of their fingers behind their wives' heads. I cringed at the photo of myself in my big orange life vest during the lifeboat drill. Why did I always have to have my mouth open and my eyes closed? Though I supposed some people might accuse me of going through life that way.
I scanned random shots of guests gambling in the casino, one of Bernice scowling into the camera as she explored the spa, one of Margi opening a moist towelette packet with her teeth, and several photos of Professor Dorian Smoker as he delivered the last lecture he would ever give on Captain James Cook.
I studied the man in the navy cardigan and baggy Dockers, wondering what mysteries he'd taken to the grave with him. He'd seen his killer's face. If only he'd left some kind of clue behind that would help us identify who it was. Were we overlooking something?
I scrutinized the half dozen other lecture room photos, spying Nana and Tilly, but discovering that yours truly was completely hidden behind a man whose head was even larger than Dick Teig's, if that was possible. I picked out Nils near the front, bookended by Ansgar and Gjurd, and nodded with satisfaction when I located Percy and Basil in seats near the back. So they had attended the lecture. Why wasn't I surprised?
There were scads of people I didn't recognize at all, and a few who looked vaguely familiar. Was that the muscle shirt guy sitting beside Gjurd? Sure looked like his stomach. And there was Bailey in the front row, looking studious and intelligent as she hung on Dorian Smoker's every word, her head angled so that her hair looked like an explosion in progress. I focused more intently on the photo, trying to identify the man sitting directly behind her. The hair and glasses made me think it could be Jonathan, but it was hard to ID someone with only half a head. I noticed a blurry image of Jennifer French standing near the back wall, but couldn't find Shelly anywhere. Of course, the photographer's lens hadn't captured everyone who'd been in the room. Me, for example.
I returned back to the boarding photos, and after poring over what seemed like a couple million, I found a terrific picture of Osmond and Alice and a really cute shot of --
I did a quick double take, arrested by the image of a man whose shoulders filled the entire photo and whose eyes looked hot enough to singe glass. Wow, Duncan really dressed up the ole
Aloha Princess
backdrop. I wondered how his excursion had --
Duncan? Oh, my God!
I checked my watch. I was supposed to meet him in ten minutes!
I charged into the Anchor Bar a few minutes later and paused at the entrance, allowing my eyes to adjust to the room's lack of light. I squinted at the petite sofas and pedestal tables that crowded the floor and whistled at the focal point of the room -- a circular acrylic bar that was illuminated with the blues and aquamarines of a tropical sea. As I stepped into the room, I could make out a handful of couples occupying couches at opposite ends of the room, but nowhere within the intimate confines of the Anchor Bar could I see Duncan's mane of blond hair, which could only mean one thing.
I was early.
Struggling to catch my breath, I sat down on one of the sofas and smiled at a miniskirted barmaid as she headed in my direction.
"Are you Emily?"
I guess I'd been foolish to think she might actually ask me what I wanted to drink. "I'm Emily, but I'm a little afraid to ask why you're asking."
She handed me an envelope. "A really good-looking guy stopped in a while ago and said to give this to a brunette named Emily who'd be coming in around ten. Guess that would be you. Can I get you a drink? Mr. Universe already paid for it."