Hula Done It? Part 18

Okay, so I was fairly confident I was on the right track. Or...at least pretty sure.

All right, so it was a shot in the dark. Crime solving was not my chosen career path.

"Ignore all the sourp.u.s.s.es," Margi told me. "We have a few people in the group who are a little cranky because they don't like their Halloween costumes, and they're taking it out on those of us who had the foresight to rent early." She smirked at Bernice and Lucille, who turned in unison to smirk back. "Go ahead, Emily," she encouraged. "Tell us what you've got."

"Okay, I'll explain a little about the person in each photo, then I'll pa.s.s the print around the room so you can get a closer look. When I'm done, I'll a.s.sign a photo to each of you, and that's the person you'll be responsible for following until we reach Maui."

Helen Teig raised her hand. "You want us to spy on people for the next three hours? But that'll interfere with dinner. When are we supposed to eat?"

Imminent starvation was apparently a huge fear for women weighing two thousand pounds and over. "There's only one show in town tonight: a huge Halloween buffet in the main dining room, starting at seven. All you can eat, open seating. I a.s.sume our suspects will have to eat, so do your best to keep an eye on them while you're making your way through the buffet line. If you're clever, you might even be able to wrangle a seat at the same table with them."

"How are we gonna recognize 'em if they're wearin' masks?" Nana asked.

"I've written names and cabin numbers on the back of their photos. Once you're in costume, casually stake out their rooms to check out what they're wearing, then don't let them out of your sight."

"What are we supposed to be looking for?" d.i.c.k Teig piped up. "You think someone's gonna be dumb enough to be carrying that box around with them?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But if any of them do anything to give themselves away, we need to be there to catch them. Okay, suspect number one." I held up the first photo. "Jennifer French. Some of you might remember her as the foul-tempered blonde from the Secret Falls. She had a grudge against Professor Smoker and was in a good position to steal the box last night. If she heads for the disembarkation deck when we reach Maui, do whatever you have to do, but don't let her off the s.h.i.+p."

I handed the photo to Tilly and held up the next one. "Nils Nilsson. Member of the World Navigators Club, with a criminal history that includes a.s.sault against a university history professor. He apparently isn't fond of anyone who promotes explorers of non-Scandinavian descent. I think this guy could be a very bad dude."

Helen Teig shot out of her chair and s.n.a.t.c.hed the photo from my hand. "Say, this is the fella that gave me a whole bag of Skittles clear out of the blue on the first day of the cruise. Why'd he do that? How'd he know I like Skittles? You think he might have been stalking me?" She held the picture up to the light, an appreciative smile teasing her lips. "He's a big one, isn't he?" A little twinkle lit her eyes. "You don't need to hand this one around, Emily. I'll take him."

"Down in front!" Bernice sniped. "The rest of us can't see!"

"This is Nils's sidekick," I said, holding up a predinner photo of my next suspect. "His name is Gjurd. I don't know anything about him other than if he hangs around with Nils, he's probably in cahoots with him. He might be his strong-arm man or something."

"What about the young fella with the pretty hair?" Margi questioned.

I held my breath for a moment before exhaling. "Ansgar. Right. Um, Ansgar was involved in that bad mishap on the Secret Falls hiking trail yesterday, and...and I'm afraid he didn't survive his injuries."

Margi's face turned Clorox white. "That nice young fella is dead? The one who ate dinner with us? Oh, my goodness. And to think I'd been mustering my courage to ask him a very personal question. In English, of course. I don't speak Norwegian, except for a few cusswords."

"What were you fis.h.i.+ng for?" crowed Bernice. "His phone number?"

"The name of his shampoo. You don't get body like that using ordinary over-the-counter hair products." She sighed dismally before looking up at me. "Two people dead in four days, Emily? That's not a normal death rate for holiday travel, is it?"

"Four's about normal," Nana said helpfully. "That's what we averaged in Italy."

"I told you that trail needed more signs," d.i.c.k Teig proclaimed. "That fella probably got lost on the same trail we did and broke his neck falling down that d.a.m.ned embankment."

"His neck wasn't the problem," I hedged. "It was his skull. Someone apparently altered the shape of it with a lethal blow then made off with all his identification."

Gasps. Whispers. Tooth sucking.

"So he was murdered," Tilly declared, her voice vibrating with uncharacteristic anxiety. "Perhaps by the same person who killed the professor?"

I nodded. "That's my guess."

"Which means our miscreant has struck not once, but twice?" She shook her head. "I don't like those statistics. Go on with your talk, Emily." She bowed her head in my direction, and whispered behind her hand, "And you might want to hurry."

"Basil Broomhead." I held his photo up like a cue card. "He may have been the last person to see Professor Smoker alive." I flashed the next picture. "Percy Woodruffe-Peac.o.c.k. The flip side of Percy's business card is annotated with two names: Professor Dorian Smoker and Bailey Howard. I think these annotations comprise an actual hit list. Suspect number six: Sh.e.l.ly Valentine."

The two d.i.c.ks elbowed each other as I displayed a DAY ONE DAY ONE photo of Sh.e.l.ly in her hot pink halter top and cheek-hugging short shorts. "Sh.e.l.ly may have nothing to do with any of this, but she was sleeping with Professor Smoker, so in my book that earns her billing with everyone else." photo of Sh.e.l.ly in her hot pink halter top and cheek-hugging short shorts. "Sh.e.l.ly may have nothing to do with any of this, but she was sleeping with Professor Smoker, so in my book that earns her billing with everyone else."

d.i.c.k Stolee rocketed his hand into the air, his tongue hanging down to his belt buckle. "I'll take that one, Emily."

Grace thwacked him on the arm. "In your dreams."

"My last photo is Bailey Howard, and you know what she looks like because you were with her all day yesterday. But I'm adding her to our picture gallery because rumor has it that her academic career could actually be furthered by Professor Smoker's death."

Margi executed a little finger wave to draw my attention. "I don't mean to sound dumb, Emily, but how would Bailey have found time to kill Ansgar if she was with us all day yesterday?"

"An excellent question. And the answer is --" I let out a ragged breath. "I don't have a clue. We have a lot of puzzle pieces that don't fit yet."

"Bailey knew we found the treasure," Bernice blurted out. "I betcha she's the one who stole it."

"She was seasick along with everyone else last night, so that's a stretch," I allowed. "But she might have mentioned it to one of the other suspects. Or better yet" -- I fisted my hands on the table and directed a long, pointed look at Bernice -- "someone else else in our group might have had loose lips and told a whole in our group might have had loose lips and told a whole slew slew of people." of people."

Ten heads snapped around to stare at Bernice, who s.h.i.+fted nervously in her chair before sticking her chin out in self-defense. "Why are you looking at me? I took your stupid oath of silence! Do I look like the kind of person who'd blow off an oath?"

"We didn't make you swear on a Bible," Lucille accused. "Maybe you took advantage of the loophole."

Osmond jumped to his feet. "Show of hands. How many think Bernice blabbed?"

Ten hands darted into the air.

"Majority rules. You blabbed."

"If I blabbed, may G.o.d send the upper deck cras.h.i.+ng down onto my head this very second!"

Screams. Shouts. Everyone doubled over, flinging their arms over their heads to protect against concussion, cranial trauma, and all other forms of divine retribution.

I ducked down and cringed at the ceiling, relieved when the overhead panels didn't rain down on the baby grand. Five seconds pa.s.sed. Ten.

Osmond poked his head out from beneath his arms to give the ceiling a distrustful look. "d.a.m.n. She might be telling the truth."

I marked the hour on my watch. "Come on, you guys. We don't have much time left. Let's go over this again so I know we're on the same page. When I cut you loose, what are you going to do?"

"Get into our costumes," said Alice.

"Loiter casually in the corridors so's we know what our suspects are wearin' to the Halloween bash," added Nana.

"Eat," bellowed Helen.

I nodded approval. "And what's the most important thing you're going to do tonight?"

"Eat," repeated Helen.

I gave her a withering look.

"I'm going to hand out condoms," said Margi. "It's not a widely known fact, but posing in a costume can sometimes alter a person's psyche. The subject begins to a.s.sume the qualities of the person he or she is playing and can even start exhibiting the same behavior, which often causes increased hormonal activity that can trigger episodes of uncontrollable s.e.xual arousal. It's a real problem."

Nana raised her hand politely. "I'm sorry. How's that a problem?"

Oh, G.o.d. "Okay, just to refresh your memories. Bailey is the only person among our suspects who's scheduled to disembark in Maui, so if you see anyone "Okay, just to refresh your memories. Bailey is the only person among our suspects who's scheduled to disembark in Maui, so if you see anyone other other than her leaving, jump on them. Got it? That's your primary mission this evening. I'll be in a conspicuous place in the dining room, so please check in with me every so often to let me know how you're doing. Any questions?" than her leaving, jump on them. Got it? That's your primary mission this evening. I'll be in a conspicuous place in the dining room, so please check in with me every so often to let me know how you're doing. Any questions?"

When no hands went up, I nodded with satisfaction. "All righty, let's get those photographs divided up."

A minor skirmish erupted between the d.i.c.ks over who'd be a.s.signed to Sh.e.l.ly Valentine, so I resolved the problem with King-Solomon-like wisdom by handing her over to Bernice.

"Thanks a bunch, Emily," d.i.c.k Teig griped as I escorted him to the door. "I'll be burning up with s.e.xual pa.s.sion, and who will I get to ogle?" He slapped the front of his a.s.signed photo. "Some English wacko in short pants and a bow tie. I'll remember that when it comes time for your evaluation."

After I'd shown the last person out, I scooted back to the desk in the living room and read the items that remained on my list. I'd already crossed out BUY PHOTOS FROM PHOTO GALLERY and HAVE CONCIERGE PROVIDE SUSPECTS' CABIN NUMBERS. I drew a line through a.s.sIGN PHOTOS TO GROUP, then stabbed the next item with the point of my pen. CALL ETIENNE.

Feeling equal parts antic.i.p.ation and dread, I punched up his number "This is Miceli," he said in his steamy baritone. "Please leave a short message. I'll get back --"

I slammed the phone down, unwelcome tears blurring my eyes. He wanted to make amends? He wanted to make it up to me? Sure he did. That's why he was falling all over himself to answer the message I'd left on his machine two freaking days ago!

I swiped moisture from my cheeks with an angry hand and scratched his name off my list. "Take that, Etienne Miceli," I sniffled, disguising my hurt as anger. But, hey, it was Halloween. Everything was parading around in costume. Even my emotions.

Proceeding to the last item on my list, I dried my eyes and punched up another number on the phone. "Are you through not being seasick?" I teased when Duncan answered.

"Completely." He lowered his voice seductively. "Are you through not pining over your no-account Swiss police inspector?"

Was I? d.a.m.n. It was time to stop waffling. I was old enough to be a ma'am, for G.o.d's sakes. I had to make a decis -- "Yeah," I blurted out before I had a chance to change my mind. "I'm...I'm through."

I could hear him smile through the phone. "I could be at your cabin in five minutes."

"I'm scheduled to do the buffet bash with my group, so I'll be tied up for a while."

"No worries, I had plans to do the buffet myself. I'll find you in the dining room."

"I'll be in costume, but without a mask, so you shouldn't have any trouble spying me."

His voice sizzled like a low current through an electrical wire. "With a mask, without a mask. You could be dressed in a soup can and I'd still know it was you."

He said it with so much conviction, I almost believed him.

Relieved not to be dithering anymore, I raced into the bedroom and grabbed my costume from the closet, my heartbeat quickening inexplicably when the phone on the bedside table began ringing. I stared at it in trepidation for a moment before charging around the bed and ripping it off the hook. "Etienne?"

"It's Nana, dear. Since you're the one what's gonna tail that Jennifer, I thought I'd let you know that Tilly and me seen her in the elevator, and she's all dressed up in black rubber."

I tried to visualize that. "What's she supposed to be? A Michelin tire?"

"I think she's s'posed to be Catwoman, on account a she had a tail."

"She's kind of early for the buffet, isn't she?"

"She told someone on the elevator that she was headin' to the rental shop 'cause her zipper got stuck and she wanted 'em to fix it. She was afraid if she fiddled with it, she'd break it, and she didn't wanna get stuck payin' for no damages."

"Catwoman, huh? I owe you one, Nana. Thanks." I could picture Jennifer French as Catwoman -- a self-absorbed, sharp-clawed creature with a poorly disguised vicious streak. But I was hoping that unlike your average feline, Jennifer would have a lot fewer than nine lives.

I strutted into the dining room at precisely seven o'clock in my thigh-high boots, French-cut blue satin shorts speckled with white stars, strapless red bustier trimmed in gold, wide metal belt, tasteful gold tiara, bracelets that fit like soda cans, and att.i.tude. My face was painted, rouged, and dusted with s.h.i.+mmering powder. My eyes were lined, smudged, and mas-caraed in a deep black. My lips were outlined, stained, and polished with candy apple gloss. As I watched heads turn and jaws drop at my entrance, I realized Margi hadn't been spinning idle yarns about taking on the personality of the character you're disguised as. With missile-deflecting bracelets hugging my forearms and a gold la.s.so strapped to my waist, I wasn't just dressed dressed like Wonder Woman. I like Wonder Woman. I was was Wonder Woman. Wonder Woman.

I had my fingers crossed that the uncontrollable s.e.xual arousal part was true, too.

I felt glances sidling left and right to check me out as I cut a sa.s.sy path through the gathering crowd. I saw brows lift in shock. Heads tip with curiosity. Mouths curve in admiration. I heard throaty growls of approval. Conspicuous lip smacking. A few low whistles. And why not?

I was hot. Not only did my legs start at my throat, but my bustier was inset with a push-up bra that did for my chest what yeast did for bread dough -- the only problem being, if I made the mistake of bending over, I'd probably knock myself out.

I surveyed the room with my superhero vision, a.s.sessing the guests, the food, the decorations. Paper skeletons and witches on broomsticks hung from the ceiling, dangling over tables that had been s.h.i.+fted to one side of the room. Carved jack-o'-lanterns perched in the center of each table. Cornstalks nestled in obvious corners. Food islands angled across the floor, tempting partygoers with aromas that were sweet and spicy, piquant and peppery. Guests huddled in scattered circles, masked and unmasked, everyone living out some alter ego fantasy. I eyed the Lone Ranger in his little black mask and white "good guy" outfit. Little Bo Beep encased in an igloo of ruffly pink flounces with a ribboned shepherd's staff. Count Dracula in his tuxedo, cape, widow's peak, and fake incisors. At least, I hoped they were fake. If not, he could forget about tearing into the corn on the cob I saw steaming under a nearby heat lamp.

"Emily?" a voice croaked close to my ear. "Holy c.r.a.p! Look at you."

I pivoted to find a six-foot broccoli spear practically standing on top of me. "Jonathan?" His bespectacled green face poked out of an opening three-quarters of the way up his stalk, but his arms were hidden somewhere beneath his fibrous beta carotene layer. I looked him up and down, root to floret, reaching an unexpected conclusion. "You know something, Jonathan, that color green really accentuates your eyes. Are you fresh or frozen?"

"Fresh. If I was frozen, I'd be in a major thaw right now. Emily, wow, you're so --" His gaze dipped to the acre of exposed cleavage rising above my bustier. "I mean, I never realized you were so...so --" his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he riffled through his vocabulary -- "tan."

"Instant bronzer. My ex-husband swears by it." I circled around him, testing his stalk with my fingertip. "Hey, how'd you manage to get into this thing with two arms in a sling? There's a zipper back here."

"I had the rental shop hold it for me and went down there to dress. And guess who I ran into while I was there?"

"Mmm, the tattooed blonde who looks like your ex-wife?"

His eyes rounded in amazement. "How did you know that?"

I shrugged one naked shoulder. "Goes with the territory. Remember? I'm Wonder Woman."

"Yeah," he said, his voice soft and breathy. "You sure are."

"So did the costume rental people get Jennifer's zipper unstuck?"

He stood very still, his mouth gaping open like a knot hole. "Man, this is awesome. It's the belt, isn't it? Wonder Woman's belt is the source of her superpowers. Who would have thought this stuff was actually real?"

I c.o.c.ked my hip and gave him a flirty wink. "You should see what I can do with my la.s.so. So Jonathan" -- I poked his broccoli belly with my forefinger -- "what about Jennifer?"

He gulped down a mouthful of oxygen, looking as if he were trying to prevent his florets from wilting. "Is that her name? Jennifer? What a whiner. I think someone should do the rest of the world a favor and put her out of her misery. She nearly took the clerk's head off when he told her the zipper was broken and he'd have to give her a new bodysuit. But you know what I overheard when she was jabbering with some of the female clerks?"

"h.e.l.lo, dear," said a short pa.s.serby in a belted tunic, leggings, and floppy mushroom cap of a hat. She wore a half-face mask, carried a miner's pick, and sported a slash of embroidery over her breast that read HAPPY HAPPY. She gave me a thumbs-up as she nodded toward one of the food islands. "Snow White and me are all over Bailey. But she's not in costume, so it's not too challengin'. Woulda been more excitin' followin' that Gjurd fella around. He's dressed like a Vikin', and you wouldn't believe the fine-lookin' gams he's got under that wolfskin skirt a his." Nana acknowledged Jonathan with a wink and a nod. "You better stay away from the appetizer table, dear. You look tasty enough to dip. Oops. There's Snow. Duty calls. We're gonna stalk Bailey while she gets her food."

I waved to Tilly, who stood pencil straight and shapeless in a low-cut, puffy-sleeved gown with a huge bow roosting atop her head of synthetic black hair. She waggled her cane at me as she flicked wisps of hair away from her face, but her wig was charged with so much static electricity, the hair kept flying back, attacking her cheeks like bats. That had to be annoying.

As I watched her and Nana trundle off, I blinked at the nearest food island, whipping around suddenly to stare at Jonathan.

"Like I was saying," Jonathan continued, "while I --"

"How are you planning to go through the buffet line?" I cut him off, gesturing to the two empty sockets in his stem. "Have you seen yourself? You have no arms."