Hula Done It? Part 2

"The kayak adventure." I'd kayaked on Lake Mendota when I'd attended the UW, and I was looking forward to wielding a paddle again.

After a few minutes the nurse returned and motioned us into the inner sanctum. "Bailey wants to thank you for your help. Follow me, would you?"

We trooped down a whitewashed corridor ablaze with incandescent light. m.u.f.fled voices floated out to us from behind examining rooms to our left and right, and at the end of the corridor, in a room opposite one labeled X-RAY X-RAY, we found Bailey Howard lying in a standard-size hospital cot, her eyes red and puffy behind her designer frames.

"Have they found him yet?" she asked without preamble.

I opened my mouth to reply, surprised when nothing came out. Bailey took one look at my face and dissolved into tears. "He's gone, isn't he? He's really gone."

I scurried to her cot and sat down on the edge. Nana poured water. Tilly yanked a tissue out of the box and held it at the ready. "I'm so sorry," I said, squeezing her hand.

She bowed her head, tears streaming down her cheeks and onto her chin. The nurse gave me the eye and quietly retreated. Bailey squeezed my hand tightly. "This isn't real. It can't be. How do I go back to school and tell them Professor Smoker is dead?"

Chances were the wire services would pick up the story and spread it worldwide before Bailey ever got the chance, but that's not what she needed to hear right now. "The cruise staff may have asked you this already, but is there someone you'd like us to contact for you? Your parents? Boyfriend?"

She slipped off her gla.s.ses and swiped tears from her face. "I don't have a boyfriend. And my parents are a joke. They're both off finding their 'inner child' -- with new spouses half their ages. I don't even know where they are right now."

"Tissue?" asked Tilly.

Bailey dried her eyes on the tissue and slid her gla.s.ses back on. "Thanks. The three of you have been so nice to me. You've been nicer than people who know me." She sniffled, looking suddenly guilty. "But that's my own fault, I guess. When you're working on a dissertation, you become pretty self-absorbed. Since I've been in grad school, I've shut out everyone except Professor Smoker...and...and the members of my major committee." She bowed her head. "He was everything to me. Mentor. Cheerleader. Coauthor of a half dozen critically acclaimed papers that appeared in some of the most prestigious refereed journals in the academic world. What am I going to do without him?"

When her bottom lip began to quiver, Nana pressed the water gla.s.s into her hand and encouraged her to drink. Nana visited hospital patients every week as part of her Legion of Mary duties, so her bedside manner had become the stuff of legend.

"We've all lost people who's dear to us," Nana empathized. "When I lost my Sam, I didn't know how I'd go on. Fifty-three years, we was married. We'd pretty much turned into each other, except for he had more hair growin' out his ears, so when I lost him, I lost a big piece a myself."

"I'm sorry." Bailey sniffled again. "Was he ill for very long?"

Nana shook her head. "It happened real sudden-like."

"Heart attack?"

"Ice shanty. And Tilly here lost her brother a few months back, didn't you, Til?"

"A tragic accident," Tilly said glumly. "He fell from his saddle during an ostrich race in Kuwait and was trampled by the rest of the pack. It was sad he couldn't have held on. He'd been in first place until then, and the grand prize was an oil well."

Bailey stared at Tilly, her breathing shallow.

"Even Emily's lost someone," Nana continued.

Bailey turned her soulful gaze on me and sniffed loudly. "Who did you lose?"

I whipped my head around at Nana. "Who did I lose?"

"Your young man, dear."

Bailey sucked in her breath. "You lost someone in a tragic accident, too?"

Why was it that the subject you wanted to talk about the least was the subject everyone else wanted to talk about the most? "I didn't lose anyone," I defended, but my halfhearted denial tipped Bailey off immediately.

"That's okay," she rasped through her grief. "You can tell me. What happened? Did your guy find another woman?" When I winced, she clapped her hand over her mouth. "Another man?"

"That woulda been her first husband," Nana said.

"ALL RIGHT!" I sputtered. "You want to know what happened? I'll tell you. But first you tell me: when a man tells you he loves you, what usually happens after that?"

"In what society?" asked Tilly.

"Great s.e.x," said Nana.

"He asks you to marry him," said Bailey.

I pointed my finger at Bailey. "Exactly. He proposes marriage. And when he tells you he has an important question to ask, you expect him to say, 'Will you marry me?' Right?"

The three women nodded.

"Well, not Etienne Miceli. Nooo Nooo. A marriage proposal from my black-haired, blue-eyed Swiss/ German/Italian police inspector with the washboard stomach and one percent body fat? Huh!"

"Are you going to mention the thong?" Tilly asked.

I rolled my eyes and plunged on. "After nine long months of phone calls, separation anxiety, and cybers.e.x, after an agonizing month dealing with his short-term memory loss, do you know what he finally remembers to ask me?"

Nana raised her hand. "I know, but I don't wanna spoil it for no one else."

"HE INVITES ME TO THE MICELI FAMILY REUNION NEXT MAY! Next May! May! It might as well be the next millennium. And why does he invite me to his family's reunion?" I gave Nana a take-it-away gesture. It might as well be the next millennium. And why does he invite me to his family's reunion?" I gave Nana a take-it-away gesture.

She sucked on her dentures and offered a little shrug. "You're goin' a little fast for me, dear. I'm still back at the part where you done the cybers.e.x."

I threw my hands into the air. "Because I have to meet his grandmother! It's mandatory. Before you can entertain even a fleeting thought about marrying into the Miceli family, you need to pa.s.s muster with Nonna Nonna Annunziata. And her appointment book is filled until next May because the family has grown so large. Just my luck -- Micelis are serial breeders." Annunziata. And her appointment book is filled until next May because the family has grown so large. Just my luck -- Micelis are serial breeders."

Tilly thwacked her walking stick on the leg of the cot. "Old world culture, Emily. These Swiss/ German/Italians aren't the kind of people who frequent Las Vegas wedding chapels."

"I don't think they do weddings, period."

"They love weddings," Tilly corrected. "But they're also known to have engagements that last forever. Italian men don't believe in rus.h.i.+ng into anything when they have the rest of their lives to plan the details."

"Well, I have no intention of being engaged for the rest of my life! I'm thirty years old. I have better things to do than wait for Etienne Miceli to parade me past all the relatives for their 'old world' approval. If he can't decide on his own that I'm the woman he wants to grow old with, then...then..."

I heaved an anguished sigh, feeling like a Mylar balloon with a helium deficiency. "What is it with me? All the men in the world, and I have to fall in love with an old-world European."

"You're thirty?" Bailey asked, awestruck. "I never would have guessed you were that old."

Oh, yeah. That made me feel a whole lot better.

Bailey tightened her hand around her tissue, her emotions unraveling. "This...this is the worst day of my life. You might have lost your boyfriend," she sobbed, "but I lost the man who's the head of my graduate committee. He was supposed to sign off on my dissertation! How am I supposed to finish my Ph.D. without him? I'm in debt up to my eyeteeth to pay for my education, and I could be left with nothing! No degree, no t.i.tle. No nothing!"

She stuck her hand out for another tissue. Tilly obliged.

"Was Professor Smoker in good health?" I asked gently, trying to redirect the conversation. "I mean, did he suffer from vertigo, or motion sickness, or some other kind of condition that might have caused him to lose his balance and fall over a five-foot-high rail?"

Bailey removed the tissue from her face and stared at me wide-eyed. "Fall? He didn't fall. He was pushed!"

Chapter 3.

"WHAT?".

Fresh tears scalded Bailey's cheeks. "It was horrible. I saw the professor struggling with someone near the aft rail. I screamed at them to stop. I yelled for help, but" -- her voice cracked -- "no one heard me! The deck was deserted! Two thousand pa.s.sengers on this s.h.i.+p, and not one of them was within earshot to help me!"

I stared at her, too numbed to say anything but, "He was pushed?"

"He was murdered!" Her tone grew screechy as she battled a rising sob. "The...the two of them disappeared behind the bulkhead when I was running toward them. I thought I could reach him in time to help, but...I wasn't fast enough." She sucked in her breath, then let it out again in a rush of words. "By the time I reached the stern, Professor Smoker was in the water and the man who pushed him was gone!"

"Fella musta run around the other side a the deck," Nana speculated. "Did you run after 'im?"

"No! I had to help Professor Smoker. I...I ripped a life ring from its box and tossed it over the side, but" -- her face grew crimped and red as she wailed out -- "but his head had already disappeared! I couldn't see him anymore!"

She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking, chest heaving. I wrapped my arms around her and patted her back. "You can't blame yourself."

"Yes, I can! If I'd run a little faster, Professor Smoker might not be dead!"

"If you'd run a little faster, you you might be dead," I said gently. "Think about it. After taking care of the professor, the killer might have turned his sights on you." might be dead," I said gently. "Think about it. After taking care of the professor, the killer might have turned his sights on you."

"I wish I was was dead," Bailey sobbed. "Everything I've worked for -- without Professor Smoker's imprimatur, it's not worth spit." dead," Bailey sobbed. "Everything I've worked for -- without Professor Smoker's imprimatur, it's not worth spit."

Nana retreated into the bathroom and returned with a paper towel compress. She placed it on Bailey's forehead. "At least you got a good look at the fella."

"But I didn't," she whimpered. "He was wearing a hooded sweats.h.i.+rt and sweatpants. I didn't see his face. I couldn't see his hair. I think it was a man, but I was so far away, I'm not even sure about that. For all I know, it could have been a woman! The captain asked me for a description when he looked in on me a little while ago, and all I could tell him was that the person was wearing a hooded gray warm-up outfit." Sobs. Tears. Nose blowing. "What good am I as an eyewitness? If they never catch Professor Smoker's killer, it'll be all my fault!"

I'd be more apt to fault the fas.h.i.+on industry for encouraging the unis.e.x look in athletic attire, but that was just a personal opinion.

"Why was Professor Smoker on deck twelve in the first place?" Tilly inquired.

"He wanted to check out the golf simulators." Bailey gave an indulgent eye roll. "He loved golf. He claimed it was his only vice. Well, that, and Indian cuisine. So while he drooled over the simulators, I searched out a quiet lounge where we could look over the Ring journal. And I found one on the top deck, overlooking the bow. So I took the stairs back down to deck twelve and" -- her voice caught in her throat -- "and that's when I saw the commotion at the rail. I ran to help him. I ran as fast as I could, but I was half a city block away from him! Why do they make these s.h.i.+ps so big?"

"Economics, dear," Nana piped up. "The bigger they are, the more guests they pack in, the more money they make. I seen that on an A&E special that took an inside look at the cruise industry. But it don't make no sense to me about the professor. He seemed like a nice enough fella. Who'd wanna kill 'im?"

"Everyone wanted to kill him!" Bailey cried.

Oh yeah, that's what I wanted to hear. "Excuse me?"

"Did you see who showed up at the lecture?" she choked out. "The World Navigators? The Sandwich Islanders? Do you know who those people are?"

I recalled the three World Navigators we'd met earlier. "Umm...ifI tossed out the phrase 'Viking look-alikes,' would I be close?"

Her face whitened with the kind of shock people experience just before cardiac arrest. "You've never heard of them, have you? How could you not have heard of them?"

"We're from Iowa," Nana explained.

Bailey's shock continued to parade across her face. "I'm sorry. It's just that we run into their anti-Cook literature so much at the university that I naturally a.s.sume everyone has heard of them. Both groups set forth ideas that are radically opposed to Professor Smoker's theories about Cook, and they've been vicious in their attempts to discredit him. Scathing papers. Hateful articles. Threatening emails. In the week before we left, some of their emails became so extreme that I begged the professor to consider canceling the cruise. But he wouldn't. He could be so stubborn. He said he wasn't going to let a bunch of miscreants ruin his holiday in paradise." She rubbed her nose and sniffed. "Besides, he enjoyed lecturing too much to miss an opportunity to influence a new audience."

"I should think the chancellor's office would have forbidden him to lecture anyplace where his life might have been in jeopardy," Tilly theorized.

Bailey heaved a guilty sigh. "He didn't report it to the chancellor's office. He didn't tell anyone. He considered the threats to be quackery; acknowledging them would have been beneath his contempt."

"Did he realize both groups were going to show up for the cruise?" I asked.

"Not until he walked into the lecture room and saw them all sitting there with their society affiliations pinned to their chests."

Aha! So that's what he'd looked so unsettled about. Receiving threatening emails was one thing, but knowing you were in the same room with the people who might have sent them had to be downright scary. "Had the professor met any member of either group before he stepped into that room today?"

Bailey shrugged. "I'd have no way of knowing that."

"He didn't mention that he recognized anyone?"

"Not to me. But when you're as successful as Professor Smoker was in academia, you inspire professional jealousy, and everyone starts gunning for you. You make more enemies than you know what to do with." She slanted a hard look at me and sniffed. "Dorian Smoker had enemies crawling out of the woodwork on this s.h.i.+p, and you saw the end result. One of them killed him."

I sighed to myself. Another vacation, another body. This was getting really really old. old.

"You mentioned you and the professor were going to peruse my journal," Tilly spoke up. "Do you have the journal with you?"

All color drained from Bailey's face as she stared at Tilly. "Oh, my G.o.d. I forgot about..." She cast a frantic look about the room before squeezing her eyes shut and patting the left side of her chest. "Professor Smoker had it with him. He...he didn't want to let it out of his sight, so he put it in the inside pocket of his jacket to keep it safe."

"And the jacket is...where?" Tilly inquired.

"He was wearing it when he was pushed overboard." Bailey swallowed slowly, like a boa constrictor trying to digest a house. "Oh, my G.o.d. I'm so sorry! I've lost Professor Smoker. I've lost your journal. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" The floodgates finally opened. Sobs. Tears. Wailing.

I heard a rush of footsteps in the corridor and looked over my shoulder to find the nurse scurrying into the room. "I think visiting hours are over for now, ladies," she said quietly, circling the bed to tend to Bailey. We offered apologies and nods of sympathy before shuffling dutifully out the door, embarra.s.sed that our visit had obviously made Bailey feel worse rather than better.

"You was right about the professor not fallin' on his own," Nana whispered to me. "Might be you'll be back in contention for that human-interest story in the Register Register. Awful shame about that poor Howard girl, though. Last time I seen someone cry that much was twenty years back, when our NBC affiliate preempted the Lake Winnibigos.h.i.+sh ice-fis.h.i.+n' champions.h.i.+ps for the local bowlin' league quarterfinals. Your grampa was awful upset about that."

Tilly leaned heavily on her walking stick, looking too dazed to put one foot in front of the other. "What if the journal wasn't a hoax? What if it was the real McCoy? Good Lord, I may have single-handedly robbed the academic world of its most significant historical doc.u.ment in decades."

Nana looped her arm around Tilly in a comforting gesture. "Don't you go frettin' now, Til. You put it in one a them zippered bags. Them things are real rugged. That's why we pay the big bucks for 'em. Probably keep your book dry as a bone."

Hope entered Tilly's face. "That's right. Ziploc bags lock in freshness like no other storage bag can." She squared her shoulders and stiffened her spine. "All is not lost, then. Thank you for reminding me of that, Marion. What do you say, ladies? Is it time to regroup in the cabin?"

"Before I forget, dear." Nana looked over both shoulders before motioning me closer, and saying in an undertone, "About that cybers.e.x you and your young man was havin'. You mind if I take a peek at the instruction manual?"

We wended our way back through a maze of narrow pa.s.sageways to the mids.h.i.+p elevators. "Isn't this somethin'?" Nana remarked as we waited for one of the upper directional arrows to turn green. "Lookit how level the floor is. Would you ever guess we was in the middle of an ocean? How come we're not tiltin'?"

"Stabilizers," said Tilly. "These modern cruise s.h.i.+ps are built to remain steady even in the most brutal seas. Given the improvements in naval technology, seasickness may soon go the way of the dinosaur, much to the dismay of the makers of Dramamine, Bonine, and Queasy Pops."