by Maddy Hunter
Percy nodded politely. “Percy Woodruffe-Peacock. Pleasure.” He had a Bugs Bunny overbite, bulldog jowls, and looked charmingly comical in Bermuda shorts, knee-high stockings, and a starched cotton shirt with a red bow tie. He obviously hadn’t read the brochure.
“I should have brought my trench coat,” Percy complained, in a brittle accent. “Look at those clouds. Rain clouds, I tell you. We’ll most likely get drenched, contract some tropical fever, and end up having to breathe through a respirator for the rest of the cruise. Mark my words, Basil. Nothing good ever comes of an enterprise begun in the rain.”
Euw. This guy was a real ray of sunshine. I should introduce him to Bernice.
Moving forward, I handed my ticket to a man standing outside the bus and hurried up the stairs, stunned by the circus atmosphere bubbling inside. Chatter. Laughter. Screams of delight. Wow, I’d never known people to be so excited about the possibility of severe sunburn and excruciating muscle pain. I peered down the center aisle to see if I could spy Nana and Tilly, but between the tall seat backs and the people crowding the aisle as they jockeyed their backpacks into overhead bins, I couldn’t see a thing. But this wasn’t a problem. I’d learned a few things in my months on the job.
I leaned over to speak to the driver, then slid into the unoccupied seat behind him as he announced over the speaker system, “If Marion Sippel and Tilly Hovick are aboard, would you give me a holler?”
“We’re here!” I heard Nana bellow above the din. “In the back!” Nana had gotten pretty good at bellowing in the years before Grampa Sippel had sprung for a hearing aid.
I thanked the driver, then settled back into my seat, breathing a sigh of relief. Now that I knew Nana and Tilly were aboard, I allowed myself a small, self-satisfied smile. Hey, I was getting this tour escort thing down to a science!
Percy and Basil straggled up the stairs, the last passengers to board. With a nod to me, they clambered into the seat behind me, tsking at the lack of decorum. “I hope they plan on handing out headphones to muffle the noise,” Percy groused. “What are they laughing about? It’s insufferable.”
The ticket-taker pounded his fist against the side of the bus, and yelled to the driver, “You’re all set to go. Aloha.”
The engine roared to life, the door hissed shut, and the driver announced, “I can’t leave until everyone is seated, so how about it, people?”
Twenty seconds later, we were on our way.
“I borrowed silverware from the breakfast buffet,” I heard Basil whisper as we rattled into traffic. “A grapefruit spoon would have been perfect. They’re serrated, you know. But the only grapefruit they offered was in sections, adrift in a sea of juice. So I had to settle for a cereal spoon. At least it’s a bit more pointed than a soup spoon. What did you find?”
“A SwissChamp XLT pocketknife,” Percy whispered back. “I was waffling between this one and the SwissFlame with the gas lighter, but I know better than to trust you with anything combustible. First time I turned my back, you’d have your trousers on fire. Or your hair. Or —”
“Will you never let that go?” Basil sniped. “Your gibes are so tedious. I’m not even sure why I put up with you. Do you have the map?”
Map? That definitely earned them my full and undivided attention.
“You shouldn’t have folded it,” Basil scolded. “I can’t tell now if that line is a crease or a river. What’s this smudge here?”
“It’s not a smudge. It’s an X. As in, ‘X marks the spot.’ And those squiggly lines are…Bloody hell. What are those things?”
I heard the paper rattling like a potato chip bag. “Snakes?” said Basil. “Night crawlers? Do you suppose there’s a bait and tackle shop out there?”
An exasperated growl from Percy. “Where are your reading glasses? Oh, never mind. The Champ has a magnifying glass. Here, I’ll show you.”
For a full minute I heard nothing, and then — “How many of those pullout gadgets does the Champ have?” Basil asked impatiently.
“Fifty,” Percy snapped. “Fifty tools that have proven to be absolutely essential for survival in any hostile environment.”
Yeah. My personal favorite was the cuticle remover.
“Just a minute. I know it’s here somewhere.”
Okay, I’d heard enough. Map with a big X? Stolen cereal spoons? Fifty-function Swiss army knife? If these two weren’t after buried treasure, I’d eat my —
I paused thoughtfully. I’d eat anything right now. I’d missed breakfast, so I was starving. But as I pondered how to gracefully interject myself into their conversation, I realized that hunger did have its advantages.
With my heart banging against my rib cage, I turned around and peeked over the top of my seat like a new neighbor looking over a property fence. “Excuse me, do either of you recall reading anything about what we’re supposed to do for lunch today?”
Percy crushed the treasure map against his chest and eyed me suspiciously. Basil removed his cap and gave his mop of wavy brown hair a scratch. “We’re to be provided with box lunches. Some type of American luncheon meat, I believe, though I’m holding out a faint hope for either cucumber or watercress.”
I glanced at the Swiss army knife in Percy’s lap. He’d exposed so many jiggers, it looked like a mini erector set. “Nice knife. I have one too, only it’s a lot smaller.”
Basil plucked the knife off Percy’s lap and proceeded to flip up more tiny steel-plated arms. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the magnifying glass is, would you?”
“Afraid not. But I have twenty-twenty vision. Would you like me to read something for you?”
“I should say not!” Percy answered for him. He stuffed the map into his shirt pocket, then snatched the knife out of Basil’s hand and snapped all the gizmos back into the housing. “I can see perfectly well for the both of us.”
“Say,” I gushed, feigning sudden recognition, “I knew the two of you looked familiar. Was that you I saw at Professor Smoker’s lecture on Captain Cook yesterday?”
“I don’t see what business that is of yours,” Percy said, scowling.
“You needn’t be rude to the girl,” Basil chided, aghast.
“I wasn’t being rude.”
“Yes, you were.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Wanker.”
“Wiseacre.”
“Mugwump.”
“Swellhead.”
Yup. I really knew what buttons to push to make people spill their guts. Okay, so my interrogation techniques could use a little polishing. Guess I’d have to work on that.
“We’re now entering the city limits of Lihue,” our bus driver announced as I turned back around in my seat, leaving Percy and Basil to bicker ad nauseum. “Lihue is Kauai’s county seat — the town that sugar built, as you can tell from the twin stacks of the Lihue Sugar Company in the distance there. Four thousand residents and two traffic lights. It might take us a while to get through morning traffic, so sit back and enjoy the sights, folks. It’s only a short ride to Wailua from here.”
I stared straight ahead at the line of cars backed up behind one of Lihue’s two traffic lights, suspecting that Basil and Percy had indeed attended Professor Smoker’s lecture. Is that why Smoker had looked so alarmed? Had he spotted the two Englishman sitting in the back of the lecture room? Had he sensed they spelled trouble?
Poor Professor Smoker. I doubted he had predicted how much trouble.
Chapter 6
A small company of outfitters awaited us as we arrived at the parking area for the Wailua River State Park. I was first off the bus, followed by Percy and Basil, who practically mowed me down in their rush toward the kayaks stacked up near the boat ramp. A scattering of solitary palm trees and a manicured lawn flanked the river on this side, while a Jurassic Park kind of wildness ran amok on the opposite shore complete with dense foliage, tangled brambles, and spiny mountain ridges. The river was as wide as the Los Angeles freeway here, but up ahead, it looked as
winding and narrow as an old country road.
I watched the two Brits drag a giant red chile pepper of a kayak toward the river and worried that if they got too much of a head start, they’d disappear behind that first bend in the river and I’d lose sight of them completely. Not a good way to tail men you suspected of committing a heinous crime.
I shot a look back at the bus, willing Nana and Tilly to appear amid the crowd pouring out of both exit doors. Nuts. What was the holdup? They were usually the first people on and off every —
I did a sudden double take as I regarded an unexpected face exiting the bus. Eh! What was he doing here?
Nils’s huge body filled the rear doorway as he lumbered down the stairs like a conquering warlord, ducking his head beneath the door so he wouldn’t knock himself out. He paused outside the bus, hitching up his cargo shorts and kicking dust off his hiking boots as he took visual inventory of the area. His eyes flickered with surprise as they locked on mine, then slowly crinkled with amusement, as if he couldn’t believe I had the cojones to navigate the same river he was about to navigate. He nodded, maybe a little smugly, then turned his attention to Ansgar and Gjurd, who were having a tug-of-war with an eight - inch - by - ten - inch sheet of paper that looked as though it might rip down the middle at any moment. Ansgar bellowed something unintelligible. Gjurd bellowed something back. Nils shook his head and seized the paper, then growled something at the two that sent them sprinting toward the kayaks at a dead run, hair flying, gravel crunching beneath their boots. Nils put a bead on me again and strode directly toward me, a man on a mission.
“I see we are of like minds today. There is no better day than one spent on the water.”
I craned my neck to look up at his bearded face, suspicion creeping into my voice. “I thought you and the boys were signed up to visit the place where Captain Cook made landfall on Kauai?”
“As you predicted last night, the Cook excursions have been canceled. It’s most unfortunate that no one could convince his assistant to take his place, yah? Did you read her credentials in the brochure? They were most impressive. With her knowledge, I see no reason why she could not have stepped into the professor’s shoes. It is most disappointing. In the meantime, this seemed an acceptable second choice.” He gestured toward our surroundings. “A navigable river. Rented watercraft. Tropical vegetation. A secret waterfall. The only things lacking are a keg of beer and a more detailed topographical map. This one is poorly drawn.”
He flashed the sheaf of paper he was holding before my face for a nanosecond, but that was all it took for me to see the cow-flop-shaped island with the big X in the middle. Poorly drawn map? It was the same map that was in my shoulder bag! He had a copy of the treasure map!
“Where did you get that?” I choked out. Oh, my God. Did this mean the Vikings were in cahoots with Percy and Basil? How else would they have gotten the map? Had the World Navigators joined forces with the Sandwich Islanders to eliminate Dorian Smoker? Why did people have to join forces? It made everything so complicated.
Nils regarded the photocopied sheet. “Ansgar and Gjurd purchased it aboard ship for much money.” He slanted a narrow look at the Brits as they lugged their kayak down the boat ramp. “Too much money.”
Eh! Had Percy and Basil soaked the Vikings for a reproduction of the map? Talk about unhealthy business practices. Not smart to price-gouge men who probably picked their teeth with the tip of some ancestor’s broadsword. Oh geesch. Was it going to get ugly out at the Secret Falls today?
“Last one to the kayaks is a Republican!” a familiar voice boomed out.
“I want the yellow one! It matches my new sandals!”
“I have antibacterial hand sanitizer if anyone wants to clean their paddles!”
I whipped my head around to find Dick Teig, Bernice Zwerg, Margi Swanson, and everyone else from my Iowa contingent charging toward the kayaks like a flock of excited geese. What the —? What were they doing there? They were all supposed to be on other excursions, soaking up information that I could include in my newsletter.
“You’ll excuse me,” Nils said in a sudden rush. “The kayaks are quickly disappearing. I’ll see you on the river.”
“Wait!” I grabbed for his arm, but he bounded toward the waiting kayaks, jetting past my group as if they were standing still. Okay, this called for a major time-out.
Letting fly one of my signature earsplitting whistles, I watched all nine of my Iowans skid to a halt. Heads swung around in my direction. Eyes riveted on me. I threw my arms into the air at them. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be whale watching, visiting the Waimea Canyon, and shopping at Hilo Hattie’s.”
“This sounded more exciting!” called out Alice Tjarks. “So we exchanged our tickets.”
I stared at them, dumbfounded. “Where were you sitting on the bus?”
“In the back,” said Dick Stolee. “We got there early enough to stake out the good seats in the rear.”
“The ones next to the restroom,” Dick Teig explained. “There’s a real sense of security knowing you can be on the road and only one step away from the john at the same time.”
Nods. Smiles. More nods.
Oh, God. I searched the faces in the group, realizing I was short a couple of people. “What happened to Nana and Tilly?”
“Tilly accidentally flushed her visor down the toilet,” Margi responded, “so she and Marion are trying to retrieve it. All I can say is, I hope she doesn’t plan on wearing it anytime soon.”
Oh, yeah. This was going well. “Look, everyone, I don’t want to spoil your fun, but none of you have ever kayaked before. This is not a wise move. You could end up in back braces and cervical collars. You could aggravate existing conditions.” I nodded toward Dick Teig. “What about Dick’s arthritis? Osmond’s rotator cuff? Lucille’s anxiety?”
“My anxiety’s better since my Dick passed on,” Lucille Rassmuson announced. “I don’t have to worry about his cigar ash incinerating the dog anymore. My therapist says I’m a whole new person because of it.”
“Dog?” said Margi. “I thought you had cats.”
“You have a therapist?” asked Bernice. “How much does that set you back a week? I bet Medicare doesn’t cover it, does it?”
I rolled my eyes in frustration. “Listen to me! Paddling a kayak is hard work! It requires upper body strength. Stamina. Hand-to-eye coordination. I don’t know if any of you should risk —”
“If you’re gonna do it, how hard can it be?” Bernice challenged.
Heads bobbing. Murmurs of assent.
“Who cares about the kayaking,” Dick Teig enthused. “We’re here…for this!” He waved a sheet of white paper high over his head. “Right, gang?”
Eight other hands shot into the air, each one waving a sheet of white paper.
I looked from Alice, to Osmond, to Lucille. Uh-oh. Please tell me they weren’t holding what I thought they were holding.
“I got extra maps on me,” Bernice said, reaching into her tote bag. “You wanna buy one? They’re sellin’ like hotcakes. Five bucks apiece.”
I stared at the stack of paper she yanked out of her tote. Treasure maps.
Oh, God. She’d sold them to the whole freaking bus!
“It’s all my fault,” Tilly anguished minutes later.
An armada of red and yellow kayaks was already splish-splashing upriver toward the first significant bend, but I was still hanging out by the bus, consoling Tilly. “Try not to dwell on it,” I urged. “I have a visor back in the cabin that you can borrow. It won’t match any of your skirts, but let’s face it. The other one’s a goner.”
“That’s kind of you, Emily. If only I could repair the damage I’ve done with the treasure map so easily.” She hung her head woefully. “In my excitement yesterday, I walked away from the photocopier with new copies of Marion’s map, handed her one for the scavenger hunt entry, and forgot to remove the original from the machine.”
“And wouldn’t you know
,” Nana continued, “the next person into the copy center is Bernice, who finds the map in the photocopier and decides she can make a financial killin’ by sellin’ it off as a treasure map. She’s already took in over a hundred dollars.” Nana gave her teeth a loud suck. “I never woulda guessed it, but Bernice has a real gift for commercial sales.”
Tilly heaved a dejected sigh. “This is so unlike me. The errors in judgment. The forgetfulness. The signs are all there, ladies. Senile plaques. Neuro-fibrillary tangles. Subcortical dysfunction. My brain has neuropathologic disorder written all over it. If I were living among the Polar Eskimos, they’d stick me out on the ice as bear bait.”
“No one’s going to stick you anywhere,” I said, giving her arm a reassuring pat.
“Crossword puzzles,” Nana declared. “One a day is s’posed to keep your brain from turnin’ to mush. Kinda like takin’ a multivitamin.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Tilly’s brain,” I defended. “Stuff like this happens to everyone. It’s just that Bernice’s little entrepreneurial scheme has mucked things up for us.” I scrubbed my face with my palms and groaned. “Professor Smoker’s killer is supposed to be the only person other than the three of us who has a copy of the treasure map, right? But Nils and company have one. The Brits who were sitting behind me have one. I suspect every passenger on the bus has one. How are we supposed to single out the real killer if everyone has a copy of the map?”
A pause. Lip chewing. Cogitating.
“I have it!” Tilly’s eyes lit with sudden inspiration. “What if we —”
A torrent of violent splashing caused us to glance toward the river. Twenty feet from shore, Dick Teig and Dick Stolee were engaged in a major water skirmish, armed only with their paddles, their wives, and their waterproof disposable cameras.
“Get a picture of this, Helen!” KER-SPLAT! Dick Teig slammed his paddle onto the water, drenching Dick and Grace Stolee in a fountain of spray. “Bullseye!” he crowed, mugging for the camera.