by Cathy Ace
Ezra polished off his tangerine and shook his head. “No idea. That’s something else I can ask Rachel when I visit her at the medical center. Which I should do as soon as possible.” He looked at his watch again.
“Could we come with you?” asked Bud. “If we could see the doctor and the body, now, Cait might learn something that would help her begin to build a profile of the man and his life. That might help you frame any questions you want to ask the other guests who were in the Games Room. Or maybe, if Dr. White has discovered something concrete, it could completely change your investigation.”
“You’re right, and I have no problem with you joining me,” replied Ezra. “Before we visit her together, I need to visit her alone.” Ezra stood and addressed my agitated look. “Yes, Cait, you’ll both have a chance to visit the medical facility with me, but though I am bending the procedural regulations in this instance, there are people who need to be brought onboard with that approach. I’ll be as speedy as possible, and will telephone you here when it’s convenient for you to join me on Deck 2, where the examination rooms and mortuary are located. Please, enjoy the rest of this wonderful food; give some more thought to the case, and I will call you as soon as I can.”
After Ezra left, I said to Bud, “Right then—if I can’t see the body or the dead man’s cabin right away, I’m going to concentrate on what we know about him already, and start to build a profile that way. I’ll make notes. What about you?”
“I’ll do the same,” said Bud.
How wonderful—a totally harmonious marriage.
As I sat on the bed, I realized I’d have to think right back to our arrival in Honolulu, and assess, with fresh eyes, everything that had happened. At the time, I’d simply been Cait Morgan, happy honeymooner. Now I’d have to reconsider everything in light of the fact that a man was dead, and that the killer was likely to be someone we’d met on our trip—someone who’d been in the Games Room. We’d met Nigel and Janet, and Derek and Laurie, for the first time in Honolulu, and had run into them several times before this morning—Bud more often than me, it seemed. Frannie had introduced herself to us on the day we’d embarked, when the three of us were feeding the exotic little fish that swam in the waters close to the Aloha Tower. Kai Pukui had seemed to appear at every event we’d attended on the ship, always accompanied—except for this morning—by his wife, Malia. Bud might have talked with Tommy on several occasions, but I’d only seen him in passing.
Yes, I’d take the time to reconnect with everything Bud and I had done, and consider how we’d intersected with the people who were now the prime suspects in a case of poisoning; I’d let Bud do the same. Maybe we’d even have time to compare notes before joining Ezra in the mortuary.
Aloha O’ahu
“CAIT, WAKE UP. WE’RE JUST starting our descent into Honolulu.”
Bud’s voice was gentle enough to not startle me, but firm enough to make me try to sit upright. My neck ached, and I knew I’d been snoring and drooling. It wasn’t a surprise that I’d slept through the entire flight—I’d hardly managed a nap the night before, because I’d been mentally running through the lists of things I’d packed for our trip to the Hawaiian Islands.
Finally coming to grips with my surroundings, I realized that I’d managed the almost impossible feat of reducing our flight to a matter of no more than fifteen conscious minutes. I couldn’t remember take off, and now here we were landing. Wow—that’s about as close to “Beam me up, Scotty” as you can get. Other than an aching neck, I felt refreshed and excited. Again. The long spring semester was behind me. The snow had made my journey from our new home in Maple Ridge seem almost endless. I’d been used to a quick ten-minute sprint from my little house half way up Burnaby Mountain to my campus; now I was about forty-five minutes away, and that was when the traffic was light. It was worth it. The house that Bud and I were making our home was going to be wonderful—once we’d finished painting everything, replacing all the floors and window treatments, and extending the deck at the back of the house. Yes, it had been a slog, but it was beginning to come together.
I managed a glimpse of the island of O’ahu as we circled before landing, then we were down and off. I had to admit I was a bit disappointed when I wasn’t immediately greeted by a woman wearing multiple Hawaiian leis upon our arrival in the baggage area, but when Bud came back from a quick “call of nature,” I was thrilled to see he’d managed to find a beautiful garland to place around my neck. Clever, wonderful Bud.
The cab ride from the airport to our hotel was another delight. I’d grown up watching Jack Lord cracking down on criminals in Hawai’i, and now I had the chance to see the place for myself. From poring over tourist websites—and because Bud and I were avid fans of the new version of Hawaii Five-O—I already knew I’d be seeing a good number of gleaming tower blocks running along highways. What I hadn’t been prepared for was how densely stacked those tower blocks would become as we headed into the downtown Honolulu area. I felt a bit disappointed until we approached our hotel, which looked as promising as it had on the screen of my laptop. Finally entering the magnificent main lobby from the white, colonnaded portico of the Moana Surfrider Hotel, I was enchanted by the dark wood flooring and delightfully “leafy” rugs, the gleaming white balconies above us, the traditional staircases and columns, and the wonderful ambience of the place; it seemed both formal and casual at the same time, and the view toward the sea from the main lanai, opposite the entrance, was breathtaking.
I acquired another lei at the check-in desk, as well as a delicious cookie, wrapped in its own little plastic bag and shaped like a tufted pineapple. Our room was small, and had the same mix of traditional elegance and beachside ease as the public areas of the hotel. The bellman, who’d followed us with our luggage, opened white wooden shutters to reveal a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean. He left Bud and me to hug beside the bed, which was dressed with suitably Hawaiian-themed linens, covered with magenta plumeria and vivid green palm fronds.
“Come on, unhand me, woman,” said Bud laughing. “It’s two o’clock already, and I know you want to have a good look around the place before the dinner we’ve booked at that fancy Beach House Restaurant at six.”
Relinquishing my grip, I took a few moments to lean out of the window as far as I could. Our view was not just of the sea but of the hotel’s private beach area, and off toward a few massive banyan trees, which were surrounded by a lounge and bar area. Suddenly the idea of a cold beer, or maybe my first Hawaiian mai tai, seemed appealing, but I knew we both needed a quick wash and brush-up before we ventured out.
Half an hour later, Bud and I were two of the appropriately attired guests sitting in comfy chairs, looking out to sea. I tackled a bottle of beer, knowing I’d otherwise sink an entire mai tai simply to quench my thirst. Sitting in the shade of the historic banyan trees, I couldn’t have felt happier; Bud and I had waited quite some time for this, the first day of our proper honeymoon, and it seemed as though Hawai’i was going to be as beautiful and magical as I had hoped—certainly if our hotel was anything to go by.
Like all good tourists visiting Waikiki for the first time, we felt it necessary to kick off our shoes and walk along the world-famous beach. Leaving the bar and achieving this was easy—we just stepped over a rope that divided the hotel’s property from the public beach, and we were off. The sun was hot, but the wind coming off the sea kept us cool. I was glad I’d applied my sun-gloop before we’d headed out, because it was the sort of weather that could easily lead to sunburn. We strolled along the pale, soft sand for quite some time. Even I, who hates the feeling of sand between my toes, enjoyed it. The beach was busy, and people were enjoying themselves in a myriad of ways, ranging from being fast asleep to almost alarmingly active.
It was the surfers who held our attention the most. Even though I’d seen the sight on television dozens of times, I found it difficult to believe that so many people, possibly hundreds, could all surf at the same time without causing
each other some sort of serious injury. Many stood on longboards, paddling with oars; others lay down and propelled themselves with their tanned arms; most used the more familiar method of riding the waves. Bud and I laughed at the number of dogs people had with them on their surfboards. Marty, our loving, if a little tubby, black Lab, is strangely averse to bodies of water, so we agreed there’d be no way he’d be happy living the life of a surfing dog. These wet-furred creatures seemed to be part fish, happily leaping into the sea before being helped to scramble back onto their human’s board. It was fascinating. Wonderful. Colorful. So vibrant it made me want to run along the beach and dive into the crashing waves, even though I can’t swim a stroke.
We eventually decided to head away from the beach, toward the grassy area that ran the length of the bay, and we cut through what seemed to be a surfboard parking area. Dozens of boards stood in rows, all chained in place with colorful loops and locks. As we were washing off our feet at one of the many taps set up for that very purpose, a couple of boys who looked to be no more than twelve years old ran with joyful abandon from a bank of lockers where they’d stashed their clothes, and dragged their boards from the serried ranks. They looked so frail, and the boards so large, that I was surprised to see them handle the massive things so easily. They ran off toward the sea laughing with pure joy. What an amazing thing to be able to do at the end of the school day.
Within earshot of the endless stream of traffic that inched along the waterfront, Bud and I took in the sight of the impressive statue of Duke Kahanamoku, one of Hawai’i’s most famous sons; the man who did more for Hawai’i’s reputation as a world-renowned center for surfing than anyone else.
It was while we were making our way back toward the bar on the beach named for the man himself that we first ran into Janet and Nigel Knicely. Of course, we didn’t know who they were at the time; all we knew was that we’d come upon a couple that looked pretty mismatched, comprised of a woman who couldn’t stop crying and a man who seemed quite impatient with her distress. It was a situation Bud couldn’t ignore.
“Anything we can do to help?” asked Bud in his calming voice as we drew parallel with them on the grassed area.
The man’s head snapped around; he glared at Bud, his mouth an angry line. His large sunglasses, highlighted, well-trimmed hair, air of superiority, and collection of clothing that suggested he was color-blind all told me he must be English. The pink golf shirt with the collar turned up is the real give away. My supposition was proved correct when he answered Bud.
“We’re managing perfectly well, thank you very much.” Bristol accent, poshed up a bit.
“I can’t find Nigel’s sunblock stick for his lips,” wailed the woman. She looked at me as though she’d lost her newborn child, tears streaming down her face from beneath her sunglasses. The backpack she’d dumped onto the floor was so big it could have taken her on a two-week camping trip. She was hunched over it, her hands stuck deep inside. “I know it’s here, Nigel, honestly.”
It seemed impractical to offer to help her search, so I thought the best thing to do was distract the annoyed man. “It’s certainly the sort of weather that means you need a good sunblock, or maybe a hat,” I said brightly.
“Forgot that as well, didn’t you,” was the man’s surly reply, looking at his wife who was now bent double.
The woman looked up and said quietly, “I did mention it to you before we left the room. Maybe we should go back and get it?” She sounded uncertain.
Tutting loudly, the man snapped, “I suppose we’ll have to. Though that seems like a terrible waste of time. I’m not buying a new one. I’m sure they’d rip us off as soon as look at us.”
“Is it far for you to return to your room?” asked Bud. I could tell he’d spotted a situation he didn’t like the look of, and was now in protective mode.
The man stood a little taller. “We’re at the Moana Surfrider,” he said proudly. “Lovely old place. Almost looks British.”
Ugh—I could gag!
Bud slapped a professional smile on his face. “Great,” he said, “we’re staying there too. We’ll walk with you. We were just heading back, weren’t we?”
No, we weren’t—you promised me ice cream, was what I thought; what I said was, “Absolutely!” and mimicked Bud’s cheery grin.
“Bud Anderson, and my wife, Cait Morgan,” said Bud, extending a hand to the man, who gave me a withering glance. He took Bud’s hand and tried to shake it off the end of his arm.
“Nigel Knicely, with a K. The K is silent. Wife, Janet,” said the man, his voice quivering as he continued to pump Bud’s arm. “Janet Knicely,” he emphasized, addressing me. Oh, I see.
Janet looked up from her stooped position, wiped away her tears, and rubbed her hands on her khaki cargo shorts. Once standing, she offered me her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said, smiling. Shaking her hand was like grasping a clump of wet lettuce.
Declining Bud’s pointed offer to carry the backpack—Nigel didn’t say a word—Janet fiddled about with the straps as we set off. It was impossible to walk four-abreast, so Bud took the lead with Nigel and I accompanied Janet.
“It’s a lovely hotel, isn’t it?” I began.
“Oh, it is. It’s all so well done, isn’t it? Poshest place I’ve ever stayed at. But it’s only for one more night.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Please say yes.
“No. Well, yes. We’re going on a cruise.” Oh no.
“Really? Which ship?” I tried to sound excited.
“We’re going on the Stellar Sol. We’re going to stay on it in the harbor tomorrow night, then we sail all around the Islands, then off to Canada. I’m so excited. We don’t usually do things like this. Have you ever been on a cruise?”
As I replied, my heart sank. I had visions of this woman becoming a limpet for the whole of our honeymoon. “No, not yet. Bud and I are taking the same cruise. We live near Vancouver, where the ship arrives in Canada, so it’s going to be an easy drive home for us when we get there.”
Janet Knicely looked delighted. “How lovely! But that’s not a Canadian accent, is it?”
This time my smile was genuine. “No, I’m Welsh, though I’ve been in Canada for more than a decade. It’s my home now. Bud and I were married a few months ago. We’re on our honeymoon.” Please take the hint!
“Smashing,” beamed Janet, sweating under her heavy load. “Nigel and I had two days in Ledbury when we got married, and that was that. Right back to work he went. We’ve been here renewing our vows, so that’s almost as romantic, isn’t it?”
I grappled with several emotions. Ledbury was where my parents had enjoyed their own two-day honeymoon back in the 1950s. Janet’s unexpected mention of the place made me think of them, and how much I wished they’d lived to see me married and happy. Set against that was my astonishment that the Knicelys had been renewing their marriage vows; the dynamic between them wasn’t at all romantic.
“Did you renew your vows today?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine the answer would be yes.
“Yesterday,” replied Janet happily. “They arranged it all at the hotel. Did it under that big banyan tree they have. It was a bit odd, people being all around us in swimsuits and such, but it was very nice, really. Nigel was the center of attention, like everyone was there for him. Well, us, you know. Nigel did look a picture, and I had a new frock for the occasion. You’ll see it when I wear it on the ship for the formal nights. It’s like something from a dream.”
I had visions of Janet Knicely floating in for dinner amidst swathes of beige bridal chiffon, but I brushed such horrific thoughts aside and said, “So this will be like a honeymoon for you too?”
Janet nodded. “Funny, isn’t it? I mean, we’ve got our first grandchild on the way, and here we are like teenagers.”
I judged Janet Knicely to be around fifty. “How long have you been married?” I asked. It seemed like a natural question.
“Thirty years this year,” she glowe
d.
“You married young,” I said, as noncommittally as possible.
“Well, my mum said when you know, you know. And she was right. It’s been a very settled marriage.” What an odd way to describe a life.
Janet looked happy as she rattled on. “I knit. And now that we’ve got our first grandchild on the way, I have someone to knit for. It’ll be a boy, so I’m doing lots of little jackets, and hats, and scarves. Due in September he is. Oh, I am so looking forward to it. It’ll be lovely, won’t it Nigel,” she called at her husband’s back, “to have a little one about the place again?”
The men paused and we stood beside them for a moment. Janet continued. “Not that you’ll be there all the time, but you’ll be at home a bit more than when ours were young, I hope. Nigel’s retired, you see, but only half retired. Can’t let go of him, they can’t. They hired him back as an executive trainer at their Birmingham center, didn’t they? So now he’s still away a lot, but not quite as much as before. It’ll be nice, a grandson.”
“From what career have you almost retired?” I asked of Nigel, trying to sound interested.
Before he had a chance to answer, his wife jumped in with, “Drugs. He sells drugs!” She laughed almost manically. “That’s what I always say. It makes me laugh, it does. Because he does sell drugs but, you know, not druggy drugs like drug addicts take—proper drugs that doctors prescribe. Worked for them all over the years, haven’t you, Nigel? He’s very good, you see, so all the big companies wanted him. They all kept buying each other up, so he’d end up leaving somewhere, then the new company would get bought up by the old one, and he’s back at the beginning again. But they’ve all been good to you, haven’t they, Nigel? Traveled all over, he has, all the years we’ve been married. It’s been a funny old life, but it’s suited me. The children kept me busy, and now they’ve gone off to do their own thing, I hope we get a bit more time together. And there are my charities too. Help out at a couple of shops near where we live, I do. Well, it’s the least I can do for all those poor children around the world with less than nothing, isn’t it? And there’ll be our children’s little ones for me to play with soon. Our Sophie—she’s the one having the baby—she lives not far from us. We’re just outside Bristol proper, in Westbury-on-Trym, and she’s about half an hour’s drive away. I hope I see a lot of the baby. We’ll have fun babysitting, won’t we, Nigel? And I know they’ll be ever so grateful.”
