Free Hula Done It? by Maddy Hunter Page A

got her all upset.”
    Bernice? How had Bernice found out? She wasn’t supposed to know that. No one was supposed to know that!
    “Someone got pushed overboard?” Jonathan choked out.
    Margi nodded. “They still haven’t found the body.”
    A chorus line of waiters banged out of the kitchen and charged toward our table, trays of appetizers balanced on their palms and shoulders. Down went the trays onto serving tables. Up flew dishes artistically arranged with pink salmon, ripe melon, and something that resembled Meow Mix. Down went the plates before us, consuming every inch of table space available. Off sped the waiters again, all elegance and efficiency.
    My gaze drifted over the array of food, dazzled by the color, the variety, the presentation. Even the Meow Mix looked appetizing.
    “My lettuce looks tantalizing, doesn’t it?” Margi commented.
    “This is all my fault,” Jonathan wailed. He buried his face behind his one good hand and shook his head. “If I wasn’t aboard, that person might still be alive. I have to do something. I can’t go on like this. Don’t try to stop me, anyone.” He shoved his chair away from the table and sprang to his feet. “I have to confess everything to the captain!”
    As he bolted away, my fruit cup suddenly skated across the table after him, accompanied by colorful plates of pâté, prosciutto, oysters, salmon, and Margi’s hunk of bib lettuce.
    BOOM!
Tinkle
. CRASH! Splat.
    Shrieks throughout the dining room. Gasps. Nils spat what sounded like a Norwegian cussword and leaped out of his chair, knocking it over with a
BOOM
that vibrated the floor. Gjurd let out a Viking yell. Ansgar glowered at the smorgasbord in his lap and growled something that needed no translation. Our appetizers lay splattered across the carpet like refuse from an all-you-can-eat buffet. Oh, my God. What just happened?
    I glanced at Jonathan, who stood awkwardly in the aisle, yanking at the umbilical cord of tablecloth that was tucked into the waistband of his pants.
    Oh, yeah. This guy was cursed big-time.
    Margi fished a small packet out of her purse. “Moist towelette, anyone?”

    The mess was cleared up and our meals reordered with polite enthusiasm if not speed. The Vikings ripped apart platters of Alaskan king crab with their bare hands and left without ordering dessert. Margi bypassed a main entrée in favor of sampling everything on the dessert menu, then left halfway through to stake out a good seat for the evening’s entertainment in the Bali Ha’i Theater. My medium-rare prime sirloin arrived looking like a used engine part so I sent it back to the kitchen, and by the time they got it right, some early birds from the second seating were pacing beside the table, checking their watches and giving me dirty looks.
    So much for leisurely dining.
    I stood up, thanked Darko for all his trouble, apologized for leaving my meal uneaten, and knew I was doing the right thing when instead of looking disappointed, he looked relieved. I scooted down the aisle with my stomach growling from hunger, but the good news was, the dinner buffet in the Coconut Palms Cafe didn’t close until midnight!
    I skirted around the waterfall at the entrance of the dining room and as I made my way down the corridor to the elevators, spied a familiar face walking away from the desk in the guest relations cove, though considering the sluggishness of her gait, I questioned whether she should be on her feet at all.
    “Bailey?” I caught up to her in a half dozen steps. “Shouldn’t you be in the infirmary?”
    She regarded me for a dazed moment before waving the plastic card in her hand at me. “I had to replace my room key. It’s so strange. I put it in my pocket earlier” — she poked two fingers into the shallow pocket of her knit vest — “but it’s not there anymore. I must have lost it, but that’s so unlike me. I never lose things. Ever.”
    “Can I walk you back to the infirmary?”
    She gave her head a