Part 15 (2/2)
I'd Google him.
I swiped my room key through the proper slot, encouraged when I gained instant online access and thrilled when the screen I called up actually appeared. I typed the words ”basil broomhead” into the search field, and seven-tenths of a second later saw that my inquiry had produced two hundred and six hits. All right! Now we were getting somewhere.
I scrolled slowly down the page, discovering a Broomhead dance page, a University of Sheffield calendar that included someone named Broomhead, an article from Horse & Hound Horse & Hound that quoted Basil Appleyard, several genealogical sites for people named Broomhead, a Broomhead Gallery and Museum, various awards and prizes offered by men named Basil, a listing for a block of new flats that had been built in Broomhead Park, but no Basil Broomhead. I clicked on the next page and sighed. Ten down. Only a hundred and ninety-six to go. that quoted Basil Appleyard, several genealogical sites for people named Broomhead, a Broomhead Gallery and Museum, various awards and prizes offered by men named Basil, a listing for a block of new flats that had been built in Broomhead Park, but no Basil Broomhead. I clicked on the next page and sighed. Ten down. Only a hundred and ninety-six to go.
Twenty minutes later, having scrutinized all two hundred and six listings and finding diddly-squat, I decided to broaden my search. I typed the word ”broomhead” into the search field and two and two-tenth seconds later was looking at a grand total of -- I winced at the number on the screen. Please tell me that wasn't right. Twenty-two thousand eight hundred hits? I'd be there until I was eligible for social security!
I heard a door slam shut in the corridor but ignored it as I tried to figure out how best to attack my problem. I needed help from a computer whiz. Someone with expertise in advanced searching techniques. Someone who could hack and find as easily as I could cut and paste.
There was only one solution.
I needed Nana.
I c.o.c.ked my head as a muted, rhythmic humming filled the corridor. Photocopier. Geesch, I guess Etienne wasn't the only workaholic. Hard to believe someone would be up at this time of night slaving away in the business center. This was a cruise! Those of us who didn't have our heads stuck down a toilet were supposed to be having fun!
I clicked the ”Start” icon to turn off the computer, but paused when another idea hit me. Hmm. Maybe a back door approach would prove more successful. Returning to the Google screen, I typed in the words ”Sandwich Island Society,” accruing a total of fifty-five hits in five-tenths of a second.
I scrolled down, finding websites that listed officers, purpose, and conference sites, but nowhere on the websites nor on connecting links did I find any information that expanded what Duncan had already told me. Nuts. While I was at it, I typed ”World Navigators Club” into the search field and was given the opportunity to explore twelve thousand eighty-seven possible connections.
Right. Like that was going to happen.
I scanned the information on the first page, pausing when I ran across the name Nils Nilsson Nils Nilsson, and a web address with a snippet of text that read, former president of the World Navigators, arrested on suspicion of a.s.sault with intent to... former president of the World Navigators, arrested on suspicion of a.s.sault with intent to...
Eyes glued to the screen, I clicked on the address and zipped through an a.s.sociated Press article dated five years ago. Oh, my G.o.d Oh, my G.o.d. According to the article, Nils had been taken into custody for a.s.saulting Dr. Hiram Quilty, a respected Boston College history professor, with a baseball bat. Euw Euw. But even though there were witnesses to the a.s.sault, the professor refused to press charges, explaining that he never really got a good look at his attacker and was hesitant to trust eyewitness accounts of men who'd been drowning their sorrows over another Red Sox loss in a pub on Boylston Street. Nils was subsequently released and no formal charges were ever filed. The police suspected that Nils's friends might have used strong-arm tactics to influence the professor's decision, but they could never prove the allegation.
I stared wide-eyed at the screen. Nils Nilsson had clobbered a history professor with a baseball bat? His friends might have threatened the man further? Who were the friends? Ansgar and Gjurd? A tingle crawled up my spine. Was it just me, or did I see a pattern linking Nils Nilsson to the foreshortened life expectancy of university history professors? And I bet I knew what kind of history.
I brought up the home page for Boston College and clicked on the faculty/staff directory. Aha! Aha! Just as I'd suspected. Dr. Hiram Quilty was a professor of world history, the Early Explorers Period, from 1400-1799. And dollars to doughnuts, he pushed the theory that Christopher Columbus had discovered America, and that James Cook had been Just as I'd suspected. Dr. Hiram Quilty was a professor of world history, the Early Explorers Period, from 1400-1799. And dollars to doughnuts, he pushed the theory that Christopher Columbus had discovered America, and that James Cook had been the the penultimate explorer ever to sail the seven seas. penultimate explorer ever to sail the seven seas.
I powered down the computer, my heart thumping in my throat. I was paired up for dinner with a man who was not only suspected of a.s.sault with intent to kill, but whose favorite hardwood was a baseball bat.
I zigzagged to the door and into the corridor, where the sounds of the photocopier continued to hum. As I pa.s.sed the gla.s.s window that fronted the copy center, I saw a familiar head of blond hair hunched over the copy machine and felt a little embarra.s.sed when Jennifer French gazed up to find me looking at her. I flashed her a smile and gave her a little finger wave.
Not surprisingly, she didn't wave back.
As I headed for the elevator, I wondered what was so important that she'd be copying it close to midnight on a stormy night at sea.
Nana answered her door on my second knock, opening it a crack to peek out. ”Emily! Come in. Come in, dear.” She threw the door wide. ”Isn't this storm somethin'? I never seen nothin' like it. And lookit you. You're not even curled up in a ball wis.h.i.+n' you was dead.”
That's what I loved about Nana. No matter the day, the hour, or the situation, she was always happy to see me. ”I'm sorry for the surprise visit,” I apologized as I crossed the threshold, ”but I have a favor to ask. How would you feel about doing a late-night computer search? I started the process, but your advanced search skills are more refined than mine. I'm looking for information on a name: Basil Broomhead. I got twenty-two thousand eight hundred hits on the last name, so I need you to whittle it down to something more manageable. I'm not sure if Basil Broomhead has any connection to Professor Smoker, but I kinda think he might, so your search could really help.”
”AAAGHHCKK! AA-AAGHHCKK!”.
I stared at the bathroom door, cringing at the sounds. ”Oh, no. Tilly?”
Nana nodded. ”She says she done okay in some typhoon in the South China Sea some years back when she was escapin' a boatload a pirates, but this here storm has done her in. You okay, Til?” she asked, tapping on the door.
The toilet flushed with a wall-vibrating WHOOOOSH WHOOOOSH.
Nana nodded with satisfaction. ”Yup. She's okay.”
”Tilly encountered pirates in the South China Sea?” I marveled as I seated myself on the sofa. ”Real pirates? I didn't realize pirates were still around.”
”Oh, sure. But more typically, they're wearin' business suits and workin' on Wall Street.” She sat down on the sofa beside me. ”This storm's leveled everyone. You shoulda seen 'em at supper. They was staggerin' back to their cabins even before the entrees showed up. Old folks, young folks. Even Bailey's sick. I seen her earlier in the evenin' when I went to her cabin to give back the tube a sunblock she lent me today, and she looked worse'n Tilly, if that's possible. Kinda like she could be dead by mornin'. They could all all be dead by mornin'.” be dead by mornin'.”
”AAAGHHCKK! AAAAAAAGHHCKK!”.
Nana shook her head. ”This whole thing has got me to thinkin', Emily.”
”About what? Not signing up for any more cruises?”
”About the wave machine I was thinkin' to buy for the new Senior Center pool. Maybe I should go with the waterslide instead.”
I nodded. ”A waterslide would be nice. So you're not sick?” I asked switching gears. ”Not even a twinge?”
”Nope. But between you and me, dear, all this buried treasure business has got me pretty antsy. I could really use somethin' to take the edge off.”
Even though I'd only been on the job a year, I was seasoned enough to know that it was a bad sign when the holiday grew so exciting, the guests started having nervous breakdowns. ”Do you want me to take you down to the infirmary?” I asked in concern. ”I bet the doctor could prescribe a low-dose tranquilizer that might calm you down.”
”A pill?” She scrunched her face up like an apple doll. ”I don't want no pill. I was thinkin' more like a good stiff s.h.i.+rley Temple. With extra cherries.”
I rolled my eyes.
”Them extra cherries give it a real kick.”
”AAAGHHCKK! AAAAAAAGHHCKK!”.
I winced at the bathroom wall. ”Poor Tilly. Is there anything I can do?”
”Well, if you want me to check out that fella's name on the internet, you could stay here until I get back. I don't wanna go off and leave Til by herself.”
”Deal.” I gave her a high five. ”Basil Broomhead. See what you can dig up.”
She bustled around the cabin, changing into her sneakers and grabbing hold of her pocketbook. ”What have I forgotten?” she asked rhetorically as she stood in the middle of the room.
I reached into my shoulder bag, pulled out my wallet, and handed Nana a twenty-dollar bill. ”Buy yourself a couple of s.h.i.+rley Temples while you're at it.”
”You don't need to do that, dear. I'm filthy rich.”
I smiled affectionately. ”Don't stunt my generosity. Drinks on me. Okay?”
She flashed me a smile as she removed the bill from my hand. ”I don't know if the bars handle cash, but I'll try. You're a good girl, Emily. I'm glad your nice young police inspector has woke up enough to realize that. And to do somethin' about it.”
”But he hasn't hasn't done anything about it!” I tossed my head back and dug my fingers into my scalp. ”He...he's left me in limbo!” Which was not a preferred destination for any Catholic these days, since its existence had been struck from the books. done anything about it!” I tossed my head back and dug my fingers into my scalp. ”He...he's left me in limbo!” Which was not a preferred destination for any Catholic these days, since its existence had been struck from the books.
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