"Is it a guy?"

"I think," he said in a low voice. "But that Samoan woman who bakes your wedding cakes has a voice like a guy so I can never be sure."

When I picked up the phone, a deep rumbling voice said, "Aloha, Pali." It was definitely not Keahou up in Kula.

"Oh hi, Ono. How're you doing?"

We went through the usual pleasantries for half-a-minute before he got down to business. "I have a favor to ask."

"Okay, shoot." I thought that sounded a little tough, so I attempted to crank up the femininity a tad. "I'd be happy to help in any way I can."

"Great. Here's my problem: I'm headed over to Honolulu this weekend to do a sailing party for the owner and my cabin girl is sick. Well, not actually sick-she got a nasty infection from a dirty needle at a tat shop. Her back's so puffed up she looks like a beached turtle."

I didn't say anything. Not that I didn't feel bad for the poor girl, but I was contemplating what I suspected was coming.

"Anyway," he went on, "I need a hostess to help serve drinks and food at a sailing party I'm doing over there. My first mate can mix drinks and help me at the dock, but I need a pretty face to make sure everyone has a good time."

Again, I was silent. The pretty face comment was working its way through my BS detector.

"We'll only be gone a couple of days. Well, actually, three. We'll go over early tomorrow, then stay Sunday for the party, and then we'll head back at oh-dark-thirty on Monday morning. I know you've got this big wedding coming up, so if it's too much to ask, just say so. But you seemed so cheerful when you came out to the dock yesterday I thought you might get a kick out of it. Oh, and it pays a couple hundred bucks-not that you probably need the money-but just in case you were wondering."

Ha! Little did he know how much I'd welcome an unexpected two hundred dollars.

"You're not saying anything," he said. "Have I insulted you? Am I way out of line here?"

"No, not at all. It's just that I'll need to check my calendar. Can you give me an hour or so and I'll call you back?"

"Of course. No worries. I just thought you might enjoy it. I stay at the owner's high rise when I'm over there and she's the consummate hostess. First class all the way. The first mate's got some old high school buddies he hangs out with, but Tomika always insists I stay with her."

Lucky for you, I thought, but I'll be hard pressed to find a last-minute hotel room in Honolulu that won't cost me most of the two hundred bucks.

"Well, it sounds like fun," I said. "Can I get back to you by noon?"

I hung up the phone wondering why I hadn't simply declined right away. Was I some kind of masochist? Maybe I was way nosier than I admitted. Or was it that slipping out to sea, sailing past Moloka'i, and over to O'ahu with a gorgeous boat captain at my elbow and the wind in my hair made me think of that king of the world thing?

Spending three days with charming Ono, even though it meant coming face-to-face with his love interest, was probably worth it. And besides, meeting his wealthy, sophisticated girlfriend would most assuredly snap me out of my reverie and make me focus on the task at hand: figuring out where I stood with fireman Hatch Decker.

I made the rest of my callbacks and soon it was almost noon. I went through my to-do list for Keith and Nicole's wedding and found only one item that still required my attention-selecting the limo cars and drivers. I'd heard that on the mainland wedding planners simply sign up with a reputable limo company and they're assured of clean, well-appointed cars that arrive at the right place at the right time. The cars would be gleaming, inside and out, and the drivers would be in freshly-pressed uniforms. Moreover, they'd be gracious and accommodating-knowing such behavior would earn them a good tip.

On Maui, it wasn't that simple. I'd once used a limo company that had given me good cars and drivers for months and then-without warning-disaster. Later, I found out the owner had grown tired of the business and had handed it over to his teen-aged nephew as a high school graduation gift. The next time I used them, clueless nephew showed up half-an-hour late wearing a tee-shirt splattered with plate lunch. Then, he tried to bum twenty bucks off my client for gas. He had the radio blaring rap songs with lyrics that would have been bleeped out on TV. The limo interior was littered with beer bottles, fast-food wrappers and a girlie magazine. When my enraged client called me on his cell phone, I contacted the limo service to demand another car and driver. They said 'Take it or leave it' as it was prom night at Lahainaluna High School and every car for hire on Maui was already spoken for.

Now I personally inspect all limos and interview the drivers the week before the wedding. It takes about an hour, so I figured I'd schedule it for Tuesday-Wednesday at the latest.

I called Ono at five to twelve. "I'm in. Tell me what I need to do."

It's odd that I've lived my entire life surrounded by water but I rarely go near the water. For me, the ocean is like the sky-it's just there. When I was an air marshal and we'd take off from Honolulu and spend hours upon hours streaking over the flat, blue-black Pacific I thought of it merely as space and time. It wasn't wet, or cold, or alive with creatures, it was simply something to cross-a wide gap between Point A and Point B.

Standing on the deck of the Maui Happy Returns as it slid out of Lahaina Harbor at five a.m. on Saturday morning was an experience I won't soon forget. The motion of the boat felt odd, as if I was half-asleep and my perception was slipping in and out of reality. The trade winds were blowing pretty strong, and as we cleared the harbor area, Ono motioned to Chico, the first mate, to raise the sail.

Chico hopped up on the roof of the cabin and cranked the winch on the main mast, releasing a huge expanse of white sail. It fluttered and caught the wind like a colossal cupped hand, and before long we were flashing across the waves, slipping down into choppy troughs and popping back up at a dizzying speed.

I stood near the back of the boat, one hand shielding my eyes from the rising sun and the other hand gripping the rail. Watching the glowing white sail bulge and then relax against the wind was hypnotic.

"Pretty nice, huh?" Ono yelled to me from his place at the stern.

"Fantastic," I said. I went up the four stairs to stand by him at the wheel.

"You get out on the water much?"

"Never."

"Yeah, it seems like that to me too, sometimes. I can never get enough of it."

"No, I mean, I can't remember the last time I was out on a boat, or even in the water. Maybe back in high school."

He touched my shoulder and I turned. His face looked stricken, like I'd told him my dog had been hit by a bus.

"Honest? You live here on Maui and you never go out? I took you for a long boarder or maybe a windsurfer."

I laughed. "Nope. I'm pretty much a land-based life form."

"Well, you're doing great. This isn't the easiest crossing. We've got pretty solid seas today but it can really slam you around if you don't watch the weather. We'll be in the lee of Moloka'i here in a bit. Until then, you'd probably be better off down in the cabin."

I went back down the steps, gripping the handrail as the catamaran charged up a ten-foot swell. By then, Chico had jumped down from tending the sail and was busy getting soft drinks out of the refrigerator. He handed me a cold can.

"Mahalo." I'd been so busy getting my sea legs I hadn't really observed Chico. His arms were heavily tattooed from shoulder to wrist. A thick green sea serpent wrapped around his left ankle and up his calf ending in a fierce-looking dragon's head above his knee. Chico was barefoot, with khaki shorts and a white cotton strap-shirt completing the ensemble. No doubt there was more ink on his chest and back, but I couldn't see through the shirt.

"What's with the tattoos?" I said. "It seems everybody I know is sporting some kind of body art."

He smiled and nodded. "It's a sailor thing. All us sailors do it."

"Yeah, but it's not just sailors. Everywhere I look it's something-an ankle charm, a tramp stamp, whatever. Every high school girl on the island has some kind of goofy tat-a sea horse or a flower. I heard your cabin girl's sick from getting a dirty tattoo. So what's with all the ink?"

"It's cool. Makes you special. Like this," he pointed to a dolphin leaping out of a wave on his brawny bicep. "This is for my dad, ya know? He loved dolphins. When he died, I had this put on me to remember him by."

"You wouldn't remember your father otherwise?"

He shrugged and shot me a grin.

Ono waved for Chico to take the wheel.

"Gotta go," said Chico. "You better hang on, it's gonna get kinda rough."

After an hour about a dozen dolphins showed up. They surrounded the catamaran in a churning mass, racing alongside so close to the front of the hull I thought we'd mow them down.

"How do they do that?" I said. "They seem to know which way we're going to go. They turn just in time to avoid getting run over. You ever see them get hurt?"

"Trust me," said Ono. "These guys are way smarter than we are. They swim all day, play around with the tourist boats and munch on little fish. You don't see any of them slumped in front of a computer screen or nailing roof tiles in the blazing sun. Maintaining a safe course is pretty much their only concern."

At the mention of the word concern, Crystal Wilson's disappearance flashed in my mind. I wasn't buying Wong's Halloween prank theory, and Keith and Nicole's indifference-coupled with the memory of the hair lying across my back seat-had me spooked. The further we got away from Maui, the more I became convinced I should do something. But what?

For five more hours we zipped across the water; the waves slapping the hull, and then sending a blast of sea spray onto the deck. I spent most of the time outside gripping the rail, but at lunchtime I made my way down to the cabin. I pulled a sack of sandwiches out of the refrigerator to offer the guys.

Ono was back at the wheel and Chico was alongside the mast, tightening a winch. "Hey, Chico," said Ono, "when you get done there, would you mind checking how we're doing for booze and mixers? We may need to go shopping in town."

Chico jumped down and banged through the cabin cupboards, counting bottles.

"We're low on gin and we could use a gallon of guava juice for the mai tais. Besides that, it looks pretty good."

"So, speaking of booze," I asked Ono when I handed him his sandwich, "will I be mixing drinks? I'm kind of rusty. I worked as a waitress a few years ago, but mostly it was just serving. My manager claimed the bar lost money whenever they let me pour."

"No worries," said Ono. "Chico's the bartender. You just have to see that everyone's having a good time and make sure the food platters are full. You'll be Tomika's 'girl Friday.' Your main job is to make her look good and make sure the party goes off without a hitch."

"Right up my alley."

At about four-thirty the island of O'ahu was dead ahead. The bumpy part of the ride was behind us as the water changed from fierce chop to smaller rolling waves.

"See that point over there?" Ono pointed out a spit of land, topped with a steep cliff. "That's our heading. Just beyond it, we'll tack north-northeast and slip right into Ala Wai Harbor. Should be docking there in about an hour."

My hands clenched. I didn't want the ride to be over; or maybe it was that I was nervous about meeting Tomika. Whatever it was, I had to take a few deep breaths and talk myself down from feeling panicky.

We pulled into Ala Wai Harbor and I was shocked by the condition of the water. Garbage and litter floated freely among the boats and there was a wide ribbon of oil sheen twisting in and out of the moored boats.

"Ick, this place is filthy," I said.

"Yeah, they've been vowing to clean up this harbor for years now. They make an effort in starts and fits, but it just never seems to get done. It's fed by the Ala Wai Canal, which goes through town, picking up wastewater and garbage-even though it's illegal to dump stuff in the canal-and by the time the water gets here it's pretty foul. Also, there are a lot more vessels coming in and out of here than in Lahaina, so the harbor gets dirty from all the traffic."

We motored into a mooring marked 'Honolulu Yacht Club' and Chico jumped out and tied us up.

"How does this work?" I said to Ono. "Do we have permission to dock here?"

"Sure do. This is Tomika's slip. She pays a fortune to lease both this one and the one in Lahaina. But don't worry about her, you can bet she's not missing any meals to pay her moorage fees." He winked at me, and I had the prickly feeling I was colluding with a gigolo.

"Well, lucky her. What should we do to get ready for tomorrow's party?"

"You mean right now?" said Ono.

I nodded.

"Nothing. Chico will run to the liquor store and get the stuff we need, and the caterers will come aboard about an hour before we sail tomorrow night. You're pretty much off the clock until then."

"Okay, good. One more question: how do I get into town from here? Do busses come down this way?"

He looked puzzled. "I suppose they do. But Tomika will send her driver. You don't need to worry about getting around town."

I went below deck and picked up my overnight bag. I'd packed light-a couple changes of underwear, a Hawaiian-print sundress to wear at the party, and my make-up. My idea of full-blown make-up is mascara, blush and lip gloss. Just like the catamaran, I'm pretty much 'what you see is what you get.'

We slipped on our sandals and hopped onto the dock. Ono pulled a few bills out of his wallet and handed them to Chico.

"Be back here by four tomorrow. If I don't see your pupuka face by four fifteen, you'll find yourself swimming back to Maui," he said. He grinned and slapped Chico on the back.

"Don't worry, man," said Chico. "I never been late on you yet."

We walked out of the harbor and when we reached the street I was hit by the wall of sound that characterizes Honolulu. 'Honolulu' means 'sheltered harbor' but I think it should mean 'tall and loud' because that's what it is. I gazed at the forest of soaring skyscrapers that seemed to have doubled since I was in college here only six years ago. In Manoa, the neighborhood where the University of Hawaii is located, it's still pretty much low-rise. But Ono and I were on Ala Moana Boulevard, looking right into the heart of the bustling city. I felt like a country hick in my wrinkled khaki shorts and tee-shirt.

"Any ideas on where I should go tonight?" I said.

"You want to go out? Like to a show or something?"

"No, I'm planning on turning in early. Today was way more fresh air and excitement than I'm used to. I need to find a reasonably-priced hotel."

Ono stopped and turned to face me. "You're not planning on staying at Tomika's? She's looking forward to meeting you."

Okay, this was getting awkward.

"I didn't know I was invited," I said. "I thought you and Tomika might want to be alone."

"Heck no, we see each other plenty. She's fussing over having another girl around. She's hired a fancy restaurant to make us dinner tonight and she's hoping you'll go shopping with her tomorrow at Ala Moana Center."

"Why didn't you tell me? I didn't pack enough clothes to go shopping."

"Only a woman could say something like that. Don't you go shopping to get clothes? It's like a guy saying I don't have any fish in my freezer so I can't go fishing."

"No, you don't understand. You can't go...oh, never mind." By this time, a sleek white town car had pulled to the curb.

"Looks like our ride's here," said Ono. "You mind riding in back? I usually ride shotgun with the driver."

The driver turned out to be a three-hundred pound local man in a billowing aloha shirt that probably could've sheltered a family of four.

"Eh, brudda," the driver said, coming around the front of the car to fist-bump with Ono. "Lemme put your junk in the trunk."

Ono handed over his small valise and my overnight bag. While the driver was busy unlocking the trunk and stowing our gear, I cupped my hands against the dark tinted back windows and peered inside. I jumped a little when I made eye contact with a tiny face peering back at me.

"Oh! Sorry." I sounded as if I'd stepped on someone's foot.

"Hey, Tomika," Ono said, as he pulled the rear door open. "Sweet of you to come down here to get us."

Tomika slipped from the back seat and stood on the curb. She was only a bit taller than she'd been sitting down. She looked older than Ono-perhaps late fifties or even early sixties-but I sure as heck wasn't going to comment on their May/December romance.

She and Ono hugged long and hard. If I hadn't been a tad jealous of their obvious love for each other, I'd have found the scene touching.

"Tomika," said Ono when he finally pulled away, "this is my cabin girl for this weekend, Pali." He beamed as if he'd won me in a contest.