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hospital?”
    Paul laughed at that.
    They arrived at Manny’s shortly thereafter. A rhapsody in rattan, the centerpiece was the gorgeous teakwood bar, with rattan tables and chairs festooned around it. Nothing about it said fancy restaurant, so newcomers were always surprised, and initially dismayed, when Paul brought them here. It looked for all the world like a glorified pub.
    A very distinguished-looking man in his sixties approached. “Hello, Paul,” he said.
    “Hiya, Manny. This is Jack Ellway and his son Brandon.”
    “Welcome.” He grabbed three menus and led the trio to a table. “We have an excellent grilled grouper today, and—”
    A voice with a heavy New Zealand accent interrupted. “Tell ’em who caught it, Manny.”
    Paul sighed as he took a seat opposite Jack. Derek. Great. Just great. Had he known the brash expat would be here, Paul would have suggested going to the Flying Fish instead. But Paul had expected that Derek Lawson would be out with his two cronies, Kikko and Naru, on their little fishing trawler, showing tourists the finer points of netting lobster. But then, after what happened yesterday, tourists are probably staying away from the water. Instead, the three of them sat at the teakwood bar, sipping pints of beer.
    “Derek caught it,” Manny said unnecessarily while placing the menus on the table. “Our best catch is usually from Derek.” Typically, Manny sounded completely neutral, neither praising Derek’s skills nor condemning the fisherman’s arrogance. Paul had always admired and envied that particular talent.
    Derek hopped off his barstool and came over to the table, ignoring Paul completely—which suited the reporter just fine—and handed Jack a business card. “Welcome to Malau. If you’re lookin’ for the best deep-sea fishin’ of your life, come out with Derek Lawson and crew.” He gestured back at Kikko and Naru, who tipped their pints in acknowledgement.
    Jack took the card and nodded politely. To Paul’s glee, and Derek’s apparent confusion, Jack seemed completely uninterested in what Derek had to offer. Paul, not a little smugly, said, “Mister Ellway is a marine biologist.”
    To his credit, Derek recovered well. “A man who knows his fish—even better.” He tousled Brandon’s hair, a gesture that, based on the kid’s half-frown, half-snarl, he didn’t appreciate in the least. “Kids’re half-price.”
    He retreated to the bar and his crew. Manny then asked Jack, “You are staying on Kalor?”
    “No, here on Malau. At the Ritz.” As he spoke, a bus-boy placed three glasses of water on the table.
    Manny nodded. “Our accomodations are modest by comparison . . .”
    “This is where the tremors are. We prefer to be where the action is. I’m here to examine the effects of these tremors on the local marine life,” he explained.
    “Yes, well, we feel differently here. Our last ‘action’ was World War II.” He smiled a tiny smile, taking the edge off his statement. “When you are ready to order, Tari will take good care of you. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
    Paul noticed that Tari was taking someone else’s order. “Thanks, Manny,” he said.
    Manny went off to a corner table, where various bits of paper were laid out.
    “Nice old guy,” Jack said as he reached for his water glass.
    This was Paul’s favorite part. “President Moki’s a great father figure.”
    Jack did a spit-take with his water. Brandon started to laugh.
    Paul grinned, and elaborated: “Manny’s the President of Malau.”
    Dutifully wiping his chin with his napkin, Jack said dryly, “I’ll leave a nice tip.”
    Before Paul could get into the rather interesting story of how a restaurant owner came to run the island, a tremor hit. The whole building started to shake. Most everyone tried to find something solid to hold onto, even if it was just a table. Paul himself didn’t bother—a native Californian, he’d lived through much worse than this, and he could walk a