In the shady embrace of a pair of twisted salt cedars, beside which a pregnant juniper tree lazily lay licking his spiny, sandy fingers, a pelican was trying to find the answer to five down. She nibbled the end of her pencil (HB, not too soft, not too hard). The island air had drained the names of Kings and Queens from her brain. “What use do you have for Kings and Queens,” her mind had said, “in a lovely place like this?” Five down, that’s what.