Deceptive (11 page)

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“W
HERE? How far are we?” Jack asked.

“No idea. This doesn’t show where we are, and we’re going too fast for me to see a street sign.” Jack slowed. Zoe scanned the area, looking for a cross street with a visible street sign, but she only saw hotels, shops, and restaurants. They were on the outer edge of the village, the buildings clinging to the rising ground, giving good views off back terraces over the town and the sea. There hadn’t been many parking spaces in Positano itself. But here there were some slots along the road and a scattering of small paved lots interspersed between the buildings.

Zoe’s gaze snagged on a woman with dark hair who’d parked in one of those small parking areas. She rose from a black convertible Porsche, the longer side of her hair swinging against her cheek as she closed the door. “There!” Zoe squeaked. Anna turned and walked down the street directly toward them. She’d removed the belted jacket, revealing a sleeveless black sheath that hugged her curves.

Zoe ducked. She didn’t dare look up. Jack slid lower in his seat and reached up to adjust his sunglasses and shield his face as their paths crossed.

“Did she see us?”

Jack watched the mirror. “Don’t think so. She’s going into a building.” Zoe scrambled up, twisting around in time to see Anna pass a gnarled shade tree and walk under a awning striped in blue and white with the name Hotel Santa Lucia. Jack spun the wheel, slipping into the last open slot in the same tiny parking area.

“Let’s stroll,” Jack said, handing two euros to the man who monitored the parking lot. The attendant had waved Anna into the restaurant, so Zoe figured if you were eating there you didn’t have to pay.

Zoe snatched up her hat from the backseat and tucked her hair under it. They ambled in the opposite direction to a shop across the road with bright clothes fluttering in the breeze as they dangled on hangers hooked to window seals and the doorframe. The warm breeze felt good on Zoe’s bare arms.

Inside, Jack picked up a white baseball cap with the words AMALFI COAST. “Don’t think the hound’s-tooth hat will blend here,” Jack said. He paid while Zoe stayed near the shop’s front window to keep an eye on the hotel Anna had entered.

The striped awning led to an open-air terrace restaurant with an amazing view of the sea and Positano. A partial roof covered the right-hand side of the restaurant where an arched doorway opened to the hotel’s red-tiled lobby. A bar stretched along the wall next to the entrance to the hotel. Anna sat in the shade at the bar, her back to them, talking to the bartender, a young man with a thick head of dark curly hair, who smiled at Anna, his teeth flashing white against his deeply tanned skin as he unloaded a tray of clean glasses.

Jack peeled the price tag off his hat before settling it low over his eyes. “Still in there?”

“Yes. Doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere soon. She’s got a drink and seems to like the bartender.”

The bartender set a fresh drink in front of Anna. Jack’s gaze traveled from Anna to the Porsche. The top was down on the car, and Zoe could just see a corner of the fuchsia suitcase glowing brightly under the intense sun. “We’re close enough now that we can keep her in sight. This might be your best chance to get your phone back.”

“
My
best chance?”

“I planted it. It’s your turn.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“Unless you want to distract the parking attendant?”

She glanced at the guy with the wrinkled face and the sour expression, who sat on a stool under the shade tree. “I’ll get the phone.” She wanted to stay as far away from Anna as she could, and they had to get the phone back before Anna opened her suitcase and found it.

“You can do it,” Jack said. “I’ll ask him directions and pretend I can’t understand Italian. We can meet at that little café a few doors up the street from here.”

Zoe blew out a breath. “Okay, let’s go.”

Jack squeezed her arm as they stepped out of the shop. Zoe kept the brim of her hat tilted to cover her face as she crossed the street. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jack approach the attendant. She slipped between the cars and hunched over until she reached the Porsche. A few potted plants set along the edge of the parking lot did an ineffective job of screening the view of the cars from diners, and they wouldn’t block Anna’s view if she looked over her shoulder.

For half a second, Zoe debated opening the door, but decided not to. She didn’t want to risk an open door warning ding—or worse—set off the car alarm. Zoe raised enough to reach into the backseat and pulled the suitcase’s zipper down. She shoved her hand into the opening and felt nothing but fabric. The phone must have slipped deeper into the suitcase.

Anna’s laugh filtered through the air. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Zoe’s forehead as she buried her arm deeper in the suitcase. She dug through slippery silks, rough cottons, a stiff leather belt, and the rather vicious point of a stiletto heel. No plastic. The sour-faced man waved his arms, gesturing like he was throwing a ball down the street. Jack shook his head.

Zoe gave up trying to be subtle. With a quick glance at Anna, who was blowing a long stream of cigarette smoke skyward, Zoe fully unzipped the suitcase and splayed it open on the backseat. She was now standing, leaning into the Porsche, in full view. She kept her head down as she churned through clothes, shoes, and accessories.
It had to be here. Unless...had Anna found it? Had she opened the suitcase for some reason...
Frantically, Zoe patted the side pockets. She felt a rectangular outline and extracted the phone from an interior pocket, at the top of the suitcase.

Zoe re-zipped the suitcase, shoved it back where she’d found it, and slinked away.

Jack joined her at the café a few minutes later. Zoe fanned herself with the menu. “I need a drink. I think I had my first hot flash. It was in a pocket. An interior pocket. How did you do that?”

“I didn’t do it intentionally. It must have caught the edge of the pocket when I shoved it in there. ” Jack pointed to the phone on the table between them. “But you got it back. That’s all that counts.”

“Well, all I can say is that if we have to plant it again, it is definitely your turn. Now where’s my limoncello?”

***

“D
O you think she’s ever going to leave?” Zoe asked, as she sipped a club soda with a twist of lime. She’d had her limoncello, but Jack had insisted they order lunch with it. The owner of the café recommended the antipasto plate. They had worked their way through the menu from a delicious lamb dish to a noodle and seafood plate.

Zoe’s gaze drifted away from Anna to an older lean man with shiny dark hair and a deep tan trudging up the hill. He paused to adjust the blue plastic bag that he hauled on his back like Santa. He held it in place with one hand and with the other he gripped a large piece of cardboard with a space cut away for a handle. The cardboard had all sorts of things attached to it. Sunglasses, snorkels, goggles, hats, and jewelry were spaced evenly across the board and fastened so that they didn’t fall off when he lifted it. “Look at all that stuff that man has,” Zoe said.

“Street vendor,” Jack said. “They sell stuff to the tourists. Usually they walk the beaches or set up on busy streets in town. “This guy is probably headed to catch a bus home, but it looks like he’s going to hit us up on his way.” The man was moving in their direction, but a car came around the curve from below, moving up the slope of the hill toward him. The man glanced over his shoulder, spotted the car then quickly reversed course, melting into a narrow opening between two buildings.

The gray car with the words, Guardia di Finanza, on the side in yellow slid by slowly, lingering for a moment at the gap in the buildings where the man had vanished. Zoe looked at Jack with raised eyebrows. “Tax police,” he said. “The street vendors aren’t licensed and don’t charge their customers tax, so they don’t pay taxes to the government.”

“Ah, I see. Thus, the disappearing act.” Zoe turned her attention back to the restaurant, but Anna hadn’t moved. She still sat at the bar. She’d smoked at least three cigarettes, had several drinks, and a plate of food. The restaurant had a few scattered customers when she arrived, but they’d been served and departed. The bartender mixed drinks and served tables, but had never left Anna alone for long. It was siesta, the time when everything shut down for a few hours in the afternoon, but it didn’t look like Anna was in any hurry to leave.

Jack had asked the café owner if he was ready to close, but he’d waved Jack off, saying he stayed open to sell drinks to the crazy
turisti
who walked the town in the heat of the day.

“She seems quite comfortable,” Jack said.

“With the bartender.”

“Yes, there is something going on there. Too bad we can’t get close enough to hear them.”

“No spy gear for long-distance listening?” Zoe teased.

“Wouldn’t fit in the carry on,” he said.

She shook her head. “And you don’t lip read, either. What kind of spy are you?”

“
Was
. What kind of spy was I? All in the past.”

“Oh, I think you’re doing pretty good now, considering our limitations. No support, and only binoculars and a phone app for equipment.” She finished off her lemon pastry with a groan of pure delight. “Now, if we’re just going to sit here, I’m going to check email,” she said, nodding to the sign on the café window advertising free Wi-Fi.

She removed her computer from her messenger bag and powered it up. Another couple dropped into the seats at the café table next to them and ordered drinks.

“No e-mail. Either for me or Anna,” Zoe said. Zoe had been sitting with her ankles crossed, lounging back, managing to feel slightly lazy and full of good food, but when she logged onto Facebook, the soles of her feet hit the ground as she surged upright.

“Kathy updated her status. They’re here.”

“You can tell that from her update?” Jack asked. “Is there a location tag with it?”

“No. It’s in her update,” Zoe said, her words quick with excitement. “She says, ‘Greece was amazing. Rough night on the
Regent Renaissance
but I can’t wait to see the Blue Grotto and Pompeii.’ They have to be close.”

The woman seated at the table beside them twisted around. “I couldn’t help overhearing. Did you guys come in on the
Renaissance
, too?”

“No, but I know someone who is on that cruise. Is the ship close? Naples?”

The woman fanned herself with the plastic café menu, lifting her fine brown hair away from her sweaty forehead. “Closer than that. It’s anchored off Capri for the next two days.”

The café owner deposited two limoncellos at their table. The man lifted his. “To solid ground.”

She clinked her glass against his then swept her hand toward the village. “To wide-open views.”

They sipped their drinks then the woman raised her glass, pointing at the hotel across the street. “That one looks nice. We should check there.” The man agreed and the woman shifted back toward Zoe and Jack. “Are you staying in town? Can you recommend a good hotel? I’m Isobel, by the way.”

Zoe and Jack introduced themselves, said they didn’t have a hotel, and didn’t know any to recommend. They chatted a few minutes and learned that Paul was a pharmacist and Isobel was a history teacher. They were from Mesquite, Texas, and this was their first cruise.

“First and last,” Paul said, finishing off his drink.

Isobel nodded. “Amen to that. All our friends love cruising, so we figured we’d save up and go on a Mediterranean cruise—what could be better, right? I love history, and Paul loves to eat, although you couldn’t tell by looking at him.” She gave him a quick pat on his bony shoulder. Zoe guessed Paul was in his late fifties and that his hair had probably once been light blond, but the sun glinted off more silver strands than gold. “I love food, too,” she said. “But that’s no surprise.” While Paul was tall and thin, Isobel was shorter and plumper, filling out the loose caftan-like linen dress she wore.

“Turns out Paul is prone to seasickness,” Isobel continued, “and I had no idea I hate small spaces. Our room...” She shivered, sending tremors through the pale yellow fabric of her dress, “it’s about as big as a coffin, and each day it seemed to close in on me more.” Isobel took another sip of her drink. “I mean, how would we know these things? I’d never been anywhere so confined.”

Paul winked at her. “We just like wide-open, landlocked places.”

Zoe leaned forward. “I need to get a message to someone on that ship, but he’s not checking email or answering his phone. Could I impose and ask if you’d mind taking a message to him when you go back to the ship?”

“Oh, we’re not going back to the ship,” Isobel said.

“I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood. I thought you were going to stay here for a night and then go back to the ship.”

Isobel hitched her chair closer to Zoe. “No, we decided when we came ashore here in Positano. No more ships.”

“Or islands,” Paul inserted.

Isobel smiled at him. “No islands. No more boats, even short trips. That’s what we agreed on. We’re staying overnight here in Positano. Tomorrow, we’ll go to Pompeii and Herculaneum—its ruins are supposed to be even better than Pompeii’s—and then we’ll drive up to Rome and catch our flight home.”

“But what about your things...your luggage?”

Isobel waved a hand. “It’s only a few days. We’ll buy a couple of things. We’ll meet the ship in Rome and get our stuff then, but if you want to get a message to the ship, I’m sure you can.” She picked up a blue ID card that hung around her neck. “Just look for someone wearing one of these.” It was an identification tag with her photo and name on it. She pulled it over her head and dropped it on the café table. “Won’t need that for a few days.”

Zoe had seen a few people wearing the lanyards as they watched tourists stroll by the restaurant. She glanced around, but the street was empty now in the heat of the day. Jack touched Zoe’s hand, his gaze on the restaurant. She had been so focused on the couple beside them and possibly getting a message to Mort that she’d forgotten about Anna.