Vacation to Die For (16 page)

“Hey, can we go to the nude beach?” Jeff’s friend, Morton Smith, must think this specific page in Fantasy Island’s thirty-eight page four-color brochure opens into a centerfold because he turns it sideways. 

“Why bother? We can just watch a porn channel,” Jeff declares, without moving his eyes from the television set. “This joint has got three of them. What does ‘BSDM’ stand for?” 

Jack rips the brochure out of Morton’s hand. Then he grabs the TV remote from Jeff, and turns off the set. “Get off your cans. Go out there and be boys–you know, build a fort, or a sandcastle. Throw ice on the girls hanging by the pool.”

I dig my nail into Jack’s palm as my way of saying, 
thanks but no thanks
. “Cheever dear, I think what Mr. Stone is trying to say is that you should go out and enjoy the many activities Kamp KidStuff has to offer. It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Did you know you can parasail, and go fishing? Why, there’s even a pirate party! They tell stories about real pirates, like Blackbeard and Jean Lafitte, while roasting marshmallows by the campfire. And there are treasure hunts—”

Cheever falls off the couch, laughing. “What do you take us for, babies?”

I grab Jack’s arm before he picks the kid up by the scruff of his neck and tosses him out the door. We’ve had the boys for only six hours, and already they’re driving us up a wall. 

Jack glares at Cheever. “No, in truth I’ve got you pegged as a future serial killer. Let’s see, you’ve only been here a few hours and already you’ve buried one of the other kids up to his neck in sand, and scared one of the poor counselors into thinking you were drowning so that she’d give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”

“Until she saw he was getting a boner,” Morton snickers.

 “The other boys hate them, and the counselors run in the other direction when they see them,” I mutter to Jack. “At this point, I don’t think we could pay someone to babysit them.”

Cheever shrugs. “Toss me a Benjamin and I’ll stay out of your hair.”

Jack snaps his fingers. “Hey wait. That’s not such a bad idea.”

I shake my head. “Are you crazy? Pay them to watch themselves?”

“Why not? In the real world, an employer would compensate them, am I right?”

“Yes. But I don’t owe any of these slugs a living, except for this one here”—I jerk my head toward Jeff—“and only through college.”

“That’s just the point. We’ll make it a job, and tie their pay to proven productivity.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Cheever whines. “I come from a long line of Socialists. We believe in a strong welfare state—”

Jeff slaps his hand over his friend’s mouth. “I’ve got my eye on an iPad Mini, so shut up and let’s hear what they have to say. Go on, Dad.”

“It’s very simple. Every day you’ll be out of the bungalow by nine, and back here by six. Three times a day, one of you is to document your activities to Mrs. Stone, on video, via your iPhones. At the end of the day, you’ll each get paid with a twenty dollar bill.”

“What a rip! For nine hours, that’s not even minimum wage,” Cheever mutters.

“Listen up, you little union agitator—this isn’t exactly the coal mines of Kentucky. You’re getting three square meals a day—none of which is tofu, like your mother would feed you—
and
 you’re living in paradise.” Jack opens his arms wide to make his point. “Also, there’s a bonus plan to sweeten the pot. Five extra bucks a day if you get a counselor on video singing your praises for making nice-nice with the other boys on the island.”

Morton frowns. “Some of those dudes are real dweebs. And their leader is a moron. The only reason we buried him in the first place was because he pissed off Jeff when he called Mrs. Stone a fox.”

A fox? Me? Jeff and I turn almost the same shade of pink. 

Morton turns to me. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Stone. Jeff set him straight. He told the boy you were probably older than his mother. When the kid heard that, he barfed. It was a hoot!”

Ah, how chivalrous of my little man. Note to self: Remind Son that any compliment toward his mother is a 
good
 thing—not worthy of belittling, beatings, beheadings or for that matter, 
the truth
.

Jack looks at the clock on the wall. “It’s two o’clock now. You can put in half a day’s work, if you want. That’s ten bucks each, and any bonuses you can scrounge up.” 

Morton looks at Jeff, who glances over at Cheever, who nods. 

Oh, boy. If Cheever is the boss of this mob, we’ll have our hands full, despite Jack’s offer. That’s okay, it’s not as if I have a lot of petty cash lying around to pay them.

The boys troop out the door just as the cell phone rings. It’s Abu. I put him on speaker. “Hey, what are the chances you and Jack can make it over here?”

I brace myself for the worst. “Trouble?”

“Not at all. In fact, we may have stumbled onto Mandrake’s lair.”

Jack laughs. “Quite an interesting word for his hideout.” 

“Only because it appears to be in an interesting place, and I don’t mean the plush gambling salons of the Hunt Club. If we’re right, we may be able to wrap up this thing tonight.”

“Nothing would make me happier. We’ll be right over.” As I ring off, I turn to Jack. “What should we do about the boys?”

“Call Emma. She can watch the little monsters while she monitors our mission. They’ll be putty in her hands. Jeff still has a crush on her, you know.”

“He could do worse.” I pick up the garment bag holding my Cinderella gown from last night.

“What are you doing with that?” Jack asks.

“Returning it. Between the tricks I know with crushed aspirin, meat tenderizer, lemon juice, salt, baking soda, hydrogen peroxide and liquid dish soap, it looks as good as new.” 

I shut one eye and hold it up to the light. Well, almost. If the sales girl is blind, I may just get away with it.

Since our bungalow at Kamp KidStuff is under the name of Donna Stone, Jack had no reason to give up his suite at the Hunt Club. The whole mission team is already there, except for Emma, who’s listening in via speaker while she hangs at the bungalow until our little hellions come home, hopefully with all appendages still attached.

But just in case one doesn’t, I’ve left her a MediPack.

Arnie has a map of the island projected onto the wall, for all of us to see. “Emma and I have tried to detect a pattern to Mandrake’s travels over the past couple of days. What we’ve noticed is this: he stays on the outskirts of the resorts, but rarely does he go inside their boundaries.”

“There was one exception,” Jack interjects. “His signal was picked up near Donna’s tiki hut, that one night.”

Arnie nods. “Yes, that anomaly stumped us, too—at first. But even then, it had one thing in common with all the other verified coordinates: he is never far from a body of water. Even when he was next to the tiki hut, he was hugging the beach, along the shallow part of the surf.”

Jack shakes his head, confused. “Does that mean he’s traveling by boat?”

Abu runs his finger over the map. “Could be. Although, from Arnie and Emma’s research, it looks like he comes on shore periodically, but certainly he never wanders too far from the coastline or one of the island’s many tributaries.”

“So, what does this tell us?” I ask.

Dominic taps the wall beside the map. “My guess is that he’s not a guest. But he’s not being held captive either.” 

I’m confused. “So, he’s squatting—like Sasquatch?”

“Even so, they’re obviously not working together,” Jack counters. “Otherwise Sasquatch wouldn’t have been spooked at the mention of his name.”

“Arnie, tell them the great news.” Emma’s voice echoes from the speaker.

“Whereas in the past he seems to have been moving continually, for the past few hours he’s been hanging in one specific quadrant.” He stabs the map.

“Could he be dead?” asks Abu.

Arnie shakes his head. “Every now and then he moves slightly. More than likely, he’s injured.”

“Where is it?”

Abu scrutinizes the map. “From what I can tell, it’s very close to the VIP reserve.”

Jack shrugs. “Well, since we don’t know why he’s still and how long he’ll stay that way, I suggest we go there as soon as possible. Abu, both you and Julie mentioned that sometimes there are night safaris. Do you know if any are taking place tonight?”

Abu shakes his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Good,” I say. “Less chance of us running into someone who may not appreciate our presence. I say we work in pairs. We’ll equip ourselves with video lenses, earbuds, and night-vision goggles. Until we know Mandrake’s business here and we secure the bacteria, shoot to stun, not to kill. And since we’ll be in uncharted territory, prepare for anything and everything.”

“Lions and tigers and bears? Oh my,” Dominic murmurs.

He may be joking but after our run-in with the Fantasy Island pygmies, the thought of being chased by something with fangs sends a shiver up my spine.

Not that I can show my team how I feel. “Okay grab your gear. Let’s meet off-grounds, in exactly an hour.”

“Well done, boss lady. Very Hillary, but with just the right dollop of an Anna Wintour chill.” For a fleeting moment, Dominic’s smile fades. He takes a lock of my now brown again tresses in his hand and sighs. “Already I miss that clueless hussy, Lotta Tallant.” 

I have to laugh at that. “Thank you…I think. Look around you, Dominic. Everywhere you turn there are a lot of Lotta Tallants—especially on this island.”  

He nods. “True that. But too much of anything becomes a bit of a bore. Pra’ps its time I settled down, like you two old sods.”  

He actually sounds wistful. I think of what it would mean for Hilldale to have him in its midst. The women would go gaga. The men would be insanely jealous. 

It would be Nirvana for him—

For all of a week.

But no, it would never work. International Men of Mystery don’t live in Orange County, California. They don’t put down deposits on McMansions on quiet Cul-de-sacs. They don’t trade in their Aston Martins for Lexus sedans or BMW SUVs, then double down with the requisite John Deer mower and a coveted Napoleon Mirage gas grill.

They have to save the world, and while they’re at it, a pretty girl or two. 

They don’t have wives and children. They don’t attend meetings at school with teachers who tell them what they already know about their kids, let alone wince when the teacher has the guts to say that their son is too lazy for his own good, or that their daughter is too boy crazy.

Or that they’ve got a little assassin in the making. 

Yep, the kid is a chip off the old block.

Besides, if the Dominics of the world opt for everyday lives, who will stop the really bad guys?

Not that I can say this to him. 

In truth, I don’t have to say anything. He already knows it. 

The Jacks in this world are few and far between—those men driven to get into the game, who excel at it, who are used to its junkie high.

And yet, should they come across her in their world travels, they would readily trade the thrill of the chase for the love of a good woman.

I know, because he proves it to me every day, and in so many ways.

Dominic would be very lucky to find his own soul mate. But I won’t hold my breath. Hell, I have to do that enough in my line of work, what with all the people who try to choke or drown me.

Instead I smile and say, “Sure thing. Go for it. And I’ll be the first to welcome you into the neighborhood, with my world renowned cherry pie.”

“If it’s as good as you say, you’ll have to give me the recipe,” he murmurs as he saunters out the door.

Well, la-dee-dah. I didn’t see 
that
 one coming.

I hurry out after him.

Mandrake’s GPS coordinates take us around to the south side of the island, moving west. We’re on an undeveloped beach, very close to where Battoo picked us up the other day, when Sasquatch saved us. 

Not much of the beach is sand because the mountain’s gentle rise seems to start almost at the water’s edge. The mountainside is blanketed in a thick carpet of trees, vines, and pungent flowers. Running water can be heard if not seen, in both directions. It’s dark enough that we’re wearing our night-vision goggles.