Vacation to Die For

by Josie Brown

  “Wait—did you say ‘Lee’? As in Chiffray?”

  Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “How do you know Lee?”

  I’d forgotten how jealous Babette can be. Nonchalantly I shake my head. “Through…Carl. He’s here on business, with Mr. Boarke.”

  She smirks. “Let me guess. He wants Carl to buy Lee out before the balloon loan comes due. Ha, fat chance that’ll happen! This place—well, not the kiddie camp, but certainly the Hunt Club—is a cash cow. Lee is willing to extend the note—for a few small concessions. He’s made this perfectly clear to Boarke’s little tart, Julie.”

  “How do you know that, my love?” Dominic asks as he dots the tip of her nose with whipped cream before putting two cream covered fingers in her mouth, which she sucks on with relish. Babette is a size zero, so she can afford the extra calories.

  She grimaces. “Because Lee’s got the audacity to take business calls while we make love.”

  “Wow,” I murmur. “That’s…just…sad.”

  “Who are you to judge me?” Babette kicks a pillow in my direction. “Look, I admit it, I’m high maintenance, and I come with a large overhead. So yes, I’ll get lost—if the price is right.” She winks at Dominic. “But I never pout. I prefer to get even.”

  These two deserve each other—and any STDs that come with their idea of fun and games. “While you’re ‘getting even,’ who is minding Janie and Trisha?”

  Babette shrugs. “That odious Julie person—supposedly. Janie claims she spends most of her time following Lee around, like an eager little puppy. And once she caught the odious hussy in my bedroom. No surprise there.” Jonah Breck’s widow is quite familiar with the sexual peccadilloes of power rangers. “So do you mind? We’re getting ready for high tea.”

  I pull Dominic off the bed and nudge him back into the living room with me. “Keep her busy for the next hour or two. And by the way, you’re disgusting.”

  He chuckles as if I just charmed him with a clever bon mot. “My dear, I’m only following your orders—to get as close to Chiffray as I can.” He nods toward the bedroom. “I can’t get any closer, now can I? Unless the old boy is into three-ways.”

  He has a point.

  “By the way,” he continues, “Babette babbled on about something that has to do with Chiffray approving a new ventilation system for the resorts. They are testing it in one of the smaller auditoriums connected to the Hunt Club—tomorrow, in fact.”

  “Oh, damn! Boarke must have gotten his hands on Mandrake’s plague bacteria. My guess is that it will be tested on the human livestock.”

  I grab my cell phone and text Arnie and Abu, so that they can monitor the air flowing throughout the Hunt Club over the next twenty-four hours.

  “What are you two doing in there?” Babette shouts from the bedroom. “Dominic, I’ve forgotten my safety word. What is it again?”

  “Darling, I’ve told you a million times—it’s ‘slapper.’” He turns to me and mutters, “English must be a second language to you Americans.”

  “In her defense, her math skills are excellent. Next time just hand her a fifty-pound note and she’ll remember anything you tell her with no problem.”

  “Yes, I’ve no doubt.” He pauses, and then leans into me, his eyes filled with soulful lust. “Donna, please know that these little trifles are conducted strictly in the line of duty.”

  “Of course, Dominic. Not to worry. There is no way in which I could think any worse of you than I already do.”

  He sighs with relief.

  The dumb ass.

  My next stop is Lee Chiffray’s villa. I need to hug my baby.

  In fact, I want Trisha to come home with me. The last person I’d trust to look after her is Julie.

  Babette is a very close second.

  One way or another, this mission ends tonight.

  Chapter 17

  Couples Retreat

  If you long for a getaway with your main squeeze—alone, just the two of you—by all means you should take what the hospitality industry euphemistically calls a “couples retreat.” The best of these live up to the name if:

  1: Its accommodations are both romantic and secluded. No one should be within sight, or for that matter, yelling distance. If so, don’t shout out your safety word, just mime it.

  2: A tub large enough for two is a must! Jacuzzi bubbles may make it harder to see your lover’s naughty bits, but a generous capacity allows for lots of Kama Sutra moves. (Suggestion: Avoid positions in which someone’s head has to hang below the water line, unless the other partner is certified in mouth-to-mouth resuscitation); and

  3: Aromatherapy accoutrements are bountiful. This is especially important if the resort is next to a slaughterhouse, or a toxic waste dump. And of course the more fragrant the candles, the better, so make sure these are plentiful as well. (Suggestion: request a fire extinguisher, just in case your bedroom gymnastics include floor exercises worthy of an Olympic gold medal.)

  Despite its size, Lee Chiffray’s villa is not easy to find. It doesn’t appear on any of the resorts maps. Finally, Arnie spots it on satellite image of the island, sitting all on its lonesome on a secluded crescent of beach dotted with tall dunes, just beyond the Hunt Club. It is accessible only by a narrow road that zigzags over a cliff.

  The manservant who answers the villa’s stately front door barely nods at my request to see Trisha, declaring, “Little missy is on the beach.”

  Behind him, I hear Lee and Julie arguing.

  Interesting.

  I saunter in before the manservant can close the door on me. I follow the sound of their angry voices into a large living room decorated in nautical hues. Smiling sweetly, I declare, “Yoo-hoo!”

  Lee and Julie freeze to stare at me. I can just imagine what they’re thinking: Did she hear our conversation?

  Okay, yes, but only the part where Julie said, “We’ve had a better offer from a French bank,” and Lee retorted, “It’s bogus! And besides, my deal with Boarke allows me to match any offers. I’m doing so now, whether he likes it or not.”

  “I’m not interrupting anything, I hope.” I’m sure I sound sincere.

  “No, not at all,” they say together.

  I’m glad I’m not standing between them, because the angry looks they exchange would incinerate a snow man, let alone little old me.

  “Lee, talk about a small world! I ran into your fianceé, Babette Breck, in the Hunt Club boutique. She happens to be my neighbor, back in Hilldale. And my daughter is your guest, here in the villa. She’s Janie’s friend, Trisha.”

  His eyes narrow at this newfound knowledge. “Yes, I see the resemblance now. Trisha is adorable, too.”

  “Why, thank you.” I take a trick out of Julie’s book and bat my eyelashes as if I’ve awakened from a coma.

  “Really?” Julie’s frown only deepens. “Trisha doesn’t look anything like Mr. Stone.”

  I notice that Lee also winces when she says this. Seems as if we’re on the same page about this woman.

  Taking his cue, I ignore her and address him alone. “I’ll be taking Trisha now, for the rest of our stay. Where is she?”

  “Playing on the beach,” Julie interjects.

  I stare at her. “You mean, the girls aren’t here with you? But Babette told me you were babysitting them.”

  "Well…we…I…” For once Julie’s stutter is genuine. “I was summoned by Mr. Chiffray to talk business while Janie is taking a horseback lesson. Trisha insisted that she go to the beach.”

  “What? No adult supervision?” I’m sure they hear the frustration in my voice. Lee knows I’ve been through this drill all too recently.

  In a place where a pilot, a flight attendant and a scientist can disappear without a trace—not to mention all the single women Connor Reems was chopping and basting—it would be nice to have some accountability when it comes to a child who is not yet six.

  “In fact, we can see Trisha from here.” Julie waves her arm toward the wide French windows.


  My heart swells to see my daughter bobbing in and out of the tall sand dunes and reeds.

  Still, I shake my head in awe at Julie’s audacity. I mean, come on! If anyone knows about the dangers lurking around this place, it should be her. “And what about this pirate? Trisha mentioned some counselor dressed up as one, who sometimes plays with her. You know—eye patch, peg leg, that sort of thing?”

  Julie stares at me as if I’m daft. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She turns to Lee. “Mr. Chiffray, I promise you there hasn’t been anyone else—certainly no unsanctioned employees—anywhere near your villa!”

  Lee’s face is as blank as it was when he was riding high at the baccarat table. Finally he smiles. “Julie, of course you wouldn’t allow anyone to impede on my privacy, or that of my guests. Donna, it sounds as if Trisha has quite an active imagination.”

  Yes, I’ve seen it firsthand. At the same time, the pirate sounded so real in her texts.

  The perplexed look on my face prompts Lee to add, “Perhaps she’s a bit bored, here with Babette and Janie. I’m sure she’ll welcome you with open arms. Oh, and don’t worry about Trisha’s things. The servants will have them waiting for you at the door. I’m sure we’ll catch up again, back in Hilldale. Babette and I have such great chemistry.”

  Here’s hoping he never finds out about her physical combustions with Dominic.

  I have no more excuses for small talk, so I bow out through the French doors.

  Now that he’s taken away my opportunity to get back into the villa, I only wish I’d thought about having Arnie bug Lee’s digs when we first realized the importance of his relationship with Boarke. The intel gathered would have shed a movie-premiere-sized spotlight on what we came here to find. More importantly, we might have wrapped up this mission, and I would have been reunited with Trisha even sooner.

  Stupid me! Maybe I’m not cut out to be a mission leader after all. So much for wanting it all.

  My little girl turns cartwheels on the beach, right at the water’s edge. The sun has bleached her hair almost white, and has burnished her skin to the color of golden raisins. When the surf sneaks up so close that it tickles her feet, she giggles and skips over sand that is as soft and powdery as flour sprinkled with white sugar.

  I wish I could watch her play like this all day long.

  But I can’t—not if we’re to save a hundred people from a cruel death.

  She sees me before I have a chance to call out to her. “Mommy! Mommy is here,” she cries as she flies across the high dunes and into my arms.

  I hold her tight for as long as I can. Sheer joy has me dancing around in circles with her in my arms. The centrifugal force from my speed pulls her away, as if she’s floating through the air. Her giggles are infectious. Finally, I collapse on the warm, dry sand with her on top of me.

  We lay there together until the pulse of her heart mirrors mine.

  This is life as it should be.

  Gently I sit up, cuddling her in my arms. “Come on, sweetie. Jeff and Mary and Daddy are here, too. We have a bungalow at Kamp KidStuff. There are lots of fun things to do there.” When I stand up, she plops into the sand.

  Trisha’s smile fades. “But—we can’t go yet, Mommy! I’m on my way to see the pirate now. He’s going to give me another treasure!”

  I try not to laugh. “Maybe he’ll bring it to you at Kamp KidStuff.”

  Trisha shakes her head adamantly. “He can’t go anywhere. He has to stay in his cave. He’s afraid they’ll find him again, and put him back in the brig. Mommy, did you know ‘brig’ is another word for jail?”

  Jail—

  The livestock room.

  “Trisha, did he tell you where they keep this jail?”

  She squints and nods. “He says it’s in a big building where there are hunters and guns.”

  “Where is his cave?” I try to keep my voice from sounding anxious.

  “Down there, beneath the keyhole.” She points down the beach. About a half-mile away, a large rock formation juts out into the surf. The wind has beaten away enough of the cliff to create a perfect hole below the ledge.

  “What if I take you there now, before we go?”

  “Thank you, Mommy! I’d like that.” She picks up her things—tiny flip-flops, and a rope necklace lined with shells of all sizes—and hands them to me. I put them in my beach bag. Then she grabs my hand and pulls me with her along the beach.

  The water rolls in and around our feet, as if it wants to pull us back to where we came from.

  There is no going back now.

  Even before we reach the keyhole rock, we see him sitting in front of one of the dunes, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  He doesn’t move when he sees us coming, but his smile disappears.

  When we are a few yards away, he stands, shielding his eyes from the bright sun.

  He truly has a peg leg. Strips of white linen cover a stump ending at his ankle. A cane gives him the ballast needed to stand up.

  “Ah, my little buccaneer has come to visit me! And she’s brought a friend.”

  Before I can stop her, Trisha runs over to him. “This is my mother. She likes pirates, too.” She holds out her hand, which has three unbroken sand dollars. “I have this to swap for a treasure.”

  He pulls a small speckled conch shell from beneath his tattered white vest. There is a hole where he has ripped off the numbered badge, exposing his nipple and chest hair, which is already graying.

  “Hold it up to your ear, and you’ll hear the sea,” he says to Trisha.

  She does as she’s told. But she must not get the analogy, because she shakes it hard and exclaims, “I hear whistling.”

  When he laughs at her, she joins in.

  His smile disappears when he bends down over his cane so that they are face to face. “Hold tight to this shell. It’s very special. Someday it will whisper to you where I’ve hidden the treasure.”

  “I cross my heart,” she says solemnly.

  Her hug catches him off guard. To keep his balance, he has to hold on tight. Not that he minds this. He closes his eyes. His smile expresses his bliss.

  But when he opens his eyes again, sadness is reflected in them.

  “I hope we find the treasure before we go home. If we don’t, Mommy says you can visit whenever you want and bring the treasure with you. Can I go into your cave and play?”

  He sweeps his hand toward the rock. “Mi casa, su casa.”

  Trisha runs around the rock formation to the other side, conch shell in hand.

  The pirate and I are left staring at each other.

  Between his size, his age, and the missing leg below his knee, assuaging my curiosity is worth a stab in the dark. I hold out my hand. “Doctor Mandrake, I presume?”

  He pauses before giving me a resigned nod. “Yes, guilty as charged. And who are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I shrug. “What does matter is that your country wants you back, no questions asked—that is, if you still have the plague bacteria samples with you.”

  “Ah, I see.” His eyes open wide at the thought. “Rest assured they are in a very safe place. As for any forgiveness on the part of my employer, to what do I owe this generosity of spirit?”

  “Your timing, I suppose. When it comes to covert affairs, no news is good news. With all the so-called whistle-blowing and leaking of state secrets in the news, the Department of Defense would rather let bygones be bygones, as it were.”

  His mouth opens in surprise. “Uncle Sam is willing to pretend this never happened?”

  “Yes—if you return the samples, and are willing to come back to work. Think of it as history repeating itself. After World War II, Germany’s scientists were forgiven even worse indiscretions, as I recall.” I let that sink in for a moment. “Pardon me, but I have to ask, why did you take the research with you in the first place?”

  “Out of pride, I guess." He raises his lips into a mirthless smile. �
�Just when I’d successfully completed my research on a vaccine for a pneumonic plague bacteria, our government’s latest round of budget cuts were announced. It was obvious that my project was to be put on hold, despite the Department of Defense’s knowledge of the advances coming out of Russia and China in this particularly horrendous form of warfare.”

  He stares out at the ocean, as if looking for his next words in its still blue waters. Then he sighs. “A private entity offered me the world—money, power and most importantly, solace. All I had to do was give them the vaccine. The organization is well funded, and its representative talks a good game, going so far as to promise free worldwide distribution of the vaccine. Publicity regarding the vaccine would render the plague bacteria obsolete in warfare, and it would certainly have put me in contention for the Nobel Prize. Needless to say, I was tempted—but not by the money, or the professional prestige.” He turns back to face me. “I’m tired of pork barrel politics. Defense doesn’t come with the annihilation of our enemies. Such attacks only breed contempt and revenge. True defense is about the protection of our citizens. But for the right price, our so-called leaders would readily trade research that may save lives for yet another battalion of obsolete weaponry.”

  No arguments there. I lean back into a sand dune. “Who is the interested party?”

  “A group that goes by the name of ‘the Quorum.’”

  Why am I not surprised?

  “My lab was to be here, on Fantasy Island,” Mandrake continues. “But I refused to use the ‘lab rats’ they provided me.”

  I nod. “That’s certainly to your credit. I’ve seen the stockyard.” I point down to his bandaged ankle. “What happened to your foot?”

  “My change of heart got me downgraded from a suite in the Hunt Club to the stockyard. Luckily, a day later I was put out in the wild. I may have eluded my hunter, but I ran into a very hungry crocodile.” He shrugs. “I owe my life to another escapee. He knew enough first aid to wrap what was left of his prison garb around the wound, along with some healing herbs.”

  “Was he the pilot from your flight down here?”