by Sara Rosett
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?”
***
“DO 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, Is
obel 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.
Anna was leaving the restaurant with the bartender. He had his arm around her waist as they strolled to her car. Anna took the driver’s seat and the bartender settled into the passenger seat.
“Time for us to move on,” Jack said as the Porsche backed out.
“Hope you have a wonderful time on the rest of your trip,” Zoe said.
“You, too,” Isobel called as Paul touched the brim of his hat with two fingers.
Jack had already settled the bill, so they crossed the street to their rental car and took off down the single lane behind the Porsche.
Chapter Fifteen
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JACK stayed back far enough from the black sports car that they wouldn’t notice them as they trailed Anna along the twisty road as it climbed back to meet the main road. Once back on the slightly wider road that hugged the coast, Anna turned left and they retraced their earlier route, whipping along the hairpin turns in the direction of the tip of the peninsula.
“Are you worried she’ll spot us?” Zoe asked.
Jack shook his head. “No. There’s enough traffic that I don’t think we’ll stand out.” Buses, cars, and motor scooters swooshed back and forth on the sweeping turns, providing camouflage for them until they turned off the main road and entered a small village away from the coast, which wasn’t nearly as scenic as Positano. Here, corrugated steel covered shed-like buildings. Instead of the bright white stucco of the villages by the sea, these homes and buildings along the narrow road were gray and plain. No bright tourist wares here.
Jack dropped back in the quiet narrow streets. They took the wrong road when it separated at a Y intersection. When it petered out into a dirt trail, Jack put the car in reverse, and they backtracked to the Y then took the other road.
They threaded through terraced olive groves and then the quiet road rejoined the main road with its smooth blacktop and clear white lane stripes. Jack pointed to a flash of a shiny black bumper disappearing around a curve. “There they are. That must have been a shortcut only the locals know.”
The road curved higher and there was less traffic here, so Jack kept a good distance back. The road snaked higher and higher toward the rocky white cliffs. They zipped through a little town, white rock walls on either side of the road.
The black car slowed, and Jack dropped back, following it through a quaint town with white stucco walls, a couple of stores and homes, some of them seeming to be carved into the rock of the mountain. The Porsche stopped short at a garage door set into the wall on the cliff side of the road. The glossy wood garage door had a well cared for look that contrasted sharply with the cracked stucco that had fallen away from the wall, exposing the stones. A mass of vines and scrub bushes grew along a trail above the wall, their vines and roots dangling above the open garage door. The engine revved, and the car slipped into the tiny space, stirring the trailing greenery.
Jack zipped by the garage, made a quick three-point turn and whipped into a narrow parking space, hugging a low wall on the side of the sea. The slot was probably for a motor scooter instead of a car, but Zoe figured it didn’t matter because there was an even bigger car wedged into the parking place in front of them.
Anna and the man came out of the garage, and it closed smoothly behind them as they backtracked a few feet then turned onto the dirt trail that ran up the hillside directly over the area where the garage was set into the hillside.
The man held Anna’s suitcase, and their arms were around each other’s waists. The trail paralleled the road, but rose steadily. They watched Anna and the man until a copse screened them from view.
“They looked cozy,” Zoe commented.
Jack opened his door. “We’ll have to follow them on foot. There’s no road up there.” Zoe repositioned her hat and stepped out of the car.
A sign at the foot of the trail had symbols of a hiker with a walking stick, a mountain, and a set of wavy lines, and declared they were headed for Baia di Jeranto. “Looks like we’re hiking,” Jack said. “I remember hearing about this trail when I worked in Naples. It goes all the way to a small secluded beach. The trail is the only way to reach it. Supposed to be amazing. Views of Capri and everything. I wanted to come down here and hike it, but never got to do it.”
“How far is the beach?”
“About a twenty or thirty minute hike, I think. One of the guys at the consulate told me about it.”
“Well, I don’t think Anna’s going that far, at least, not in those heels.”
“Maybe he’s going to carry her,” Jack said as they crossed the street to the trail.
“She certainly didn’t look like she’d object.”
They fell silent as they entered the tree-shaded portion of the narrow trail, which rose steadily. Dry yellow grass grew between flat white rocks that formed a wall higher than Jack’s head on their right, while a fence of wooden poles and wire lined the edge of the trail where the ground sloped away on the left. Vines dripped over the fence and the trees touched overhead, but they didn’t completely block the light. Sun dappled the trail, flicking over them as they moved. The climb wasn’t extremely steep, but Zoe felt sweat gathering around the brim of her hat.
As they emerged from the green tunnel, Zoe caught her breath at the view. They could see for miles along the coast, the green land dropping down to the sea in some places in a smooth curve, in others, a jagged, sheer drop. “Is that the beach?” Zoe asked, nodding at the bay with sunbathers and umbrellas on a stretch of sand and rows of boats bobbing on the sparkling water.
“No, too crowded. And, Jeranto is in the opposite direction.”
Zoe was about to comment on the view, but a throaty laugh floated back to them, and she snapped her mouth shut. The view was so stunning she�
��d forgotten about Anna for a second.
She and Jack exchanged glances. They moved through the small break in the trees and reentered the green tunnel of trees and rock, moving cautiously. They paused at a curve in the trail and watched as Anna and the man entered a gate set in the wire fence.
Zoe edged forward, leaning around Jack’s shoulder. From their vantage point on the high trail, they could see down into the small rectangle of land with a villa set into a terraced portion of the sloping ground. A gravel path led from the gate through olive trees to the small, whitewashed villa. It couldn’t be more than two or three rooms. Blue shutters framed square windows set in thick walls and a flagstone terrace enclosed the house on the three sides away from the path. Huge pots of flowers and vines edged the terrace. Several lounge chairs and a round iron table sat on the flagstone terrace at the back of the villa.
Shadows moved back and forth in front of the windows, then...nothing. No flickering movements in front of the windows. No snatches of conversation. No footfalls.
A bird called in the trees above them. “Siesta?” Zoe asked.
“I’ll bet,” Jack said with a smile.
Zoe tensed at a scuttling sound at the edge of the trail. A lizard disappeared into the undergrowth.
“Come on,” Jack said, reaching for her hand. “Let’s find somewhere a little more protected to wait.”
They gingerly explored the area around the villa. They settled on the far side of the gate where the trees again enclosed the trail. The ground dropped off too steeply from the flagstone terrace to go around the back, and the right-hand side of the trail with the rock wall rose straight up to a narrow, crumbling ridge with a few scrub bushes.
“This is a good spot,” Zoe said, settling on a tree root a few feet off the trail. “The trees and undergrowth will screen us from any hikers, and when Anna and the guy leave, they won’t go by us.” She took off her hat and wiped her forehead and the back of her neck. “Did you bring your binoculars?”
“Sadly, no. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll always carry them on me from now on.”