Vacation to Die For Page 13

  “You, I can understand,” he says, as he licks the tip of my nose. “You’re sweet as sugar. But Dominic”—he shrugs—“he’s an acquired taste.”

  “Apparently so. By many, and often.” I wrap his arms around me.

  “Remember, Donna, we’re monitoring the water, food, and air for toxicity. And we’ve come very close to capturing Mandrake, if tonight is any indication.”

  “That’s just it: as close as we’ve been, how do we keep missing him?”

  Jack shrugs. “For the life of me, I can’t figure that one out.”

  Regarding Mary, what choice do I have? None really. “Okay, maybe you’re right about Mary and Aunt Phyllis. I’ll make their reservations for tomorrow morning’s flight. They’ll be here just before dinner. After I get them settled here at Kamp KidStuff, I’ll meet you and the rest of the team over at the Hunt Club. Dominic is right about one thing—it’s where all the action seems to be.” I stretch and yawn. “I’m sure Emma will be happy to leave Kamp KidStuff for Eden Key, once and for all. And I need to have a heart-to-heart with Mary.”

  His smile falters. “Just be kind.”

  I smack him on the nose. “You know me well enough. Why, would you imply otherwise?”

  He rubs out the sting of my slap. “My point exactly.”

  Ah, I get it. “So that’s what you think of me? That I’m too hard on her?”

  “I think Mary would like a little more space, yes. I also think we’ve had a very long day. And tomorrow is shaping up to be the same. The double tub in there would be a great way to wash off any crock stank, not to mention the work of collecting a few bones from the recently departed.”

  No arguments there.

  By the time I’ve made Mary’s necessary travel arrangements, Jack has already started our bath. I watch as he twists the tub’s faucet knobs in order to get the temperature just right. Then he strips down.

  When he sees me staring into space, he takes it upon himself to do the same to me. Off go my shirt, my belt, my pants, my bra, and my panties. He raises my left leg onto the side of the tub so that he can unlace my sneaker and pull it off along with my sock, but he holds my calf for a while before kissing it. His lips inch, kiss by kiss, up the back of my thigh, and beyond the curve of my ass to the small of my back; then up my spine, to my shoulders.

  When I think of how close I came to missing his kisses for a lifetime, I want to cry. Instead I graze the top of his head with my lips and whisper, “Never let me go.”

  He nods.

  Then we sink together into the water. At least for the next hour I can forget that this paradise is also hell.

  Jack sits up in bed. “He’s dead.”

  “What?” I roll over, but I’m so sleepy that I can only open one eye. “Who?”

  He turns to me. “Mandrake. He was eaten by that crocodile.”

  “In other words, you don’t believe Emma’s theory—that he’s testing his plague on the critter?”

  “It makes more sense that Mandrake was eaten, GPS and all. Full-grown crocs move fast. In order to finish their kill, they’ve been known to toss their prey around in order to break off their limbs. That monster could have eaten a grown man with no problem.”

  “Ha! Not to mention a grown woman.” The memory of those jaws makes me shudder.

  Jack snuggles down and pulls me close to him. “If Mandrake arrived on the island even the week before us, he’d still be moving through the damn animal’s digestive system. For that matter, the GPS could last forever in the crocodile’s gut—or until it was excreted out of the crock’s body.” He pauses in thought. “I’ve heard that crocs can go four months without eating again. So, if it wasn’t hungry, why did it attack you?”

  “To protect the mama croc and her eggs, of course. You’d do the same thing. A more important question is what was Mandrake doing out there in the first place?”

  “Running away,” Jack says through a long exhausted yawn. “But from whom? And when he escaped, did he take the bacteria samples with him?”

  “Good questions. And if not, who has the samples now?”

  Jack’s gentle snoring tells me he’s down for the count.

  Too bad, because now I’m wide awake.

  I spoon Jack tightly. Just knowing that killer crocodile is out there may keep me awake all night.

  I wake up to the hum of my cell phone, which insists I Only Have Eyes for You, the ringtone that always announces Jack’s texts. This one reads:

  Early rendezvous with Julie. All in a day’s work. Gang will be at Hunt Club for call with HQ after Mary’s flight comes in. FYI: Bring a killer dress. Boarke is treating us to dinner. Xo

  Not a peep in the bungalow. I guess the boys are out too, thank goodness for that. I look at the cuckoo clock on the wall. Oh my God, it’s already ten-fifteen!

  My flight tracker app shows that Mary’s plane is running late. It won’t land until four.

  In the meantime, I’ve got work to do. I send a text to Arnie:

  Need Mandrake’s GPS signal archive from the moment he landed until his signal moved into the VIP reserve for the very first time. Also need guest+ Boarke arrival photos ASAP.

  By the time I’m out of the shower, Arnie has emailed back:

  Both attached here. LOL Jack almost got caught lifting photo thumb drive from Julie’s computer. Guess that ain't so funny, but still — A

  I smile as I read about Jack’s close call. I can’t wait to find out how he got out of that one.

  Then again, maybe I don’t want to know.

  My eyes are crossing by the time I'm ready to head over to the Fantasy Island airport. I’ve scrutinized every male guest in every photo with a photographer’s loop, and I know every pore in Boarke’s face and every tooth in his mouth. His smile never changes. If I didn’t know better I’d think it was molded out of hard plastic.

  In every photo, the flight crew is lined up behind Boarke. Whenever a photo includes the female flight attendant whose body we found in the jungle, my heart races a little faster. Do her co-workers wonder what happened to her? Do they ask each other why she didn’t make the flight home? Their faces are now so familiar to me, I’d recognize them anywhere.

  I consider making the time to ask one of them today while I’m on the tarmac, but then I think better of it. I’m there to pick up Mary, and it’s more important that I give her my full attention, at least until it’s time for me to leave for the Hunt Club.

  I’ll be relieved to see her, but I’m sure she won’t be happy with what I have to say. There are many ways to grow up fast. Breaking rules to impress her friends isn't one of them.

  Chapter 13

  Family Reunion

  The best getaways of all are those spent deep within the pillowy bosom of a loving family.

  However, just as some bosoms are rock hard, not all families are loving. If your relatives are more like the Munsters than the Waltons, here’s how survive your next reunion:

  First, have no expectations. For example, try to live with the realization that your brother-in-law the doctor will still charge you two hundred dollars for a six-minute earwax removal visit, despite the fact that a loan from you put him through med school.

  Next, rejoice in the good luck of your family members! The scary and ironic news that your Cousin Cletus has been granted an early release from prison due to a technicality is a perfect example.

  And finally, don’t hold old grudges. Just let bygones be bygones, okay? Unless they have to do with your ex-husband having once slept with a sister, cousin, mother, or favorite pet.

  The shortcut to the Fantasy Island airport takes me right past Eden Key. I’m passing the pool when I receive a video selfie from Jeff. Good boy, he knows how to keep his mother happy.

  In the video, he, Cheever and Morton are standing on boogie boards, giving the camera the thumb-pinkie surfer salute.

  A Kamp KidStuff counselor, dressed as Aqua Man, comes up behind the boys and puts his arms around them. In a voice that soun
ds a bit too boisterous, he says, “These little guys are the real super heroes!”

  Cheever nudges Morton, who winces but then joins him in shouting out, “Best vacation ever, Mrs. Stone!”

  “Cut,” Cheever mutters through gritted teeth. Immediately Jeff’s camera shifts downward, toward his bare feet.

  The counselor can’t be seen, but the tone of his voice is frigid. “Okay, you little SOBs, I want my—”

  Suddenly the video cuts off.

  Hmmm. Okay, something’s not right here.

  I’m replaying the video when I hear “Hey, Lotta! Over here!” shouted in a foghorn holler. I look up to find Merritt Andrews and Tuggle Carpenter waving at me.

  Ouch. Just my luck to run into the Sisterhood of the Traveling Thong.

  They are sitting poolside, just a few lounge chairs over from three other women who are being straddled by the pool’s lifeguards while lotion is applied to their naked backs.

  One of the women is moaning so orgasmically that when her mimbo hops off, I won’t be surprised if she asks for a cigarette. The broad back of her masseur glimmers with droplets of water. He may have just gotten out of the pool, but the bulge in his Speedo FastSkin brief—not to mention the drool on Tuggle’s lips—attest to the fact that he’ll never have to worry about shrinkage.

  Merritt lowers her sunglasses in order to give me a wink. Obviously she’s enjoying her ringside seat to the best hand job in the resort. “Yo, Lotta, our turn is next! Want to join us?”

  “Would if I could, Merritt, but I can’t. I’ve got to meet the plane.”

  The moaner suddenly bucks up and churns her head to see who’s talking, almost tossing the man off her back.

  He retaliates with a slap on her butt. “Down, li’l filly,” he murmurs.

  I wouldn’t be surprised if she whinnied. Who does he think he is, the Slut Whisperer?

  Apparently so, because every muscle in her body freezes—

  Except for her mouth, which hisses, “Oh, what a bore! Is that you, Donna?”

  Penelope Bing.

  Ah, yes, now I remember that bony ass.

  She sighs. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with the boys?”

  “Boys?” Merritt perks up when she hears that. “Why, you little Puma! Have you been holding out on us?”

  “Um—no, Merritt!” Think of something, quick. I whisper to her, “Penelope is talking about a few guys I met recently—over thirty. She’s a bit of a man chaser, if you catch my drift.”

  “You’re telling me,” Merritt mutters. “I’ve got the tiki hut next to hers. It’s busier than Grand Central Station.”

  Wow! Coming from Merritt, that’s saying a lot. Maybe Jack was right to give Peter and Penelope a break from Cheever.

  All the more reason not to let her intimidate me—especially in front of my new besties, who know me under an alias. “Nice to see you too, Penelope. Oh, and look, the man straddling you is not your husband, Peter!”

  Her two newfound gal pals whip their heads around to face each other. The look they exchange is not lost on either Penelope or me.

  Penelope waves her life-guard-slash-masseur away with a Benjamin, which she folds into his Speedo. He rewards her with a smile and a wink before mounting Merritt.

  Ride’em, cowboy. High ho, Silver! Away.

  Merritt is so busy with her new boy toy that she doesn’t hear Penelope mutter, “Ix-nay on the arriage-may! Peter and I are…well, we’re taking a ‘break,’ if you catch my drift.”

  “Yeah, I get it. Whatever happens in Eden Key, stays in Eden Key.”

  The redness in her face has nothing to do with her tan. “I…I’d prefer if you didn’t mention this, you know, when we get home.”

  “Sure, Penelope, whatever you say—friend.”

  She gets the hint: I own you, bee-yatch.

  I’m not the kind of person who likes to rub salt in a wound—unless it’s a bullet hole. To play nice, I pull out my cell phone. “Here’s what Jeff and Cheever were up to, this afternoon.”

  I play the video, up until the part in which it’s obviously bogus. It puts a smile on her face, and a tear in her eye.

  “Do you miss him?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “I’m sure the Fantasy Island reservationists wouldn’t mind if you traded in your tiki for a Kamp KidStuff bungalow.”

  She stares at me. “What? Are you crazy?”

  I can still hear her laughing as I walk through the airport gate.

  I’m not the only one meeting the plane. As is the usual custom, Mr. Boarke and Battoo are here as well.

  By the look on Boarke’s face, I see he is trying to place me. Since slipping over to Kamp KidStuff, I’m back in mommy mode. My hair, now brown, is pulled back into a ponytail, and I’m wearing one of Jack’s tee-shirts over lululemon yoga pants. In other words, I’m no longer the sultry redhead in a designer gown that he remembers as his financial angel’s arm charm.

  He has to turn away when he’s accosted by Lee Chiffray, the big winner of the baccarat tournament. Whatever is on Lee’s mind must not make for pleasant conversation, because both men are scowling. With the financial problems Boarke is having, I wonder if he shorted Chiffray on his winnings. That would be stupid. News like that would kill his gambling business.

  I walk over to Battoo, who is leaning against the bell tower and scanning the skies for the Fantasy Airplane. “The plane is going to be late, Ms. Stone.”

  I shrug. Great. As it is, I’ll barely have time to meet with my team before we have dinner with Boarke.

  Noting my disappointment, he smiles and changes the subject. “Is your Kamp KidStuff bungalow to your liking?”

  I laugh. “I don’t miss my heart-shaped bed, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  He joins me with a chuckle. “I’m sure there are a lot of things you don’t miss, including your lonely hearts club.”

  “Hey, at least they have hearts. I hate to think of all the ones who disappeared from this place without theirs.”

  His smile fades. “The other women here have you to thank for that.”

  I am modest enough to shrug. “Thanks, Battoo. I know you wish no harm to anyone. Now I need your help on something. In the undeveloped part of the jungle to the west, we found a mass gravesite. Do you know whose bodies might be buried there?”

  Despite his tan, I can see the blood go out of his face. “Perhaps infighting between the natives—”

  “No,” I say firmly. “There is evidence that at least some of the victims may have been guests.”

  “Perhaps the cannibal’s prey?”

  I shrug. “Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not. You see, the victims are both male and female.”

  “Well I…” He closes his eyes. “I can’t say.”

  “You can’t, or you won’t?”

  He glances in the direction of Mr. Boarke and murmurs, “Other than translating Mr. Boarke’s directives to the natives, I am not allowed into the VIP reserve.”

  “I didn’t realize that part of the island is part of the reserve.”

  He nods. Then he stops. Just over my shoulder, something has caught his attention. “Sorry, I must go. As you can see it’s show time.”

  He grabs the bell rope to alert the others while shouting, “The plane, the plane!”

  Gotta give the people what they came for, right?

  I make my way over to the tarmac. Mr. Boarke is on his way there, too. Not Mr. Chiffray. He’s headed back to his driver and car. But he catches my eye, smiles, and tips his Panama hat. I wonder if the daughters of his girlfriend are around Mary’s age, and if so, would they like to hang out with her?

  Maybe I should wait before I ask him. Mary is walking down the air stairs now, between a gaggle of giggling college girls ready to go wild in Eden Key and two families with toddlers. With that scowl on her face, you’d think she’s being sent to the electric chair instead of a fashionable resort.

  Aunt Phyllis wears oversize glasses, and her head is co
vered in a large straw hat. Her muumuu catches a down draft and puffs out, like a balloon. Spotting me, she waves frantically. “Donna! Over here,” she bellows, to Mary’s mortification. If my daughter thought she could slink off into anonymity, she’s mistaken.

  Time to face the music.

  Mary scans the crowd. Seeing me, she gives a hesitant wave. I raise my hand in return as I trot over.

  Whereas Phyllis hops up and down as she hugs me, Mary hangs limp when I put my arms around her—not a good sign.

  “What a ride! What a place!” Phyllis waves the brochure in my face. “This joint has everything—and gambling!”

  Oops. How could I have forgotten about my aunt’s obsession with Vegas’ slot machines? Or as she once told me, “Nothing that hard feels as good in my hand.”

  Time to sign her up at OurTime.com.

  Or else get her a decent dildo.

  If I break the news to her that I need her for babysitting duty, I’ll have two sad lassies on my hands—and a possible mutiny.

  Okay, deep breaths. Smile. Exude kindness. “Ladies, I’m so happy you can join us here! Mary, I know you were looking for a change of pace from camp this year. With your father here on business, this may fit the ticket.”

  Mary’s eyes shift from anger to wariness. “You mean you’re not upset with what happened at Camp Inch?”

  I force my smile to stay on my face. “I wouldn’t exactly say I’m pleased with your expulsion—especially since we’d talked about the importance of your last year there, and all the memories you’d be making.”

  Phyllis snorts, “Oh, I’m sure she’s got a couple.”

  Mary blushes. But before she gets defensive, I take her arm in mine. “Phyllis, Jeff can’t wait to see you. In fact, why don’t you hop on the Kamp KidStuff tram, along with the luggage? Mary and I will walk over. It’ll give us a chance to catch up! Right honey?”

  Mary nods. I presume the four-hour flight with Aunt Phyllis was three hours too long.