Vacation to Die For Read online

  “Gotcha. Maybe I can catch a poolside game of Texas Hold’em.” Phyllis winks at me. Before I can tell her Kamp KidStuff is a gambling-free zone, she’s half-way to the tram.

  Ah well, she’ll find out soon enough. Right now, it’s time to break the news to Mary that Fantasy Island is a trouble-free zone as well.

  We walk by Mr. Boarke, whose greetings to the Hunt Club’s newcomers are filled with superlatives: his joy at seeing them, his awe for the women accompanying them, and his assurance that this will be the vacation of a lifetime.

  Certainly if that plague gets out, it will also be their last vacation in their lifetime.

  As we head down the lane toward Kamp KidStuff, I notice that Mr. Chiffray’s car is still here. The window is down, which may be why he’s still wearing his sunglasses. It may be my imagination, but his head seems to turn slightly as Mary and I walk by.

  Yes, he’s watching us. I know this because he waves at me again before commanding the driver to roll up his window and drive on.

  We’ve walked in silence almost to the gates of Kamp KidStuff. Finally I come out with it: “So, what happened, Mary?”

  Mary stops short. She looks down at her feet. I’m sure she’s wishing a few clicks of her heels will send her to Kansas, or any of a dozen places other than here, with me.

  Well, too bad.

  “Mary, I’ve only heard Ms. Granger’s side of it, and that is certainly not fair to you.”

  Still she says nothing.

  I sigh. “And it’s not fair to me, either. I put a lot of faith in you. I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

  She frowns. “If you must know, I did it on a dare. We saw the boys across the lake, around sunset. Babs bet me I’d screw up a Morse code message to them, to meet us after midnight in our cabin.”

  I give her a brownie point for a fluency in Morse code, since it is a survival skill that I myself have found handy. However, I take the point away because she used it for something frivolous and stupid, like signaling boys who obviously had an ulterior motive other than singing songs around a campfire.

  In other words, we’re back to zero. “Well, since they showed up, I guess you got it right. Did you use a flashlight?”

  “No. Midge had a lighter on her—”

  “A lighter? What was she doing with that?”

  Are the girls smoking cigs? Or pot? Hashish? Crack?

  What kind of camp is that Granger woman running, anyway?

  Mary bites her lower lips. “It was, you know, to start campfires.”

  “You really expect me to believe that? I know for a fact that everyone in your camp tribe earned a badge last year for learning to start fires with a flint!”

  “Midge cheated, okay?” Mary winces in frustration. “I wasn’t supposed to tell!”

  “Oh…okay.” I can’t tell her but I’m happy that I won’t have to tap into her college fund for drug rehab. “I guess it doesn’t matter since none of you are welcomed there, anyway. Did you feel having the boys come over was worth the expulsion?”

  Mary shrugs. “What do you think?”

  “I think you know what I think. I’m asking you how you feel about it.”

  “Okay, no, it wasn’t worth it. But I wouldn’t have known it if we hadn’t tried. Until then, I’d only been kissed by…well, Trevor. You know that, because you caught us.”

  I nod. It was one of the reasons I wanted her to have a summer away from Trevor. Be careful for what you wish for, right?

  “The boys from the other camp were harmless! It wasn’t as if any of us knows what to do.”

  “That’s a relief to hear. But what if it had gone the other way? What if the boys had—you know, forced themselves on you?”

  “Dad showed me a few moves that can help me defend myself. Do you remember? I was trying to”—she glances away, embarrassed—“to impress Trevor.”

  I do remember. Trevor developed a crush on me after I stopped a robbery in a toy store parking lot. Mary resented it, but with Jack’s help she got over her insecurity by learning some impressive tactical moves of her own.

  “Of course I’m proud that you know how to defend yourself. But Mary, love, I never want you to find yourself in a situation that you can’t handle, which can easily happen when you trust the wrong person.”

  As I say this, I think of Mary’s real father—the real Carl Stone. For many years, I presumed he was dead, and that he had died nobly in the service of his country. When he contacted me to let me know he was alive, I wanted to believe his story: that he was a hero, who had faked his death in order to protect us and his black ops mission.

  Instead, I discovered that he’s a terrorist.

  Not only that, but he’d be fine with killing me if it saves his mission.

  I lived. His terrorist mission failed. But boy, it was a hard way to find out about love and commitment. Let me put it this way: any trust issues I have now are because of him.

  Which brings me to Mary. “While we’re here, you’re to follow the same rules as Jeff and his friends: make a few friends. Make sure they aren’t prone to getting into trouble. And check in with me at least three times between breakfast and dinner. Lights out at ten for everyone—no ifs, ands, or buts. Do we understand each other?”

  “You have nothing to worry about. In fact, I plan on staying inside for the whole time.”

  “Sorry, no, that doesn’t work for me. Mary, look around you! You’re in paradise! Make the best of it. The boys are enjoying themselves. I’m sure you will, too.”

  She snorts. “Mom, come on already! This place is called ‘Kamp KidStuff.’ The name alone qualifies anyone staying here as a dweeb. I’m not surprised Jeff and the Terrible Two fit right in.”

  I wince when I hear her call Jeff’s friends by my nickname for them. Still, I can’t have her moping around while I’m trying to figure out what happened to the plague bacteria. “I'm sure the resort has several girls close to your age. They can't all be 'dweebs.’”

  I point toward Kamp KidStuff’s pool, where four girls lay on chaises. Unfortunately, they’re a few years older than Mary. In other words, they’re still jailbait, but this doesn’t seem to bother the five teenage boys flocking around them. Why should it, when three of the girls are front side down, with their bikini tops unlaced?

  It certainly bothers me—especially when Mary says, with a sly smile, “Maybe you’re right Mom. I’ve got to learn to be more sociable.”

  No. Oh, no.

  Do I have to keep her under lock and key until she goes off to college? We both know that’s not possible.

  Better idea: build a torture chamber in the basement, for any boy who goes too far with her. Hmmm. I wonder if I can convince Jack that it will add to the value of our home.

  In any regard, until construction is completed I’ll have to trust her.

  As if reading my mind, Mary pats my arm. “Don’t worry, Mom. I wouldn’t do anything with anyone who doesn’t really love me. I promise.”

  I reach out to grab her arm, to make her look at me, if only for a moment. “Mary, falling in love is a wonderful experience—especially with the right person and at the right time of life—which by the way is not twelve. Soon you’ll be dating. And some of the boys you meet may not be looking for ‘the right person,’ or be experiencing the same sensations you may be feeling. It’s okay to tell them no.”

  “But that’s just it, Mom. What if I want to say yes, even when I know they’re not ‘the one?’”

  “You may think you do, but you don’t, really. How could you? You’re only twelve!”

  Mary’s eyes narrow. “But just last week you told Dad that you think I’m ‘very mature’ for my age.”

  By that, I meant to say she was bounding into womanhood much too quickly—both physically and socially.

  Not that I’d say that to her. Instead, I spin it this way. “True, I was impressed with how you’ve handled yourself in the past, when faced with complicated moral dilemmas. But after Camp Inch, I’
m not so sure I feel the same way. I mean, come on Mary! You said yes to a dare, knowing full well that the consequence for getting caught was expulsion from the camp. That doesn’t sound too mature to me.”

  She’s not paying attention to me. One of the boys at the pool gives her a knowing wink. She smiles back.

  By the time she’s ready to answer me, her eyes have hardened. “Okay, yeah, I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

  What was the mistake, getting caught? Is that what she vows won’t happen again?

  She knows me well enough to feel my doubt. With a shrug, she mutters, “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

  No, I don’t. I have to watch her like a hawk.

  I’ll have Arnie link me to her cell phone’s GPS tracker. He can also put a video bug on her favorite faux diamond stud earring.

  “And I’m sure you’ll do everything you can to earn my trust—especially after this past week.” I put my arm in hers. “But first things first, dear. Why don’t you unpack?”

  I point to our bungalow. It’s pretty in pink. Best yet, it has a bird’s eye view of the pool. In other words, I can see everything that goes on. “Oh, and by the way, I hope you don’t mind sharing a room with Aunt Phyllis.”

  Seeing her grimace, I add, “Yes, sweetheart, I know, Aunt Phyllis snores. No worries! Just prod her, and she’ll stop right away. Think of it this way, such tight quarters gives us all time to bond, and that’s really what family getaways are all about.”

  Of course she’s unhappy. She wants to experience life on her own terms—even if it means sneaking out of her room at night to do so.

  We both know this. But I don’t have to accept it. And I won’t. Her life journey will be pocked with speed bumps, and she’s going to have to take it slow. My job is to see to it.

  She storms into the bungalow ahead of me.

  Really, I don’t need this grief. The way it stands now, I don’t even have time to dress here. Instead, I’ll throw a few things into a garment bag before heading out to the Hunt Club.

  It takes me all of five minutes to narrow it down to two dresses. The white one is too short, too low-cut, and too see-through. The other fits skin-tight, and red hot.

  I take the latter, and a pair of four-inch stilettos to match.

  I knock on Mary’s door. When she doesn’t answer, I say in my firmest mom voice, “Dad and I will be back by ten. We’ll talk more then, okay?”

  Still no answer.

  I’m about to knock again when my phone riffs its pixie dust chime. Trisha texts me:

  MISS U MOMMY! GUESS WHAT! THE PIRATE TRADES ME LITTLE TREASURES FOR MY SNACKS. HE’S SO FUNNY! CAN I BRING HIM HOME WITH ME?

  Sounds like she’s having a good time. Glad she’s made a friend—

  A pirate? Gotta love the kid for having such a wonderfully active imagination. I wish I could say the same about Mary.

  Chapter 14

  Where the Boys Are

  Lovely ladies, there are many reasons for choosing your vacation spot. Perhaps you’re looking for your place in the sun. Or maybe you strive to climb every mountain, ford every stream, and follow every rainbow until you find your dream. Or perhaps you like to eat, to pray—

  To love.

  Which is totally different from getting a little nookie.

  If your idea of a perfect holiday is predicated on this latter endeavor, your best bet is to:

  1: Hang in places with “Sports” in the name. For example, if it’s a Fantasy Sports camp of any kind (baseball, basketball, football, tennis or golf) you’re sure to find lots of men. And if you can pitch a no-hitter, make a basket from cross-court, throw a perfect spiral fifty yards, win every serve, and score three holes-in-one on the front nine, your camp mates will actually pay attention to you. Even if you can’t, they’ll certainly come on to you, since you’ll be the only woman there. Score!

  2: Be prepared to get their attention with a candid pick-up line or two. For example, “I’m only here for a week and everything that happens in (Wherever You Are) stays in (Wherever You Are)…” tells it like it is.

  3: Don’t anticipate that any of your hunky new team mates will call you after you part ways, because they have quite literally taken you at your word. No matter the greatness of your serve, your spiral, or your three-point throw, these boys want the one thing you can’t give them: a new playing field.

  By the time I get to the Hunt Club, my team is already in their office attire. Abu is in his Hunt Club khakis, and Jack and Dominic are dressed in their tuxes.

  I dial Ryan and put him on speaker. First and foremost I encourage Jack and Emma to give their competing theories regarding Mandrake.

  Ryan listens without saying a word. Finally he murmurs, “I lean toward Mandrake being croc food. It’s the most rational explanation for the misleading GPS signals.”

  “If Mandrake is dead, is the mission over?” I ask.

  “Unfortunately, bringing him in was just part of the job. Frankly, the plague bacteria samples are even more important.” Ryan coughs—which is his tell that he’s got something on his mind that I may not want to hear. “Donna, if Mandrake took the stuff with him into the wild, we’ll need to retrieve it.”

  “Just how will we do that?” Jack asks.

  “We’ve been tracking the GPS since the first day he disappeared. You’ll have to retrace his footsteps, in case he released it accidently or intentionally before his death.”

  “But how do we know if the GPS coordinates are his?” Abu wonders out loud. “If the crocodile ate Mandrake, whose steps will we really be following?”

  Ryan thinks for a moment then sighs. “Unfortunately, we don’t know when he had his run-in with that croc. Since we don’t know the answer to that, I’d suggest you start with the first day’s coordinates.”

  “Ryan, if Mandrake is dead, isn’t it possible the bacteria plague died with him?” I ask.

  “I wish that were the case, Donna. But human contact with it is inevitable—particularly as development on the island goes forward. Some animal might become infected, and in turn pass it along to the tourists who are coming in from all over the world. If one—or several—also become infected, it could cause a pandemic. And if it is ever discovered that the plague was created at NSA headquarters, the international community will hold the United States responsible. Some countries may even consider it an act of war.”

  “Then I guess we’ll draw straws as to who’s going to go back to the croc’s nest.” I laugh so that I don’t cry at the thought of our mission’s failure, and the inevitable consequences. “Ryan, do you think the bone yard we discovered has anything to do with Mandrake’s disappearance?”

  “In that regard, the bone samples have a lot to tell us. In any case, time is of the essence. Jack, do you see Boarke as friend or foe?”

  “He’s so anxious to get new funding that he’d be my bitch, if I wanted.”

  “Dog’s bollocks!” Dominic exclaims. “Now, there’s a vision for you!”

  If looks could kill, Jack’s stare would have stopped Dominic’s heart faster than a speeding bullet.

  “Good,” Ryan continues. “Because something tells me he knows more than he lets on. At dinner tonight, why don’t you and Donna play ‘Good Cop, Bad Cop’? Donna, be the nice guy, if you catch my drift.”

  Sadly, I do. So does Jack, by the way he’s wincing.

  “I’m here for anything you need, so don’t hesitate to ask,” Ryan reminds us. “Donna, I hope you realize I have all the confidence in your success.”

  I wished I believed him. He’s just making the best of a bad situation.

  The others know it, too. I can tell by the looks on their faces.

  Time for a pep talk. Nothing inspires your team like a solid plan. Here’s hoping I sound as if I actually have one. “We all heard the man. New rules: Arnie and Emma, pull up all male guests who arrived on the day Mandrake’s signal showed up here. By now, most of them may already be cleared via Acme’s facial recog
nition software. Cross-reference those yet to be ID’d with any intel you the can dig up on them. As to anyone who hasn’t already been eliminated, track their every move from that day forward, via Fantasy Island’s security feed archives. Anyone who has been on a VIP hunt when Mandrake’s trail goes into the VIP reserve should be our first priority.”

  Even before the command is out of my mouth, Arnie and Emma are on it. Their hands tap away furiously on their iPad screens.

  “Abu, is there a VIP hunt scheduled for tonight?”

  He thinks for a moment. “No. The next one is in three nights. Why do you ask?”

  “If we are to retrace Mandrake’s path through the VIP reserve, we don’t want to be running into any hunters.”

  “Or pygmies, for that matter,” Jack mutters.

  I second that thought. “Any remaining suspects may know why and how he disappeared. They may even be implicit in his death. If any of them fit the bill, we’ll search their rooms for the plague bacteria.” I turn to Dominic. “Ask the croupiers if they remember a player with Mandrake’s extraordinary gaming skills. Or perhaps one of the bartenders, or the bar maids. Certainly some of the eye candy that seems to be on permanent vacation here might have caught his eye. Someone has got to remember a man fitting Mandrake’s description.”

  Dominic honors me with his already patented and no-doubt-soon-to-be sponsored wink. “Right, boss lady.”

  I’m beginning to like the sound of that. “By the way, are you making any headway with your ‘interrogation’ of Julie?”

  “Oddly, no. In fact, I'm beginning to think she was the one who put the Digitalis in my drink during the baccarat tournament." He frowns. "In any event she’s made it clear that I’m not exactly her type.” His gaze moves from me, to Jack, and then back to me.

  Ah. Gotcha. All in a day’s work.

  The look on my face has everyone scurrying out.

  Except for Jack. While my heart crashes and burns in a barren field of doubt, Jack steps nimbly through the debris of my pain. “We should hurry. In twenty minutes we’re to meet Boarke in his private dining room. You’ve barely got time to get dressed.”