Five minutes later an electric golf cart zipped up outside and a young man bounced out. He was dressed in designer tan chinos and a dark green polo shirt with the resort logo on the front and he was far too slick a professional to look dismayed by the obvious lack of money suggested by my appearance.
“Hi there!” he said. He stuck out his hand. He had great teeth, a great tan, and a manicure. “I’m Randy.”
I kept my face as straight as I could manage and didn’t inquire if that was an introduction or a declaration of intent.
“Cool,” I said again. “Let’s go.”
As I climbed into the golf cart alongside Randy I realised I could almost see myself as he saw me, a kid with pink hair and an attitude. It was like I had stepped outside my own body, my own mind. Like I was slowly detaching myself in advance from my actions. Hiding from them.
Randy made chatty one-sided conversation all the way along the immaculately tailored drive, going into sales pitch mode as he pointed out the championship golf course, the driving range and the tennis courts, all complete with their own pro instructors. I tuned him out until I realised I’d nearly missed a name I recognised.
“Who?” I said.
“Livingston Brown III,” Randy gushed. “He’s the property developer. Been doing this kinda thing most of his life. Nearly got wiped out a few years ago when we had the last big hurricane – that one nearly wiped out most of the east coast – but he bounced right back. He shoulda retired by now but I guess the guy just loves his work. He built this whole place. Puts us twenty-somethings to shame, let me tell you. Quite a guy.”
“Wow,” I murmured, as though I couldn’t imagine anyone still being able to walk unaided at such an advanced age, but my nerves tightened at this piece of news. If I was likely to bump into him, would Brown recognise me in this get-up? “Is he here?”
“Oh he’s usually around someplace,” Randy said and flashed me a slightly condescending smile. One that said no way was the boss man ever going to come into contact with someone as far down the food chain as me, not if he could help it.
On the way to the villa belonging to my ‘mother’ he took a detour to show me the campfire area near one of the pools. “We organise barbecue nights and sing-alongs round the fire in the evenings that you and your mom can join in on,” he said. “It’s a lotta fun.”
“Oh boy, I can hardly wait,” I said between my teeth. He looked at me a little oddly but I managed to dredge up a saccharine smile that seemed to convince him I’d been expressing genuine enthusiasm.
If it didn’t sound the kind of place I’d want to come and spend my holidays, there were plenty who were willing to be swayed. An army of green polo-shirted staff were leading prospective customers round the lushly-planted pathways, or driving them about the place in golf carts similar to Randy’s.
The staff were all young and good-looking but that only added to the vaguely sinister feel of the place, like they were the identical minions at the chief baddie’s secret lair in a James Bond film.
When I reached the villa Randy indicated I let him knock on the door for me, keeping as far to one side of him as I could, out of sight of the Judas glass set into the centre panel. I had one hand dipped into the bag, but not to reach for the voice activation button on the recorder. That remained switched off. Instead, my fingers curled round the pistol grip of the SIG. I became aware of an ever-expanding bubble of tension somewhere deep in my chest.
“Well, doesn’t look like she’s home,” Randy said cheerfully when his loud knocks produced no movement from inside the villa. “We’ll try over at the clubhouse.”
The clubhouse seemed to be the centre of activity. Raucously carnival-type music belted out of speakers on the outside of the building to whip you into the buying frame of mind. As he led the way inside I caught snatches of other conversations.
“If you’da known five years ago what was going to happen to the price of real estate in this area, would you have bought then?” asked another slick salesman.
“In a heartbeat,” said the fat man following him.
Randy stopped by the main reception desk and explained he was trying to locate my mother. He waited with a touch of impatience while the receptionist tapped something into her computer. “Just checking to see if your mom’s booked in to the health spa, or on any of the courts,” Randy explained.
“If you find her, please don’t, like, tell her I’m here, will you?” I said quickly. “Only, I kinda wanted to surprise her.”
“Sure,” he said, easily enough. Either I was getting very good at telling lies, or these people were abnormally trusting.
“OK, I’ve located Ms Raybourn,” the receptionist said, smiling at me. “She’s with Mr Brown at the moment, then she’s due for a massage and a facial after lunch.”
Randy glanced at me with something akin to respect. If my mother was important enough to have meetings with the main man, his look clearly said, I’d gone up in his estimation.
“Where’s Mr Brown’s office?” I asked. “I’ll just go and kinda wait until she’s done there.”
“He’s upstairs and I have instructions not to disturb him,” the receptionist said, still smiling but with a touch more steel than before. “If you’d like to wait out by the pool, I’m sure someone will let you know when she’s done.”
I plastered on a cheery smile and cursed inwardly as Randy led me through the clubhouse itself and out to a paved terrace overlooking a curvy pool with a waterfall and a bar in the centre.
Kids were running round the water’s edge, shrieking the way only small children can to signify enjoyment. Their parents were sitting in the water drinking lurid coloured cocktails made with half a fruit salad and half a dozen little paper umbrellas. If drowning their sorrows in drink didn’t do the trick, there was always the real thing to fall back on. Or into.
But this didn’t get me any closer to Gerri Raybourn. And it was much too public for what I had in mind.
Something was folded tight inside now, clamouring to be allowed out. For the first time I was afraid of what might happen if I let it loose. I pushed away that fear.
Randy was making moves to disentangle himself. I could see his greedy eyes flickering over the likely-looking purchasers who were being assigned to other salesmen. I could see him calculating his lost commission with every second he wasted on me. My best hope was slipping away.
As he started to turn I reached out and clasped his arm. He tensed under my fingers instantly, trying to make the most of his biceps. Pride was always a useful vanity to exploit.
I gave him my most wheedling smile.
“You’re not leaving me already, are you?” I said, a little breathless. “Only, it’s kinda hot and crowded out here.” I tugged at the collar of my shirt to demonstrate the effect of the heat and the crowds. I loosened a couple of buttons in the process. His eyes followed for a moment, lingered. Encouraged, I even tried a quick flutter of the eyelashes, ladling on the innuendo. “Isn’t there anywhere, like, quieter we could go?”
Inwardly, I was flinching. Surely nobody would ever fall for such a blatantly awful pickup as this.
For a moment Randy studied me with a slightly narrowed expression. I could almost hear the wheels turning as he made up his mind whether a quick fumble he could boast about in the changing rooms at his local sports club tomorrow was worth missing out on a possible lucrative deal. It only took him a couple of seconds before he decided that it was.
“Well, OK honey,” he murmured, and he’d lowered the pitch of his voice as well as the volume. “I guess I could give you the—” his eyes dipped to my cleavage again, “—personal guided tour.”
I simpered and followed as he led the way back inside. He was hurrying now, his mind totally controlled by some other part of his anatomy.