Chapter 17
I wiped my hand on my towel and picked up my phone excitedly. I was sure it was Philly, but my excitement was short-lived when I saw an unknown number on my screen. I knew immediately who it was. I opened the message.
Unknown Number: Oh, and if you think peeling your clothes off like that is going to distract me, then think again.
I didn’t bother asking how he’d got my number; he could have got it very easily in his line of work.
A second message followed.
Unknown Number: Are you trying to give every man on this beach a heart attack?
No. Just you, I replied. Is it working?
I heard a small laugh, but ignored it. I needed to know more about Cam. Why he was here. What the hell he was up to. So I sent a message to Captain Thuli Dlamini.
Hey, I’m in need of some info, let me know when we can chat?
I’d just finished typing when a shadow fell across me.
‘Hi. How’s the birdwatching?’ Blue Eyes asked, gesturing to my camera.
I looked up at the sky. ‘It’s a bit hot for the birds now, as you know.’ I hoped this was correct; I thought it was. Didn’t birds go and sleep in the shade when it was very hot?
‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘That’s why I was getting some swimming in.’
‘I just went in; the water is amazing,’ I said, and smiled at him.
‘Good to know.’
‘Well, have a nice day. Enjoy the water.’ I offered up another smile.
‘You too,’ he said, and started walking away. Then he suddenly stopped and turned. ‘I saw one, by the way.’
‘What?’
‘Tachycnemis seychellensis.’
I blinked a few times. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘The tree frog you were telling me about.’
‘Ah, yes. And so impressive you remember the scientific name.’
He smiled. ‘That was purely to impress you.’
‘Well, consider me officially impressed.’
He tilted his hat at me, like someone in the nineteenth century might do, and then walked off, straight past Cam, who made zero attempt to hide the look of . . . what was it? . . . contempt flashing across his face. I rolled my eyes at him and my phone beeped again. This time it was Thuli.
Thuli: Hey. What can I help with?
Lizzy: I need some information on someone. Cameron Brian Anderson. He’s with the police.
Thuli: Isn’t he the ex?
Lizzy: I think ex would be stretching it, but yes.
Thuli: Why do you need information?
Lizzy: I’m on a job – cheating spouse – and he’s also here. He’s investigating the guy I am, and I want to know what the police want with him.
Thuli: Who’s the mark?
Lizzy: Victor Langdon.
Thuli: Of Monarch Luxury Holdings?
Lizzy: That’s the one. What have you heard?
Thuli: His name comes up from time to time.
Lizzy: With regards to what?
Thuli: A few years ago, his insurance company came to us with some evidence that he might have committed insurance fraud.
Lizzy: The stolen Picasso.
Thuli: Terrible painting. Did you see it? How can that be worth millions of dollars? My nephew could have painted it.
Lizzy: There’s no accounting for what rich people spend their money on.
Thuli: Tell me about it.
Lizzy: In what other context has his name come up?
Thuli: Someone might have suggested that the diamonds he was selling were not ethically sourced.
Lizzy: I see. And are the police currently investigating him for anything?
Thuli: I can look into it for you. Isn’t Victor married to Sharaz Venter?
Lizzy: He is. But he’s currently lying on the beach half naked with either his PA or Pilates instructor.
Thuli: Bastard. I hope you get him.
Lizzy: Already have, and I think Sharaz is looking forward to a very good divorce settlement.
Thuli: I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something on Cameron.
Lizzy: You’re the best.
Thuli: I know. You owe me a night on the town for this.
Lizzy: Deal!
I lowered my phone and glanced back at Victor and his mistress. Who was she? I needed a clear shot of her but she’d been particularly elusive. Between the enormous designer sunglasses and the oversized sunhat, I hadn’t managed to get a single picture of her face.
My phone delivered another beep. The unknown number again.
Cam: Who was your shirtless friend?
Lizzy: Just a fellow avian enthusiast.
Cam: I had no idea you had such a passion for our feathered friends.
Before I could send a witty retort, I heard a familiar noise and looked up.
Did Victor and his mistress have no shame?
Because right now they were making out on the sand like hormonal teenagers.
It was unsettling. I sighed and lay back on the lounger, sliding my glasses into place and actually closing my eyes.
I was going to attempt relaxation now. I tried to listen to the soothing sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the breeze gently rustling through the palm trees .
. . for about two minutes. Then I was bored stiff.
I sat back up and to my surprise found someone standing right in front of me.
‘Hi there,’ a waiter said.
‘Hi,’ I replied.
‘Your cocktail.’ He passed me a bright yellow and red concoction, with an orange slice and umbrella decorating the rim. Festive!
‘I didn’t order a cocktail.’
‘It’s from that man over there.’ He turned and pointed. I didn’t need to look, though. I knew exactly who it was from.
‘I don’t want it,’ I said, glaring at Cam’s profile, hoping he would feel me looking and turn around.
‘But everyone loves a Sex on the Beach,’ the man said, sounding genuinely surprised.
I couldn’t help laughing. Of course, so Cam.
Never taking anything seriously. Always playing the fool.
He had two settings, if I remembered correctly.
One was competitive, and one was absolute idiot.
And he’d always moved between them with a kind of manic unpredictability.
One moment he’d be pinning me painfully to the wall, cuffing and arresting me during a drill; the next he was sneaking up on me and trying to give me a fright.
I guessed he was in his idiot phase again.
I took the cocktail tentatively. ‘Thank you. Can I see your menu? I’d love to send one back, to say thank you.’
The waiter handed me the menu and I scanned it until I found the perfect drink.
‘Please send over one Death in the Afternoon, with my compliments, of course,’ I said, feeling rather pleased with myself. I put the cocktail down on my side table – I certainly wasn’t going to drink it – and lay back down on the lounger. My phone beeped. Unknown number again.
Cam: I didn’t poison it, if that’s what you’re thinking.
It’s not that, I replied. I just don’t like sex on the beach. The sand has a tendency to get into unwanted places.
Cam: I don’t mind a little grit. It adds texture, don’t you think?
Lizzy: I wouldn’t know.
Cam: Would you like to know?
I flicked my head around and glared at him. He was smiling at me. I shook my head disapprovingly and then stabbed out a reply.
Lizzy: In your fucking dreams.
Cam: You better believe it!
I glared at him again and then tossed my phone into my beach bag so he could see me doing it. He just smiled and turned away with a little wave. But when the waiter had delivered his drink and my phone beeped again, curiosity got the better of me and I reached for it.
Cam: Thanks for the drink.
I glanced over at him again; he was holding the glass up in the air, a little cheers.
It’s not a drink, I typed. It’s a warning.
I heard another chuckle.
Lizzy: I’m not joking, Cam.
Cam: Oh, I know you’re not. And I wouldn’t expect anything less from you either.
Death in the Afternoon. So Lizzy. So pointed and poetic. Violence in a glass. And I loved it.
I sipped it slowly. It was rather delicious, actually, I would savour this little gift, first one I’d got from her ever, even if it was laced with a very clear threat. But I suppose that made the poison taste so much sweeter.