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Meanwhile, a petite woman with a halo of riotous brown curls is busily rearranging the contents of the refrigerator while clucking under her tongue.
Rat-a-tat-tat goes Trudy’s oversize knife across the cutting board, while whack-whack goes Ann’s measuring cup against the metal mixer.
I stay perfectly still, a gazelle caught out in the open, pretty sure I’ve been spotted, unsure which predator will pounce first.
The dark-haired woman pulls back from the refrigerator. She eyes me up and down.
“Chef Kiki,” she declares with a French flare. “Et vous?”
“Uhhh, Frankie.” I’m already guessing she’s MacManus’s personal chef. Her husband must be the private secretary who’s currently sitting in the dining room. Except I thought they kept to themselves.
“What do you do, Frankie?” Chef Kiki hits the last syllable of my name with enough trill to turn it into a carnival ride. I’ve never felt so exotic.
“Umm, prep cook?”
“Non! I already have two prep cooks. I do not need a third.”
“MacManus has decided we should all eat together,” Ann declares tightly.
“Meaning we should all cook together.” Trudy jabs the air with her knife. I have no illusions who she’s fantasizing about stabbing.
“I, uh, I have other responsibilities.” Though I’d been hoping to catch up with Trudy and Ann about whatever intel they’d gleaned from the pilots, Brent and Marilee, now, however, definitely isn’t the time. “Laundry!” I manage, remembering—sadly—the piles I still haven’t gotten to.
“Oui. Laundry. Something that is not here. Parfait. Au revoir.”
Okay then. I give Trudy and Ann a sympathetic shrug, then hightail it out of the lion’s den. Vaughn’s right: MacManus is messing with our camp dynamics. If he’s not careful, outside attack will be the least of his concerns. So far, Trudy is ready to go Sweeney Todd at any moment.
Laundry is an excellent idea and one of my required duties. Making a left and heading to the bathhouse would be a highly responsible choice. Of course, I turn right and follow the path toward the cluster of cabins that serve as resident housing. I’m not sure what I’m hoping to find, but it only takes me minutes to have success.
Vaughn, MacManus, and the goon squad have all gathered before Charlie’s cabin—Vaughn and MacManus crowding the tiny front porch, Elias and Jason in position at the base of the steps below. They immediately register my approach, following me with their narrowed eyes. I keep on walking, nice and steady, as if I have a very good reason for strolling along, scattering hermit crabs before me.
The moment I round the bend, I duck behind a clump of bushes. I have to strain to hear from this distance, especially over the rustling palm fronds and lapping ocean, but where there’s a will, there’s a way.
“If you were really stationed at McMurdo, why hasn’t Esperanza heard of you?” MacManus is demanding to know.
“Don’t know any Esperanza, mate. I worked with Abigail Gibbens, if that name means anything to you.”
“Esperanza signed your reports.”
“Right-o. But I never met any Esperanza. Could be some administrative bloke. The boss men aren’t always in the field, you know. Prefer their cushy offices, versus mucking about.”
The last words are a not-so-subtle jab at MacManus. Yes, everyone is in fine spirits now.
“I think you’re lying.”
“Cuz I got felled by a tree? Sorry my bleeding skull offends you.”
“Why were you out in the storm? Just be honest.” Vaughn now, sounding less hostile than MacManus but equally impatient.
“Told ya. Drive about. Stupid me. Regret it plenty.”
A low growl of frustration from MacManus. “I don’t trust you.”
“Makes you feel better, I don’t trust you, either.”
“I want him locked up.” MacManus, clearly having had enough.
“Like under house arrest?” Vaughn asks.
