A Holiday to Die For Read online

  ‘Looks like they’re going shopping. Are you ready, Tem?’ He held the phone in the crick of his neck and nodded, keeping his eyes on his quarry. ‘I’ll call you. Be an hour or more, I guess, before they get hungry.’

  Megan and Hilary crossed the ornamental bridge over the canal and joined the flow of devotees to the temple of consumerism. Petra forced herself to go in a different direction. The two girls might not look it, but they were adults, weren’t they? At their age she had certainly thought of herself as mature. Mature enough to get married repeated the voice in her head, reminding her of the wedding she was going to – if ever Carlo showed up.

  Petra realized that she had walked away from the centre of the action – the restaurants and the shops – and was now close to the seawall. Here there were far fewer people and the lighting was poor. She glanced around, assessing the risk. No one looked likely to pose a threat.

  It was a beautiful evening. Warm, with low humidity and a light breeze. She took a deep breath of sea air and stood listening to the water swishing against the rocks. How different from April in Canada, where the winter hadn’t yet said goodbye. In her hometown of Sudbury, the snow would be lingering in dirty piles; it might melt during the day but temperatures still dropped below zero at night, causing it to refreeze and coat the sidewalks in dangerous sheets of ice. Spring would come suddenly, the trees bursting into leaf, to be followed almost immediately by the heat of summer.

  In Cape Town it was the beginning of Fall. No, autumn, Petra corrected herself. Somehow the Canadian word seemed inappropriate in a land where the trees were palms and pines and eucalyptus and jacaranda, not maples whose leaves turned a dusky red and fell to the ground in heaps.

  A low buzzing interrupted her musings. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out the phone.

  ‘Carlo, what’s going on? Where are you?’

  Silence.

  She was about to end the call when A.K.’s staccato tones reached her from what seemed like a million miles away.

  ‘In Cape Town are you?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘I need you to do something. Before you go to your wedding.’

  Petra began to shake her head. No way.

  ‘Daughter of a friend’s working at the Cape Sands Hotel. Vicky Dunlin. Check she’s OK, will you?’

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘No problem, just check and report back.’

  That was it. Petra stared at the phone. The line had gone dead. So much for communication. What was she supposed to do? Go running off to the Cape Sands to find someone she knew nothing about? She didn’t even know what this girl was doing at the hotel. Did she really want to keep working for A.K. under these conditions?

  Petra shook her head again, wishing that Tom had never given her the damn phone. Wishing too that she hadn’t answered it, that she wasn’t feeling obligated to do A.K.’s bidding and – almost but not quite – that she had never accepted Carlo’s invitation to his cousin’s wedding in South Africa.

  Chapter

  3

  Night had fallen. Petra turned to retrace her footsteps to her hotel. She walked quickly away from the seawall, keeping as far as possible to lighted areas. The buildings seemed huge and the distances between them much greater than during the day.

  After a while she came to a crossroads. It didn’t look familiar and there were no signs. No traffic or other pedestrians either. Which way was it to the hotel? She tossed a mental coin and turned right. When the road started to curve away towards the mountain, she made a left. If she was wrong, she would have to go back.

  She ended up at a small roundabout. Two of the three exit roads were blocked by concrete barriers. The third was bound on either side by hoardings. It narrowed to almost nothing as it bisected a deserted construction site that was in total darkness. The ideal spot for a mugging.

  Hold your course and speed, Petra told herself firmly. Ten minutes later, she came to another junction. This time there was a sign with a cartoon figure on it pointing towards the Alfred Mall and Pierhead. In the distance she saw lights and an open square and heard music reverberating across it. Suddenly, she was in the thick of things again. The uncomfortable feeling of being lost in an urban setting, something that should never have been possible for a trained policewoman like herself, gave way to an irrational excitement. She wiped her damp palms on her jeans and quickened her pace.

  As she reached the square, a deep rumble in her stomach reminded her that it was dinner time. There were plenty of restaurants to choose from – seafood, pizza, fusion, Malay – but most of the outdoor tables were taken, so she carried on.

  Halfway round the plaza, her phone buzzed again. A.K. calling back.

  ‘Hallo?’

  ‘Bella, bellissima!’

  ‘Carlo! Where the hell are you?’

  ‘Here, tesoro mio, right behind you!’

  Petra felt the phone sliding out of her hand as an arm went round her waist and pulled her close.

  Carlo planted a warm kiss firmly on one cheek then the other. ‘My little treasure!’ he said, pushing her away again and appraising her from head to toe. ‘You look divine, though not as hot as when I last saw you.’

  Petra knew she would have to put up with a certain amount of ribbing from Carlo – Mercutio as she still called him because of his temperament. Like quicksilver, that’s how he was. It was one of the things she loved and hated about him. And he could be merciless. Three weeks on holiday together might test their friendship.

  ‘Different circumstances, Mercutio. But I do have a little blue and gold number for the wedding.’

  ‘Skimpy, I hope.’

  ‘What about the leather pants you poured yourself into in Mallorca? All the guys were drooling, not to mention the girls.’

  ‘As you say, Minx: different circumstances. Now, how about something to eat? I’m famished.’

  ‘Me too, me too,’ Petra said, quoting one of her favourite movies.

  ‘Shouldn’t that be “I am too”?’

  ‘Truce, Mercutio. Let’s just get some food.’

  ‘If we’re quick, we’ll get that table,’ he said, pointing to the terrace of a restaurant on the next corner where two girls were getting up to leave.

  ‘I know them,’ Petra exclaimed. ‘Megan and Hilary. They were on my plane, and I saw them again this afternoon.’

  ‘It’s a small world, carissima, and we’re all tourists in the most touristy part of Cape Town.’

  ‘They’ve come to do volunteer work.’

  ‘Are they old enough to be let out of the nursery?’

  ‘I’ll introduce you and you can judge for yourself. Come on.’

  Megan and Hilary were on their feet. They pushed their chairs under the table and moved away into the square. Megan’s bag was hanging open on her shoulder. She pulled out her phone and stepped back to take a picture of the restaurant. Hilary did the same. Then they turned to face each other to snap giggling selfies.

  ‘They spend their lives taking photos,’ Petra said. ‘Oh, no! Trouble!’

  Two strapping dark-skinned men had grabbed the girls from behind. Their giggles turned to squeals of anger and fright as they struggled to break free and hang on to their phones. Petra broke into a run and raced towards them. Before she could reach them, two men jumped up from the terrace and entered the fray. Suddenly the attackers broke away and fled across the square. The two diners took off after them, followed by Megan and Hilary. By the time Petra and Carlo reached the site of the incident, it was over. All those involved had disappeared.

  Petra stared after them. ‘I can’t believe how quickly that happened.’

  ‘You’re slowing down in your old age, cara.’

  ‘No, Carlo. It was weird.’

  ‘Slam, bam, thank you, Ma’am! Truth is stranger than fiction.’

  ‘Ma
ybe, but I don’t buy it. Something wasn’t right.’

  ‘Look, it’s over. You can’t do anything now. Let’s grab a table.’ Carlo pointed again to the restaurant where several groups of people were leaving, talking animatedly.

  Petra sat in silence while Carlo ordered a bottle of Backsberg white wine from the smiling African waitress.

  ‘Chin-chin!’ he said, chinking his glass against Petra’s. ‘You can’t win every time.’

  ‘Can’t I?’ she demanded. ‘We’ll see about that. Anyway, where the hell were you this morning? You show up nearly twelve hours late with nothing but a twinkle in your eye, no apology, no explanation …’

  ‘Something came up.’

  ‘What something?’

  ‘I can’t tell you now, tesoro mio. Maybe later.’

  Chapter

  4

  ‘Carlo, I have to go to the Cape Sands.’

  ‘The schedule says we’re catching the 10 a.m. boat to Robben Island. Our tickets are waiting for us at the front desk.’

  ‘Fuck the schedule!’

  ‘Tut, tut! I don’t remember such a foul-mouthed person.’

  ‘Sorry, blame it on jet-lag. I was awake half the night. I guess I can go later.’

  Petra and Carlo walked out of the hotel breakfast room into the lobby. Megan and Hilary were standing at the reception desk. On the floor beside them were their travel bags.

  ‘Surprise, surprise!’ Petra said as she came up behind them. ‘Need any help, girls?’

  Megan and Hilary turned in unison. They looked more subdued than the previous day.

  ‘Why would we need help?’ Hilary said truculently.

  ‘I saw you having dinner in the square last night. Then you were taking photos and two guys strong-armed you and ran off with your phones. Are you sure you’re OK? You must have been terrified.’

  ‘We’re fine, just fine.’

  ‘Are you checking out?’

  Hilary shrugged. She was holding something back.

  Petra tugged at Carlo’s sleeve. ‘Meet my friend, Carlo. We’re going to his cousin’s wedding at a winery in Stellenbosch.’

  ‘Awesome,’ Megan gasped, twinkling at Carlo. ‘I’d love to get married at a winery. I was looking on line before we came. Loads of them do it.’

  ‘Do you have a man in mind?’ Carlo twinkled back. ‘My step-aunt is an event planner. She specializes in weddings.’

  That explains the schedules Petra thought, watching the effect Carlo was having on the two girls.

  ‘Nao, but we’ll have a good look round while we’re here, won’t we, Hilary?’ Megan gave a coy smile. ‘We’ve decided to go on a discovery tour for young people, leaving today …’

  ‘So soon?’ Petra interjected. ‘I thought you were spending some time in Cape Town.’

  ‘We changed our minds after what happened last night. The guys who helped us get our phones back were awesome. They said we shouldn’t be on our own, it would be safer with a group, and they run these all-inclusive programmes that include sightseeing and a safari. And once we’ve familiarized ourselves with the country, we get to do volunteer work in an African village.’

  Megan poked around in her shoulder bag and pulled out a shocking pink phone, then a tour brochure. ‘Here’s their pamphlet. It tells you all about it. They’re small groups and not expensive. And they gave us an extra discount because two people had just cancelled at the last minute.’

  Petra’s antennae began to quiver. ‘Have you checked them out? It sounds a bit too good to be true.’

  Carlo was busy rolling his eyes. Then he tapped his watch.

  ‘Forget the schedule, Mercutio! This is more important. Are you sure you’re not rushing into this?’

  Hilary dragged her canvas holdall to the side of the lobby. ‘Look, leave us alone. We came out here to see the country and have some fun before we go to Uni. We worked and saved hard for this trip, and we can spend our money how we like.’

  Petra couldn’t have been more stunned if she’d been the parent of a teenager who had suddenly turned and flung a glass of cold water in her face. ‘Of course, that’s your prerogative. Let’s go, Carlo.’

  Petra let herself into her hotel room and went straight to the chair by the window. She flopped down and took off her shoes. Tours and tour guides could be most annoying. Sure, Nelson Mandela had been held captive for eighteen years in deplorable conditions on Robben Island – Seal Island, Carlo said it meant – and he was a remarkable man, but their guide had glossed over the fact that for a long time he had been considered a terrorist. Another member of their group, a visiting professor of political history, had challenged him several times.

  Thinking about the tour reminded Petra of the pamphlet Megan had given her that morning. At first she ignored the feeling that she should get up and find it. Then she gave in.

  Splashed across the front page was the name of the company and a rousing call to action:

  Higher Ground Tours

  Explore the hidden Africa with us!

  Enjoy Africa in a completely new way with our small group tours for 18 to 25-year-olds. We offer a variety of itineraries that will take you from the delights of the city through our scenic countryside into the wilds of our game parks. Each unique journey will bring you closer to understanding our true culture and ideals.

  Your trip will culminate in a traditional African village where you can experience a way of life that has stood the test of millennia. Your skills will be put to good use to help build the community and foster our efforts to make Africa a better place. You may stay as long as you have a contribution to make to the village way of life.

  Discover the real Africa with us!

  Pretty abstract stuff, designed to appeal to the young and the idealistic like Megan and Hilary, Petra decided. Higher Ground seemed to offer everything they were looking for. They were keen to volunteer and fit right into the age profile. No wonder they’d been seduced. She turned the page and continued reading.

  The ultimate eco-adventure with

  Higher Ground

  19 days from Cape Town, South Africa,

  to Katima Mulilo, Namibia

  Week 1

  Cape Town, Springbok, Fish River Canyon, Lüderitz

  Week 2

  Sossusvlei, Swakopmund, Cape Cross, Damaraland

  Week 3

  Etosha National Park, Zambezi Region, Katima Mulilo

  Week 4 +

  opportunity to do volunteer work

  Our camper vans are custom-built to accommodate eight passengers plus the crew (your tour leader and your driver). They carry everything we need for our adventure with enough space for a small amount of personal luggage.

  During the expedition, your crew will share their in-depth knowledge and passion for the continent with you and attend to all your needs. Part of the joy of participating in our tours is the opportunity to help with day-to-day matters such as meal preparation and setting up for the night. If you have a special skill, let your leader know!

  How funny, Petra thought. If this was the “eco-adventure” Megan and Hilary had signed up for, they’d be spending most of their time in Namibia. Until a few weeks ago she had had only the vaguest idea where Namibia was. Then Carlo had emailed her, suggesting that they go there after the wedding and she had done a quick Google search. It was a long, fairly skinny country northwest of South Africa, bordered by Angola to the north and Botswana to the east. With no time to do more research, she had told him to go ahead and make the arrangements. Unlike his step-aunt, he had not sent her an itinerary. He had talked about going on safari in Etosha National Park and some of the other place names sounded familiar, but their trip would be not
hing like nineteen days long.

  Page three of the Higher Ground brochure contained fulsome references from delighted campers and volunteers. Petra read a couple of them and wondered whether they could possibly be genuine.

  ‘Amazing journey! Our crew took care of every last detail. The community spirit infused us all right from the beginning. I can truly say I will never feel the same thrill again.’ Christina D., Frankfurt

  ‘Awesome sights, brilliant leaders, super everything! The climax of the trip was most definitely the chance to work with other like-minded young people for the greater good of mankind.’ Penny S., Exeter

  The last page was devoted to price and insurance information, terms and conditions. It gave an address and a phone number for the company and looked frightfully professional. But the way the brochure was put together bothered Petra. The verbiage was slick, too slick, and almost hypnotic in its power. She could feel herself being drawn in even though she hadn’t the faintest intention of signing up for a tour.

  Chapter

  5

  Petra threaded through the crowds and made her way past the fishing harbour to the west side of the Waterfront. As she approached the Cape Sands Hotel, she asked herself why she felt duty-bound to try and find Vicky Dunlin. She had made no promises and A.K. had given her precious little information. He was still her boss, though. In his own way, he looked out for his people. Perhaps that was the answer: she could do no less.

  After the hurly-burly of the Waterfront, the reception area was cool and quiet. Subdued tones of sepia, grey and silver combined with sparkling glass doors and chandeliers to create an atmosphere of cloud-like calm. A painting of Cape Town in the 16th century caught Petra’s eye: schooners riding at anchor in Table Bay in the lee of the famous mountain. She paused to admire it then went to the reception desk.