Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Advice. Purrfect Passion. A Purrfect Gnomeful

“Just make sure she doesn’t squeeze you back.”

I’d been trying to catch Odelia’s attention, but she was so wrapped up in her conversation about Mike and Dina that she was steadfastly ignoring me.

“There’s a guy out there spying on you!” I finally blurted out.

She frowned and looked down at me and Dooley. “What? Who?”

“Scarface,” said Dooley. “He followed you from the villa and he’s out there filming.”

Odelia gulped a little, then glanced out through the small windows. “Are you sure? I don’t—oh, crap, I see him. Chase, Scarface is back, and he’s followed me down here!”

“Try to sneak out the back,” was the cop’s advice, “then alert security and tell them some creep has been following you around.”

She disconnected and I pointed at the broken plank that had facilitated our access. She took a good grip and pulled hard. It easily broke off, and she repeated the procedure with its neighbor. Now she’d created a hole wide enough to slip through, which she did, followed by Dooley and me.

And as she crawled through the undergrowth, thoroughly ruining her nice T-shirt, I stealthily returned to see if Odelia’s departure had been observed.

Scarface was still in position, though, and talking into his phone again.

I quickly made my way back to my human, and together the three of us circled around and started our way back to the compound.

The sun had crept a little higher across the horizon and the world was quickly heating up.

“Now I understand why I haven’t seen a single cat on this island,” I told Dooley. “It’s too hot for the likes of us, what with our thick coat of fur.”

“Maybe I should shave you guys?” Odelia suggested.

“Ha ha,” I said. “Over my dead body.”

We quickly arrived back at the site, and Odelia made a beeline for the villa that housed the staff. The first person we met was Kimmy, and Odelia quickly told the production assistant of our unfortunate encounter with Scarface.

Kimmy’s face took on a grave expression. “I’ll tell security. Hopefully they can still catch the guy.”

And as Dooley and I watched on, the villa came to life: beefy security men came hurrying out, then hopped into a jeep, and soon were off, after having received instructions from Odelia, detailing Scarface’s last known location.

“I hope they catch him,” said Dooley.

“Yeah, I hope so, too.”

“Though if they do catch him, our job here is done, right? And we get to go home again?”

“I think so,” I said.

He looked happy at the prospect, and I have to confess I felt happy, too. A cat is never happier than when close to home and hearth. It’s strange but true. After all, we’re not dogs. Dogs enjoy prancing around the world like hapless globetrotters. Us cats do not. We’re homebodies, and proud to be so.

I’d only been there a day and already I missed cat choir, and my friends, and my couch, and my daily routine.

Besides, I was way too hot—and not prepared to allow Odelia to shave me. Uh-uh. No way! I prefer to suffer in silence than to end up looking like a fool. Have you ever seen a hairless cat? They’re weird!

Besides, I love my blorange coat of fur. It’s part of my personality. It’s who I am.

So I decided to sweat, and not fret, and when ten minutes later the jeep returned, and I saw that they’d managed to capture the scar-faced man, I was over the moon.

Our adventure was over.

We were going home!

Chapter 24

“But he’s my gaffer!” Clint cried as he walked out of the villa to survey the scene. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, spying on my contestants!” he added with a good deal of ire.

Scarface had been deposited in front of the big boss, and Odelia, having crossed her arms and eyeing the man with no small measure of pique, had been joined by pretty much the entire contingent marooned on the island, fellow candidates and seducers included.

Scarface wilted a little under the attention, and seemed genuinely unnerved, like a man dragged before the police court after having been caught driving under the influence.

“I’m… a reporter,” he finally said, in a surprisingly reedy voice. “The name is Jack Davenport and I’m doing a piece on Passion Island for the National Star.”

“The National Star!” Clint, cried, throwing his hands in the air. “So you mean to tell me you’re not a gaffer?”

“An amateur gaffer at best,” said the man, looking distinctly ill at ease.

“But why did you break into my room and film me in my sleep?” asked Odelia.

“Plenty of these so-called couples aren’t couples at all,” said the guy with a shrug. “So my editor told me to try and catch you in the act, meaning sleeping apart. You guys are a real couple, though,” he said, offering Odelia a faint smile.

“So you spied on all of my candidates?!” thundered Clint.

“Yeah, and I gotta say all of them are for real, man.”

“Of course they’re for real!”

“My editor thought otherwise, so he sent me in to expose this show as a fabrication. But so far that hasn’t been my experience. Everything looks above board. Not a message my editor wanted to hear, mind you. I can tell you he was pretty disappointed.”

“Well, you can tell your editor he can go and boil his head!” Clint said, and stormed into the house. Then, apparently having changed his mind, he came storming out again. “On second thought, why don’t you stick around?”

“Stick around?” asked Jack Davenport.

“Stick around?!” asked Odelia, aghast.

“Yeah, if you promise to give the show a good write-up, you can stick around. If not, you can go to hell.”

“I’d rather stick around, sir,” said Jack.

“Great. I look forward to reading your article,” said Clint with a nod.

“You can’t do this!” Odelia cried. “He broke into my room!”

Clint shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Poole,” said Jack later, as he and Odelia were seated at the breakfast table. “I know your work and I’m a great admirer. So when my editor told me to film all the contestants in their sleep, I balked at the idea. But he told me that if I didn’t do it, he’d send someone who would. And I need the job. My wife is pregnant with our first, and I can’t afford to be out of work right now. You know how hard it is to be a reporter these days. Not a lot of jobs to go around.”

“I still think it’s a pretty crap thing to do,” said Odelia as she bit down on a chocolate croissant with cream filling. The food at the resort was amazing. If she wasn’t careful she’d go home ten pounds heavier than when she set out for Thailand.

“I hope you can forgive me,” said Jack.

“I actually thought you were a kidnapper.”

“A kidnapper!”

“Yeah, the way you came after me this morning.”

“I was just trying to get a couple of good shots for my article. And when I saw you take off running the opportunity was too good to miss.” He thoughtfully took a sip from his coffee. “What were you doing in that shack if I may ask? It almost looked as if you were on the phone with someone, which of course is impossible, since candidates aren’t allowed to have phones.”

Odelia studied the guy. Now that he’d told them his name, she knew who he was. She’d read his articles. He was a pretty sharp observer, and a great writer. What he was doing writing for a tabloid she didn’t know. Then again, as he said, it wasn’t easy finding work as a reporter these days. She wondered how much to tell him, then decided to trust her gut.

“I’m not here as a candidate, Jack. I’m here as a reporter. Some of the contestants from previous editions have gone missing, and I’m trying to figure out what’s going on.”