§ § § -- November 8, 2003
An hour later he'd walked into town, which wasn't too far away from the lane where the bungalows were situated in order to facilitate guests' ease in shopping, mailing postcards or doing other errands, and was strolling slowly around the central business square, perusing the storefronts there. No one took much notice of him; it was late enough in the morning that the square was already fairly crowded with vacationers. He wondered if he really ought to try robbing the bank or the jeweler's; they seemed like such obvious places to stage a holdup. On the other hand, he really didn't have much clue how to go about carrying out his half-baked plan, and he supposed that anyone who ever robbed any establishment would rob a bank sooner or later. He could see nothing here that looked like an American-style convenience store, so the bank seemed the logical next step. Whatever money he got away with, he promised himself, he would give back to Roarke when the weekend was over. Having salved his conscience, he returned his full attention to scanning the shops.
The bank, he soon ascertained, was located in an end unit that shared building space with the post office, a computer-services business, a gift shop and a café. The tropical forest that still covered so much of the island, and that provided a backdrop to the town, the main house and the bungalows, encroached to within six feet of the building's outer wall, and there was a clearly demarcated path leading back into the trees. Kane nodded to himself; it looked like a good getaway route. On the pretext of window-shopping, he strolled over to the covered walkway and peered curiously through the window; there weren't too many people inside. Just to cover himself, he sauntered along, making a point of peering into the post-office window, the computer-business window, the gift-shop window and the café window. Then he reversed tracks and did it again. As he passed the computer place, the dark-haired man sitting at the desk nearest the window happened to look up and meet his gaze; quickly Kane threw up his hand in a casual wave, and the man nodded back, watching him till he passed out of his sight. Nice going, Mattson, Kane thought, disgusted. Rule number one: never let anyone notice you. Then he remembered that Roarke and Leslie had provided him with a disguise. Calm down, he won't associate you with an old goat trying to carry off a heist. Feeling a little better, he shot another glance into the bank's window, then decided enough was enough and retreated to his bungalow.
There, he changed swiftly into the jeans, T-shirt and sneakers before stuffing the gun into his belt and then spending ten minutes in the bathroom getting the rubber mask to sit properly over his head and face. Almost immediately he began to perspire inside it; it was uncomfortably hot, and he hoped he could stand the thing long enough to make a success out of the holdup. Determined, he glued on the fake beard and mustache, then tried to smile at his reflection and discovered that the mask severely restricted facial movement. He gave a resigned shrug. It was only for half an hour, if that. Once he pulled off his robbery he'd be able to take off the disguise and bask in the glow of his success.
Feeling about as prepared as he would ever get, he left the bungalow again, trying to walk the way his grandfather had done in his last few years of life, then deciding it might look strange for an old man to suddenly become a lot more fit after the robbery was complete and assumed his own gait, merely slowing it somewhat to accommodate his temporary "old age". Back in the town square the butterflies hit him smack in the gut, and he began to breathe hard in the mask. He started to feel somewhat like Darth Vader, his inhalations and exhalations echoing in his ears. Get it over with, Mattson, you big chicken! Come on, it's just a fantasy, remember? The reminder did nothing at all to soothe his nerves and he finally decided he might just as well do it and get it over with. Determinedly he shuffled across the square from the Ring Road, stepped up onto the covered walkway and entered the bank. At the moment there were only two customers; one completed his transaction as Kane walked in and brushed past him with barely a nod on his way out. The other, a woman, paid no attention to his entrance.
Kane wandered up to the first open teller window and peered at the young native woman behind it. "May I help you, sir?" she asked politely.
"Yeah," Kane growled, whipped the gun out of his belt and pointed it at her. "Gimme all the cash you have in your drawer, and make it snappy."
The teller reared back, real fear sparking in her eyes, and nodded hurriedly, then pulled open her cash drawer and began scooping out money. "Everybody!" Kane yelled, turning and waving his gun in the air. "Drop to the floor! All your money, now!" He glared at the lone customer, who had frozen in place and was gaping at him with huge eyes. "You too, lady, come on!"
"Isn't someone gonna call the police?" the customer cried, looking frantically around.
"On the floor!" Kane shouted, aiming his gun at her. "Now, or I shoot!" She instantly fell down, and he turned back to the teller. "Where's the money?"
"I'm getting the last of it now," she insisted in a shaking voice.
In the commotion, Kane didn't see the man poking his head out of the door to the vault where the safe-deposit boxes were located; as Kane turned, the guy yanked back out of his sight and pulled out a cell phone, calling the police. The customer on the floor saw this, however, and yelled at Kane, "The cops'll come for you, guaranteed, you old reprobate!" She hurriedly started scrabbling through her purse when he showed her the business end of the gun, and he smirked to himself. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guy in the vault, with the cell phone at his ear, and instantly realized he was about to be in very deep trouble. With a frantic curse he scooped a few bundles of bills off the teller's counter and made a break for it, tearing out the door and fleeing down the Ring Road as fast as he could run, back toward the bungalow. Not till he'd gotten there did he realize that not only had he forgotten about the getaway path, but the money in his hands was fake.
He whipped off the beard, mustache and mask, and stared at the cash. At a glance it looked real, but on closer examination it was clearly counterfeit. "You gotta be kidding," he muttered, astonished. It was a sure bet that American banks had never heard of this little ploy. Undoubtedly this was something Roarke must have come up with: when threatened with a robbery, give the crooks the fake bills. "Must be nice to have your own country and make up your own rules," Kane said with a sigh, then frowned. He was supposed to have succeeded at this thing. After all, he'd told Roarke—
Still wearing the T-shirt and jeans, he walked briskly back to the main house and confronted Roarke, who was alone in the study. "Mr. Roarke, what's the big idea?" he wanted to know.
"I'm sorry?" asked Roarke blankly, looking up from a ledger.
"I just now tried to rob the bank," Kane informed him. "It was supposed to go off without a hitch. But somebody called the cops on me—I saw him in the vault yapping on a cell phone—and then I found out the teller gave me fake money!" He brandished the counterfeit bills at Roarke. "What kind of nutty idea is that?"
Roarke's dark eyes lit with amusement, but otherwise he kept a poker face. "I am terribly sorry, Mr. Mattson," he said. "However, I did warn you that I was providing you with the opportunities only; their success or failure is entirely up to you. I can only suggest that you plan your next attempt more carefully."
Kane deflated and let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, I guess so," he muttered grudging agreement. "But I still feel cheated. What'm I gonna do with these?"
"Keep them as souvenirs," Roarke offered whimsically.
Kane stared at him, then at the bills. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, why the heck not." He shrugged, then mumbled thanks and quietly left the house.
Roarke was still chuckling softly to himself when Leslie came back from upstairs, her face a little pale. He looked up as she hit the floor and asked, "Do you feel any better?"
"Yeah, for now," she said. "But it's dry heaves by now, Father, and I've never had that in my life. They really hurt."
His amusement disappeared. "I think you had better go to the doctor," he told her.
"Not now, I'm working," Leslie protested.
"At this rate, very shortly you won't be," Roarke retorted. "I don't want any arguments, Leslie. If you won't go to the doctor, then I'll have Christian take you home."
She paused, a hand on her hip. "Suppose I eat when lunchtime gets here," she said, as if challenging him. "If I do, will you drop the subject?"
Roarke sighed with gentle exasperation. "Leslie Susan, without question, you are the most stubborn young woman I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Do you honestly believe you'll be able to eat anything at lunch—much less keep it down?"
"I can certainly try," she said gamely.
He shook his head and said, "Very well, but if you're sick this afternoon, you're going home—no arguments. I'll get along quite well this weekend; I've done it before."
"Oh, we'll see," Leslie said and smiled. "Thanks, Father."
"Don't thank me yet, young lady," Roarke warned and returned to the ledger. She grinned outright and went out to make some rounds.
‡ ‡ ‡
"That's her…Roarke's daughter," muttered the heavyset native man, peering at Leslie from under hooded lids as she passed their table without noticing them. "I still can't believe you've never seen her before."
"Hell, Bert, I worked at the plantation for two months before the overseer's house burned down, and she never showed up there," retorted his companion, a few years younger and just short of skeletal. They were an odd-looking pair, to say the least; the only reason they had gone unnoticed was that the pool was very crowded, even for a Saturday. "And it's not like we ever had a reason to come up this end of the island."
"Well, we do now," Bert said, watching Leslie weave her way through shifting knots of human beings, evidently headed toward the bar in the corner. "Make sure you get a good look at her, Joey. When we make our move, I don't want you mixing her up with some other broad, y'got me?"
Joey snorted but studied Leslie as much as he could through all the people. "Look," he said, "we've both seen Roarke, he's seen us. What we need is a patsy."
"Don't worry about that," Bert said. "Right now we need to plan this thing. Pay attention, you idiot. Now listen to me…"
Unaware that she was being discussed, Leslie approached the bar and grinned at the native man behind it. "Hi, Carl, how's business?"
"Monstrous," Carl said and chuckled. "This place is a madhouse. Hey, Miss Leslie, are you all right? You look a little under the weather."
"Oh, just a minor stomach bug. Comes and goes," Leslie said dismissively. "Do you need anything while I'm here?"
"Double on everything," Carl told her. "I'm running low and I figure I might last another hour before I go dry back here. After that I won't be too popular."
Leslie laughed. "I'll take care of it for you," she promised. "Thanks." Carl nodded in response and thanked her back, and she wriggled her way through the throngs again and gained a path back toward the main house with some relief. It was nearly time for lunch and she was actually a bit hungry, at least enough to try eating a little something. Christian was joining them, and of course she was looking forward to seeing him as well.
Back in the study she found that Roarke was out at the moment, so she made the call for more supplies for the pool bar, then went out to the veranda and took her usual chair. Mariki came out a few minutes later and asked, "What happened to Mr. Roarke? And is Prince Christian planning to be here?"
"I'm not sure where Father is, but he'll probably be back shortly. And yes, Christian has all intentions of coming over. What's for lunch?"
"Beef Stroganoff," Mariki said, and Leslie swallowed thickly.
"Could you just make mine a little soup?" she asked. "Tomato, maybe, with some crackers? And some ginger ale too."
Mariki planted her hands on her hips. "Miss Leslie—" she began to scold.
"Before you start in on me again," Leslie said a little wearily, "you should know that I've been sick off and on today, and quite frankly, you're lucky I'm eating anything at all. You'd better quit while you're ahead, Mariki."
"I suppose I should," the cook muttered and sighed. "All right, soup and crackers it is. I still say you're going to starve yourself."
"I've never starved myself in my entire life," Leslie shot back, "and I'm not going to start now. Hurry up before I change my order to even less."
Mariki gave her a dirty look but retreated, and she sighed and relaxed in her chair, only then hearing the chuckles. She looked around and saw Christian a few feet down the veranda; it looked as if he'd been watching them. "Well," he remarked in amusement, resuming his approach, "it seems you've won another round, my Rose." He paused beside her chair and leaned down to kiss her. "How do you feel?"
"Fine," she said and smiled at him. "How about you?"
Christian grinned and took his chair. "Hungry," he said. "It's been a busy morning; the square was quite crowded today. There was a little excitement this morning; one of my customers informed us with great relish that someone had attempted to rob the bank, but ran away without really getting anything."
"Oh?" said Leslie and let out a couple of huffs of amusement. "Too bad."
Before Christian could question this, Roarke returned and greeted them both. "Are you all right, Leslie?" he asked.
She groaned and rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, Father," she insisted.
Christian laughed and said, "I suppose we'd better stop asking. Mariki took her order for soup and crackers, so apparently she's hungry after all."
"Enough to hopefully get the two of you off my back," Leslie said, but she smiled. "I love both of you for worrying, but do me a favor and try not to smother me with it."
Roarke glanced at her, but took his chair without replying to this. Instead he asked, "Was everything going smoothly, Leslie?"
She nodded. "I just called for more supplies for the bar at the pool, but we've had no major disasters. The lunch hour's brisk over at the hotel, and the restaurant's doing a good business too. I've never seen the pool so crowded."
"I think the whole island's crowded," Christian noted. "The square was choked with people. Were you aware of any major holiday somewhere that would bring so many people here like this, Mr. Roarke?"
"Nothing comes to mind," Roarke said, "and it's somewhat early for the American Thanksgiving. It appears to be mere coincidence. Has your business been affected?"
"Foot traffic's been horrendous," Christian said. "Anton and Julianne have both been in and out the entire morning, and I have no fewer than ten projects waiting for me when I get back. If this turns into a permanent trend, I may have to hire another specialist."
They talked idly for awhile through lunch, with the men partaking of Mariki's beef Stroganoff and Leslie eating her soup with some care. When they were finished and Christian was preparing to return to work, he surveyed his wife with some concern and took stock of the remaining soup in her bowl. "Don't overdo it, my Rose."
"I'm finished anyway," Leslie said and pushed the bowl away from her. "I really hate it when I get sick on a weekend. No more talk about doctors. I'm feeling perfectly okay, and as long as I'm careful, I should make it through the day just fine."
Christian regarded her, then looked at Roarke. "You'll call, of course, if she turns out to be wrong," he said questioningly.
"Of course, Christian," Roarke reassured him.
"You two," Leslie growled, and Roarke laughed. Christian grinned and arose, bending down to kiss her again.
"You know it's because we love you," he said and smoothed her hair. "Just take it as easy as you can, my darling, and I'll see you this evening before I go home, all right?"
"That sounds good to me," she said. "I love you, Christian…have a good afternoon."
"I love you too," he replied and smiled, then stole a last kiss before bidding her and Roarke goodbye and departing. Once he was gone, both Roarke and Leslie arose.
"Have you seen Mr. Mattson at all today?" Roarke asked her.
Leslie shook her head. "No," she said. "Christian told me he'd heard from a customer about the bank-robbery attempt, but I myself haven't seen a sign of the man. Wonder what he's up to now."