Page 73 of Safari Murder Party
“Thumbs?” Fletcher laughed.
“They’re too powerful.”
The jungle cat hummed unhappily.
“See? Naya agrees.” A proud smile lit his face. “Here, you can pet her.”
Before she could argue that that definitely wasn’t a good idea, Waylon captured Fletcher’s wrist. Naya watched them with anticipation, her stomach definitely already growling. In the back of her mind, Fletcher wondered if cats could smell fear. Waylon wove his fingers through Fletcher’s and steered her hand toward the bridge of Naya’s nose.
A deep-bellied grumble rose out of Naya but Waylon batted it away with atsk. To Fletcher’s immense surprise, it worked. Naya bowed her head and brushed her coat against Fletcher’s fingertips.
“She’s so…” Fletcher’s words faded out, unsure which could accurately describe this moment. When she thought about traveling the world withJet-Setter, these were the things she dreamed of. Unexpected encounters. Breathtaking scenery. The kinds of experiences Lincoln County locals would only ever see on glossy magazine pages.
Waylon craned his nose toward her. His open hand found Fletcher’s waist, flattening against her stomach and pulling her closer. “Beautiful?”
Fletcher turned, too. Her nose brushed his. Much closer than two not-coworkers on a not-work retreat should have ever been. Much,muchcloser to Waylon than Fletcher ever thought she’d be again, barring a few extenuating circumstances she imagined might have included an expertly wielded paper cutter and an off-key rendition of “Cell Block Tango.”
“I bet that works on all the ladies,” Fletcher whispered.
“I don’t know,” Waylon said with a lopsided smile. “You tell me.”
With absolutely no warning, Naya shifted back into a predator. This time, her instant animosity wasn’t directed toward Fletcher,thank god. The cat’s oblong pupils widened into blown-out spheres, searching through the depths of the jungle. For what? Not even the leaves dared to rustle in Naya’s presence.
The cat prowled forward, low and slow. Waylon followed, his hand still wrapped around Fletcher’s, and against her better judgment, she followed, too. While Naya crept silently, Fletcher and Waylon fumbled along behind her, and Fletcher was fairly certain she hadn’t imagined the annoyed way Naya peeked over her shoulder after Fletcher tripped over a particularly unruly root system.
When Naya slowed, so did they.
She’d led them toward the main road, where the branches had been snipped and shaped to create a tunnel. Twin dirt tracks carved toward the center of the island, toward the landing strip and the staff building.
They weren’t alone.
Two figures hobbled down the path, heading toward them. Sheila, one heel on and one dangling from her fingers, babbled about something Fletcher couldn’t quite make out. Next to her, Opal crossed her arms against her chest. Soot smudged her otherwise pristine silk blouse.
Even if Fletcher wanted to sic Naya on them, she couldn’t. The jaguar had vanished like an apparition.
“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Sheila whined as they marched closer.
Opal grimaced. “Ask me one more time.”
“Are you sure we’re—”
“Yes, Sheila!” Opal’s oversize sunglasses masked what was certainly the death stare to end all death stares. “I’m sure. Now, I’m begging you to shut up and help me look for more of these business cards.”
Fletcher raised her eyebrows toward Waylon, signaling for himto follow her, and then crept through the dense foliage, close enough to keep tabs on Opal and Sheila’s conversation. Every few steps, Opal scooped up another little paper rectangle. Pocketed it. And mapped toward the next, several feet ahead.
Slinking behind them, Fletcher pried up a card they’d missed. Matte black and embossed withRick Evanstonin bold type. His phone and company email squished into the corner. Dirtbaggy even in business card form.
Sheila bobbled on her single stiletto. Her shutting-up was short-lived. “Why couldn’t he have picked a hiding spot that wasn’t a million miles away?”
“I’ve seen you Citi Bike in heels twice that high. Don’t act like this is hard for you.” Opal flipped her sunglasses onto her head, reassessing their path. “Besides, when has Rick ever put the needs of others first?”
“Is that, like, a trick question?”
“Obviously. If I can’t convince you to let me walk in peace, at least tell me again what you heard yesterday.”
Fletcher’s boob-sweat situation multiplied rapidly. Could Sheila have listened in on her conversation with Jackie on the pool deck?
“It was this DJ mix of top songs from the dark ages, like 2005,” Sheila said sagely.
