“Hi, I’m Matt — Ann Calloway sent me from Peterson’s office. What’s going on?” he asked the guard.
“I’ve been trying to call up there! It keeps going to voice mail!”
Of course he couldn’t get through. Because Darius, using his deepest, smoothest voice, was talking to her as a PGA representative about holding a major tournament at the club. They’d guessed that a professional golf association would never be put on hold.
“My mom just wants to know where to park!” Jules said. “I’ve got an audition for a shampoo commercial at noon.” She rapped the counter. “Time is money!”
“And I need to go to the bathroom,” Izzy said. “You said to come to this entrance at ten a.m., and I’m on time!”
“I can’t believe this!” Jules complained. “Let us in, immediately!”
The girls were doing a great Loutsenheizer impression.
“Ann said to just let them in,” March murmured. “We don’t want to make a scene.”
“Buddy, it already is a scene!”
One of the moms ran up. “Can you get a move on? It’s hot out here. Brianna is sweating!”
Another mom jumped forward. “If you think you’re going to jump the line —”
“I’m not jumping the line. I’m just trying to get in!”
“Look, my daughter is Miss Teen Queen of Davie, so —”
“Oh, so she gets special treatment for a lousy beauty contest?”
“Lousy!”
“She’s right, though,” Jules said. “I’m a top model in Miami, and I’ve never been treated like this!”
The pushy mom looked Jules up and down while her daughter tugged at her arm. “Mom!”
“Brianna, don’t tug!” Then she spoke in a whisper. “If she’s a top model, you’re Miss America.”
March leaned over to the guard. “You’d better just raise the gate, sir.”
“Sure,” the guard said, pressing the button. “Anything to stop the madness.”
The gate rose, and the cars began to pour through. March, Jules, and Izzy hurried toward the clubhouse. By the time they reached it, cars began to flood the circular drive and park. Teenagers — boys and girls in spotless tennis and golf gear — spilled out.
Diversion was a beautiful sight.
“We’ve got four minutes before Trini leaves that pool,” March said. “The clock is ticking. Let the games begin.”
The group seemed to move in one giant white blob toward the main building. Some of the teens quickened their steps, almost running to get ahead of the pack.
A perplexed man in a suit came forward. “May I …”
“Mr. Darwin? Hi, I’m Matt. I’m new. Ann sent me down to see you,” March said in a hurried voice. “There’s a couple hundred teenagers and moms coming for a photo shoot. More arriving all the time.”
“I didn’t hear about this!”
“I guess call Ann, but there’s a guy with a clipboard outside directing the whole thing. Maybe he can shut the thing down.”
Not likely. It was Darius. He was there to create more confusion, putting people on lists, giving false information, and urging everyone to just be calm … and hope it had the opposite effect. The virtue of Darius’s height and build was that it made him look older. If you added a visor and sunglasses, he might pass for nineteen or twenty.
The man glanced out the window. “Oh … my … they’re going through the flower bed!”
“I know, it’s kinda out of control.”
“Call Leo in security and tell him to get down here!”
“Right away, sir.”
“They can’t come in here!” The man ran forward as the models surged into the building.
March, Izzy, and Jules reversed and hurried away. March led them quickly toward the spa. He burst through the double doors to reception.
“Hey, Kelly. It’s crazy out there. Did you hear about the film shoot?”
Kelly tossed her ponytail behind her shoulder. “Film shoot?”
“For some reality TV show about athletes. They’re casting extras and main roles, I hear. Well, I promised Sandro I’d give him a hand in the juice bar, so …”
“They’re casting?”
“They especially want blondes.”
“Really?”
“Hey, I can sit here for a while if you want to check it out. Sandro said he doesn’t need me yet.”
“I really can’t leave.”
“Sure, you can. I’ll cover for you. The casting director is out front. He’s the one with the clipboard.”
Using her phone as a mirror, she smoothed gloss on her lips. “If you really don’t mind … I’ll be right back.”
As soon as she pushed through the doors, Izzy and Jules raced in. They followed March into the corridor leading to the treatment rooms. March paused to swipe the door marked SUPPLIES. He grabbed a couple of terry-cloth robes and tossed them to Izzy and Jules. They slipped into them as they ran.
In the juice bar, women sat at the small round tables, sipping at brilliantly colored juices. Izzy and Jules sauntered toward the counter.
“Mother said to order her orange juice, but don’t you think she should drink kelp?” Jules asked Sandro.
March crossed to the planters. Quickly he unscrewed the jars. The flies had been buzzing angrily, beating against the plastic. Now they rose, a blizzard of angry, humming insects. To be let loose in a juice bar was probably their idea of fly heaven.
He swatted one fly away as he grabbed a rag off the counter and began to clean the counter. Or pretend to. Izzy and Jules turned away with their juice, choosing a table near the plants.
Sandro glanced over and saw Trini heading for the double doors. “Just in time,” he muttered under his breath. “Here comes Medusa.”
Trini swept through the door in a terry-cloth robe, a towel wrapped around her hair. “I’ll have the usual, Carlos,” she said to Sandro. “And I like it really blended.”
“I know, Miss Abbo,” Sandro said. “And it’s Sandro.”
“And ice cold. You never make it cold enough. Add more ice. Do I have to make it myself?”
“Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Bring it to the table.” Trini brushed at a fly as she took her seat. She examined her nails, then consulted her phone. March glanced at the sapphire in the necklace. The gold chain was slender. Easy to snip. He had Hamish’s tool in his pocket.
“I’ll take it to her,” March told Sandro.
“Watch your head. She can bite it off,” he muttered.
Trini swatted a fly as he placed the smoothie in front of her. “It’s about time.”
Jules swatted at a fly again. “This is disgusting!” she said loudly. “What’s with all these flies?”
“Ewww,” Izzy chimed in.
“I think it bit me!” another woman said, leaping up. Her companion waved the air with a magazine.
Freed from their bottles now, the flies buzzed around the room, sugar-crazy and dive-bombing the fruity drinks.
“You! Do something!” Trini said to March.
“Of course!” March grabbed a rag and began to snap it in the air. He moved closer to Trini. The towel turban fell off her head, and a fly buzzed her ear. She jumped. “Is that a bee? Are they bees? I’m allergic!” Her voice rose higher, and March saw the bodyguards outside stir and begin to crane their necks. One of them rose and started toward the door.
He definitely, positively did not want them in here.
March continued to fan the air, and Izzy backed up, wildly swatting at a fly. She hit Trini on the arm, who screamed again.
“I’m so sorry! It was an accident!”
Jules moved forward, and pushed Izzy toward Trini. “My sister is so sorry!”
“Here’s your, uh, turban.” Izzy picked up the towel turban and tried to place it back on Trini’s head.
Meanwhile March moved closer. “Let me help.” With one snip the necklace slipped off into his hand. He shoved
it in a pocket.
Jules waved a fly away and knocked over the smoothie. Pulverized kale and apple juice spilled all over Trini’s robe.
“You idiot!” she screamed. “Carlos! Help me!”
Izzy faded toward the door. Murmuring apologies, Jules followed Izzy outside as Sandro rushed toward Trini. March hurried out after Jules and Izzy.
At spa reception, he dived behind the empty desk and removed Hamish’s tool from his pocket. He carefully bent back the prongs on the necklace. It would be faster to just take off, but the longer it looked like Trini had merely lost the necklace, the more time they would have. He pulled the sapphire free and shoved it into his pocket. Izzy had sewed protective Velcro on it, and he made sure it was secure. No mistakes this time.
They ran out the double doors. March dropped the necklace in a corner. Such a waste of diamonds, but it couldn’t be helped. He dropped the fake blue gem Hamish had given him a few feet away from the necklace. For a while, Trini might believe that the stone had just rolled away. It was important to buy time.
As they approached the wide walnut front doors, they burst open. Terrence Abbo strode in, surrounded by four beefy bodyguards. March saw the telltale bulge of serious weaponry. Terrence looked as though annoyance would tip over into fury at any random second. He brandished a golf club high in the air, as if looking to bring it down on someone’s head.
His eyes swept the reception area and focused on March. He pointed the club at him.
“You! Boy! Find my wife!”
“Go,” March murmured to Jules and Izzy. “I’ll catch up.”
Terrence Abbo wasn’t tall, but he made up for it by packing terror into every inch. Something about the opaque darkness of his eyes sucked March into a paralyzing world of doom.
“What is going on out there? This is supposed to be an exclusive club!”
“So sorry, Mr. Abbo, there’s a film shoot apparently,” March said.
“My wife is supposed to be outside, where all those young people in shorts are standing. This is unacceptable. The car is waiting.”
“Let me get the manager for you.”
Abbo took a step closer. The scent of grass and aftershave was overpowering. “No manager. Get me my wife! Now! What is your name?” He peered at March closer as the sound of a scream came to them from the direction of the spa. “What was that?”
It was most likely Trini Abbo discovering her necklace was gone, but it was probably better not to mention it.
“Pilates,” March blurted. “Very competitive! I’ll find your wife, sir!”
March dashed away in the direction of the spa, but instead he swerved and dived down a side corridor, his hands shaking. He found a door and pushed it open, gulping the humid air. He ran down the shaded path toward the front.
He spotted Darius right away, tall and glorious in his tennis whites, his dreads held back with a terry-cloth elastic. Jules and Izzy stood next to him. “See the guys over there next to the guy screaming into his phone? Security,” Darius murmured.
“We just ran out of time. Abbo’s on the warpath. We need to get out of here. But we need cover.”
“On it.” Darius moved away, heading for Loutsenheizer Mom.
“I’m just giving you a tip, because you were so nice,” Darius said, leaning in. “The casting director is seeing people at the fourteenth hole. Haven’t announced it yet. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“That’s a long walk. Brianna’s hair will frizz.”
“Mom!”
“Golf carts are over there.”
Loutsenheizer Mom nudged her daughter, then grabbed her arm. She wiggled through the squirming, selfie-taking crowd, heading for the golf carts.
“Hey, where is she going?” Jules asked in a loud voice.
Heads swiveled. Moms grabbed daughters. Soon the edge of the crowd began to move. If the crowd headed to the fourteenth hole, they’d have cover to dive for the kayaks.
“Look, they’re leaving!” Jules yelled. “They know where the director is!”
The entire group began to race toward the golf carts. Terrence Abbo burst out of the front door. “STOP, EVERYONE! THERE’S A THIEF HERE!”
No one paid attention. Abbo made a beeline for security.
Darius ran ahead and managed to wrestle a cart away from a mom with a gentle “Sorry, this one’s mine.” March, Jules, and Izzy piled in.
The golf carts took off like a battalion of tanks. Darius pushed the pedal to the floor, but there was only so fast a golf cart could go. Still, the confusion helped them, and Darius peeled away from the others and struck out across the green.
“Anybody behind us?” he yelled to Izzy.
“Everybody!” Izzy shouted.
“GET BACK HERE!” someone screamed in a megaphone. “CADDIES! SECURITY! CATCH THOSE CARTS!”
When they reached the fourteenth hole, a clutch of startled golfers watched as the teenage boys and girls spilled out of carts and began fixing their hair.
“Let’s make a break for it,” March said. “Darius, try not to look conspicuous.”
“I’m a six-two African American on a golf course, Marcello. How inconspicuous can I be?”
They skirted the crowd, then made a crazy dash for the trees a few yards away. The shade was a relief, and they glanced back. No one had seen them. But a golfer was squinting, looking toward them.
“He’s looking for us,” Jules said.
“No, he’s looking for his ball,” March said. He leaned over and picked up a golf ball, then tossed it toward the green. The toss went wild, looping high in a perfect arc and bonking the golfer on the head. They heard his muffled cry.
“Hey!” He and his partner started toward the trees.
“Playing catch was not on Alfie’s list of father-son bonding activities,” March said.
As the golfers bounded toward them, they tumbled down the bank and scrambled for the kayaks. They pushed off from the bank, paddling in sync now, more used to the rhythm. Within moments they had spun out into the middle of the river and caught the current.
March found his breath. He had a sapphire in his pocket and a clear line to freedom.
“Good job, guys,” he said.
“Don’t jinx it,” Izzy said.
The river twisted, and ahead they caught the glimpse of turquoise bay. From there it would be a straight shot back to the beach.
A speedboat was heading across the bay, the spray a plume of white foam. “That boat is going too fast,” Izzy said.
“Jerks,” Jules said. “Way over the speed limit.”
They shot out into the bay, and the boat turned.
“What’s that guy holding?” Jules asked, squinting at a figure on the bow.
“It’s some kind of rifle!” Darius exclaimed, just as a spear came flashing through the blue sky and slammed into the kayak.
“We’ve got to get to shore!” March yelled to the gang, but they would never outrun a speedboat, and he knew it. He dug into the water with his paddle.
Jules half turned. “Who is it? One of Abbo’s men?”
March squinted across the water at the two men standing on the bow. Both of them were dark-haired and wore dark sunglasses and dark jeans. He couldn’t quite see the captain, who stood in the wheelhouse in shadow.
“I can’t tell!”
“I think I recognize one of them,” Darius said. “From Paris. What are they doing in Miami?”
Certainty clanged like an alarm bell. “They’re chasing the sapphires.”
The boat was bearing down on them now, and they were still hundreds of yards from shore. March’s arms were already starting to ache.
“Should we swim for it?” Jules asked.
“I never learned to swim,” Izzy said, her voice barely audible. “Remember?”
They exchanged panicked glances. They’d forgotten for a moment that Izzy couldn’t swim.
The boat pulled up broadside to them, rocking with the waves. The pilot grabbed a bullhorn. “You know what w
e want,” he said.
March swallowed. He stopped paddling. It was useless anyway. For a moment they just drifted in the current.
“This isn’t worth it,” he said. “We’re going to have to hand them over.”
“No, Marcello,” Darius said. “We’ve got a shot.”
“No, we’re going to get shot,” March said through his teeth.
The two men climbed into a dinghy. One of them kept the speargun pointed at the kayaks. The other one rowed. March sat quietly, his kayak rocking gently.
“I can dive overboard, then try to flip their boat,” Jules said.
“You won’t be able to get enough leverage in the water. He’ll spear you like a grouper.”
“You feel that tide?” Darius asked softly. “It’s going out.”
“Yeah. Noted.”
“Remember on the website, it said when the tide goes out it creates a superstrong current, and you have to be careful or you could get swept into the inlet …”
“… and into the ocean,” Izzy said in the same soft tone. “If we can just delay …”
Jules nodded. “The inlet is too shallow; no boats can get through it.”
“But then we’ll be in the ocean,” March said.
“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it,” Jules said.
“I wish there was a bridge,” March said.
“I can divert them,” Darius said. “I’ll swim for it. They’ll think I have the stone and follow me. You can make it to the inlet.”
“No,” March said. “You’ll never make it to shore.”
“I will.” Darius’s voice was ragged with desperation. “I can make it. At least you’ll have the stones.”
“D!” Izzy’s voice shook. “It’s too dangerous.”
March saw a group of kayakers spill out from the river into the bay, following the same route they had taken, moving quickly and expertly. Darius was right — the current was running so swiftly that he could see it, a channel of fast water moving just a few feet away. “Hang on, everybody,” he murmured. “We could have a shot.”
They stopped talking. The boat was too close. The men weren’t any better at rowing than the gang was at paddling. The man shipped the oars and grabbed on to the edge of the kayak. “Give me the sapphire.”