by Zoe Chant
"The courtyard is the only place we will grow this kind of ginger," a voice behind her said. "It's a very popular ornamental on the mainland, but is very invasive, and has choked out the native ginger strain. Even in pots, it can seed out wild if you leave it freely in the wind."
"I've read about the problems they're having with it in Hawaii," Amber said, turning to face the voice.
“You'd have to talk to our gardener Graham about that,” the woman said dismissively. "I'm Scarlet."
She had hair as vivid as the ginger back in a neat bun, a shade that was more likely to be dyed than natural, but it matched her coloring perfectly. Her skin was unexpectedly pale for the latitude, and her eyes were flinty emerald green. Amber couldn't decide if she was very old, or very young–she could have been either. She wore tailored khaki pants and a spotless white blouse. Everything about her said 'no nonsense,' right down to her perfectly shaped nails, showing just a hint of clear coat. Even her posture was perfect.
"Do you have more bags, Ms. Allen?" Scarlet asked.
"Ah, no," Amber said, keenly aware of her travel-wrinkled clothes and the chips in the bright nail polish she had impulsively applied before leaving home. "I decided to travel just with carry-ons."
That earned her a brief smile of approval. "A wise decision," Scarlet said mildly, turning to lead Amber through another archway. "Shifting Sands supplies the finest in all the consumables you should need, we have complete laundry facilities, and the clothing-optional setting means you need very little. Please don't hesitate to let the staff know if you find that there is anything you need."
The room Amber was led into was clearly an office, with an actual door, and a desk and a tidy bookcase. Windows beyond the desk looked down over the jungle, and Amber caught a glimpse of ocean before sitting in the chair she was gestured to.
"There are a few ground rules I need to clarify with you," Scarlet said, and Amber felt as if she had just been called into the principal's office. "Our first rule is no predation."
Amber blinked. "Excuse me?"
"There is no hunting permitted anywhere on the grounds. We have shifters of all types, and the island is home to several native endangered species. This restriction includes rodents, lizards, and birds, as well as larger mammals. Do you agree to these terms?" Scarlet's green eyes drilled into Amber.
"I, ah, yes, of course."
"If you would like to go fishing, we have equipment that can be checked out at the boathouse, and expeditions can be arranged if there is enough interest. You are also welcome to fish in animal form." Scarlet opened a folder. Amber recognized the paperwork she had nervously filled out online. "We can skip the grazing restrictions, of course."
"As long as there are no catnip beds I need to stay out of," Amber giggled then stilled at Scarlet's withering stare. "Of course," she said contritely.
"You didn't specify what kind of cat you are," Scarlet said, pen poised over the paper. "Domestic, or ...?"
Amber swallowed. "Andean mountain cat."
Scarlet raised one eyebrow. "I've never met one of those before," she said thoughtfully.
The tiny hope that Amber had been trying not to nurse turned to ash in her chest.
Apparently not noticing, Scarlet wrote neatly on the form, then turned it to Amber. "Please initial."
Amber did, numbly.
Scarlet took the form back. “There is no food storage in your cottage. We are in the tropics, and insects and other pests are quickly attracted to any unattended food and trash. You are welcome to eat at the dining hall any time of day, and there is a limited menu available at the bar and the beach lounge as well, during their open hours.”
Scarlet passed a contract over the desk. "Please sign here to indicate your agreement with our rules."
Amber obediently signed two copies of that, and four more similar forms regarding medical care, liability, a draconian privacy policy that was more like a promise of secrecy on both parts, and a contract for payment.
Then Scarlet was all smiles, rising and giving Amber a firm handshake. "Your application suggested that you would prefer privacy over beach immediacy, so I've assigned you cottage twenty-seven in the upper ring." She handed Amber a glossy pamphlet that unfolded to a map, and circled the cottage in question, well away from any neighbors.
“That looks great,” Amber said with a nod.
"This is the dining hall." Scarlet pointed to the long building just below the office. "There are fresh snacks and drinks available at all times, but meal times are well worth making the effort to attend; our chef is incomparable. Massages and grooming services can be scheduled at the recreation hall. There are yoga, dance, and meditation sessions daily."
Scarlet showed Amber where the schedules were printed in the pamphlet, pointed out a few of the other features, and gave her copies of the paperwork with a clear air of dismissal. “Pura vida,” she said off-handedly.
Pure life was the motto of Costa Rica, and seemed to be used as hello and goodbye, as well.
Amber stood for a long moment outside of Scarlet's door, clutching her carry-ons. She oriented her map and found her way out of the courtyard and out into the gleaming resort.
Tony Lukin was not good at pretending to relax.
He scowled across the beach to the ocean, waiting for it to do anything but splash on the shore in regular intervals.
The most exciting thing it had done in the hour he'd been out here was attract a few birds, which had circled him hoping for food and then left. The miniature crabs that dug little holes and scuttled around moving sand piles had entertained him for about a minute on the first day. Beach-combing had turned up a lot of broken shells and lackluster pebbles.
He'd tried three different books of varying fluff, he'd tried closing his eyes for a nap, he'd even gone for a swim, in both human and tiger form.
And the sum of it was, vacation bored him.
Vacation that was just a sham bored him even more.
He wanted to be doing something, and it grated on his nerves that he wasn't. He'd been at Shifting Sands for a full week by now, and he was no closer to finding out what he'd come to find than he had been when he stepped off the plane.
Tony growled, and rolled out of the beach chair, wrapping the towel around his waist. He'd become used to walking around without any covering, and it certainly simplified shifting, but he was still a little concerned about sunburning his more delicate parts.
There was an easy set of stairs up to the pool, where tables with umbrellas and lounge chairs were about a quarter full of guests in various stages of allowing sun on their skin.
He dropped himself easily beside a woman sunbathing alone in a generous spotted bikini that left acres of skin exposed. She spilled out over her lounge chair, and it groaned beneath her weight as she shifted to look at Tony. The gaze she gave him over her sunglasses suggested breezy confidence and amusement.
“Hello, Handsome,” she trilled at him. “I've seen you talking with all the guests and was beginning to feel a little left out.”
Tony had considered his efforts to get information out of the other guests and staff to be subtle, and was left a little dumbfounded by her odd mix of flirtatious and deeply genuine.
“I'm Magnolia,” she said, extending one hand just a little.
Tony reached forward to shake it obediently, finding unexpected strength in her thick fingers. Her nails, he noted, were perfectly manicured.
“I'm looking for someone who knew Angelica Grayman, a guest here about three months ago. I understand you've been here that long?” Tony wondered if he sounded to her as much as if they were on opposite sides of an interview table as he did to himself.
“Honey, I've been here for more than a year,” Magnolia said expansively. “I thought I was coming for a short vacation, but Shifting Sands will get under your skin like sand in your shoes if you let it.”
Tony refrained from arguing against the appeal, but found himself feeling hopeful that possibly he had fina
lly met someone who could help him find answers. The staff had been close-lipped across the board, and the owner was the worst of them. The other guests were largely short-term: happy to help but not useful.
“Did you know Angelica?”
“She was a shy thing,” Magnolia confirmed. “Kept to herself, took meals early. She was a gorgeous Borneo bay cat, if I recall. Kind, but a little distant. Is she in some kind of trouble?”
Tony wished he knew, but gave the same brush-off that he answered other curiosity with. “I'm just trying to find out where she went from here. Did she ever mention another possible destination? Was there anyone she spoke about?”
Magnolia rolled one shoulder in a shrug. “Not to me, she didn't. Sorry I can't be of more help, cherie.”
Tony believed her. “Thank you anyway,” he said gruffly.
Magnolia smiled at him, and he realized that she was one of the most unsettlingly beautiful people that he'd ever met, every inch of her generous flesh glowing with self-confidence and sincerity. He felt somehow better after talking with her, even so briefly.
He looked up to see Jimmy, one of the oddsbodies who worked for Scarlet, coming out of the pool mechanical and laundry rooms. Any peaceful feeling that Magnolia had left him with vanished into irritation with the idea of Scarlet.
He got up abruptly, muttered a standard farewell, and walked past the pool to head for his cottage. It was time to stop pussy-footing around and get some answers from Scarlet.
But first, he'd put on clothes.
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