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It also ended Dooley and my excursion into the life of Clint Bunda, as I didn’t think the man was the kind of collector Dooley had taken him for. The only things the man seemed to collect were insults and naps, as he went straight back to his balcony, and moments later the telltale sound of loud snores told us the coast was clear, so we skedaddled, not exactly with our tails between our legs, but very nearly so.

When were we finally going to catch a break?

Chapter 26

When we arrived downstairs, we passed a room whose door was ajar. Inside, Rick was explaining to a guy I assumed was Frank of how they were going to go about restoring the camera feed from Jackie’s bedroom.

“So you hide in the bushes and the moment Jackie arrives you make this sound,” he said, then tapped a key on a computer and the sound of birdsong filled the air.

It was a strange, whoop-whoop-whooping kind of sound, like a cuckoo but different.

“It’s the mating call of the hoopoe,” Rick explained. “That way Jackie won’t suspect a thing. Now give it a try.”

Frank, a heavyset guy with no hair on top of his head and the fringes tied back in a ponytail, pursed his lips and tried to mimic the sound of the hoopoe. It wasn’t even close. In fact it sounded more like a kettle going on the boil.

“No, Frank. You’re not even trying,” said Rick.

“Why can’t I just whistle?” asked Frank plaintively.

“You can whistle?” asked Rick, sounding surprised.

“Sure. Who can’t?” And he produced a healthy whistle, this time without covering his colleague in a waterfall of spittle.

“Okay, I can live with that,” said Rick.

“Or I could do the Imperial March,” said Frank as he and Rick walked out. And without waiting for a response he started singing some bombastic-sounding snatch of music.

“No, no, no!” said Rick. “That’s not how it goes. John Williams specifically added those grace notes. Here, let me show you.”

And while the two geeks walked off, to make sure Jackie’s nocturnal escapades were picked up for the audience’s edification, if not titillation, Dooley and I snuck into the room and found ourselves gazing at a wall of screens, feeds visible from all over the resort. They were all neatly labeled, too: Odelia’s bedroom, Odelia’s bathroom, Odelia’s living room…

“Oh, my God,” I said. “This is a voyeur’s paradise. If Norman Bates saw this, he’d break into song and dance.”

“They’re filming everything,” said Dooley, awed by this flagrant intrusion of privacy. “They even film her when she’s in the bathroom.”

“I think there’s probably laws against that,” I said as I checked the other screens. All four candidates were there, but also the four male contestants, and all of the seducers and seductresses. And on top of that many public areas, too, like the plazas, the bars, the toilets behind both plazas, the beaches…

“This must be the main control room,” I said. “Where all the feeds come in.”

“There must be hours and hours of footage,” said Dooley.

“Must be a nightmare to edit.”

A scene attracted my attention. It was Odelia sitting on the beach with seducer Mike. And they appeared to be very cozy indeed.

Dooley must have seen it, too, for he said,“I don’t like that, Max. Odelia and this Mike guy? Soon she’ll dump Chase and Mike will move in with us. And what if he doesn’t even like cats?” A note of panic had entered his voice as he talked. “Maybe he’ll demand she get rid of us, and then where does that leave us? Out on the street. Or at the pound!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said soothingly. “Odelia is simply chatting with Mike, probably trying to find out what he knows about the missing women.”

“Look, Max!” Dooley cried, and pointed to another screen. It depicted Chase, also seated on the beach, over on the other island, chatting with a blonde of impressive measurements. “It’s happening, Max! Passion Island is breaking up our couple!”

“Not a chance,” I said, though I had to admit both Odelia and Chase looked very cozy chatting with people that weren’t their significant other. “I’m sure they’re just talking. And there’s nothing against talking, is there?”

On yet another screen, I saw Gran and Scarlett seated at the bar, chatting. I wondered what they were talking about. Possibly Gran’s theory about the seductresses being behind this whole kidnapping scheme.

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“We’ve got to do something, Scarlett. I’m telling you, this whole thing is going to hell in a handbasket if we don’t interfere now!”

“Relax, Vesta,” said Scarlett as she sipped from her drink. “Mh. This stuff is pretty good. What’s in this, darling?” she asked the bartender, a handsome young man she’d taken a shine to.

“Banana rum, pineapple juice, Blue Cura?ao and cream of coconut, ma’am,” said the kid.

Scarlett giggled and said,“Ma’am. Do I look like a ma’am to you?” She placed a hand on the man’s arm and squeezed his bicep appreciatively. “Call me Scarlett.”

“Um, all right…” said the kid, his eyes taking in Scarlett’s impressive bust.