Programmed for Peril

girl, huh? She want to know who makes the great apple tarts?”
    Trish smiled. “I’ll see what she says.”
    After Dino left, Trish sat motionless at her desk, trying to compose herself. Her heart pounded. Why was she so rattled? At first she thought the doctored radio and its repeated message were still tearing at her nerves. Then it dawned on her that what she was trying to get over was Dino’s growing impact.
    Now that they had met several times she had become increasingly aware that his animal charm, not to mention his subtle intelligence and strength of personality, were affecting her. He wasn’t a temptation. She was too serious-minded for that. She loved Foster. Nonetheless...
    September fifteenth couldn’t come fast enough!
    Foster phoned. “Clear your desk for the next six days!” His voice was bubbling. “Call on your subordinates, sweetie. Rely on them. Because we are going to be out of here! You wanted to get away. We’re going to do it.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “I’ll be by your house in the limo. You and Melody. Summer clothes are good.”
    “Where—”
    “Seven o’clock, my love.”
    She had a frantic afternoon shedding nearly a week’s responsibilities. She worked with a smile. She didn’t care where Foster took her. Wherever it was would be away from relentless Carson.
    She got home to find Melody doing a bad job of hiding her conspiratorial grin. She had combed her hair with Janine’s help. She wore her best dress. “What is going on here?” Trish said.
    “Surprise.” Janine was grinning, too. Trish guessed the baby-sitter had played some kind of role in Foster’s plan. The girl hurried off without revealing anything. Questioned teasingly, Melody giggled that she didn’t know where they were going.
    Not until the Palmer limo pulled up at an airport gate did a beaming Foster lean over and say, “We’re going to southern Portugal. The Algarve.”
    Trish’s delight was split by a bolt of anxiety. “Passports! We don’t have passports.”
    Melody giggled and bounced up and down on her seat. “We got ’em. We got ’em!”
    “The Palmer Force has been with you,” Foster said. “As well as the little conspirator bobbing to your left. We sent some of your photos to a studio. They made passport-sized prints. My attorney’s office handled the applications.” From his inside coat pocket he pulled two passports. “You need only sign.”
    How much easier life was when you were rich, Trish thought. She took pen in hand and spread her opened passport on the limo pull-down desk.
    They flew first class on Air Portugal. Foster, much the air traveler, suggested no food or drink until morning. The journey was better spent sleeping. This would cut down on jet lag. They caught a flight from Lisbon to the Algarve. Foster explained that the English had been coming to this part of Portugal for many years as vacationers, some to retire. In the markets and shops they heard more English than Portuguese.
    He had rented a villa and a sailboat, both nestled into a narrow cove. With it came Josh, a local who served as butler, driver, and interpreter. With the help of his family up the road he also occasionally played the role of babysitter.
    They sailed by day in the Gulf of Cadiz. Evenings one of Josh’s sisters busied herself in the kitchen making kale soup, the national casserole cataplana, and doing wonders with fresh sardines. Josh chose and served the Dão region wines.
    An unspoken agreement left PC-Pros, Carson, and Lois Smith-Patton on the other side of the Atlantic. They went sailing. They sky was cobalt, the waters calm. Melody in her yellow “boat coat” sat still in the bow playing tunes on her penny whistle that she had heard the fishermen sing while mending their nets. Trish leaned against Foster. One hand on the tiller, he curled his free arm around her. They nibbled and nuzzled while gulls cried and an occasional sardine boat chugged by on the way to port. “Are you happy?” he asked. The only adequate answer was a long kiss.
    The villa was ringed with a stone walk angling along stony bluffs high above the sea. They strolled there every night in the breeze. Each day ended with uncomplicated love in a canopied bed wide enough to sleep six.
    On their next-to-last night they returned from their walk to find a table set with candles, pastries, and sweet wine. Josh had done Foster’s bidding and left for home. Trish went to Melody’s room to check on her. She slept