This got her thinking about Lieutenant Colonel Selfer. Charlie Selfer, she was starting to see, might not be anything like the high makamaka he appeared to be, let alone the big kahuna he dreamed of becoming. That was the way it looked when she’d spied on the Main House windows with the opera glass that was included in that footlocker of strange toys at her boogie bungalow. She knew body language, all right. The important visitors who’d been here discussed and debated from their sofas and leather armchairs, always led by the one and only Lansdale. Selfer had never led any talks. Selfer barely talked at all. Selfer never got to sit. Selfer smiled and smoothed and was the only one to bring their drinks on a platter like at some catered affair in the Kona Inn. Selfer only hosted. Selfer waited. Selfer ingratiated, sure, but it got him nowhere she could see. Sometimes the important visitors had asked him to leave the room. And sometimes they had snickered after he left the room. Lansdale had snickered.

Selfer appeared to manage The Preserve, and he likely filed a report from time to time, but he might just be a glorified confidential secretary. And he might not like that very much, based on what Wendell Lett told her about how the man made his name during the war.

And so she let Charlie Selfer find her, just strolling through camp that evening after she had a drink in the bar. Selfer had been there holding court with the nurses at their usual table in the corner, and he didn’t eye her once—except the one time he strolled over to the men’s and shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye. She was, after all, wearing one of those suggestive tropical numbers every haole liked . . .

All she had to do was get close to him. Get her face close to him. No boy could resist a girl with her face close enough to him. Miss Mae had taught her that. A girl had her wiles. Those could be a curse, something every man used and exploited. Or, she could use them to her advantage. Use her sex against them. She thought about how it could shake out. Once she was inside the Main House a few times, she could figure out the lay of the place. Supposing there was some cabinet or safe? Supposing Selfer liked a little strange, or even some opium or other dose with his strange, and then he might well tell her things he didn’t mean to and not even remember. She had to try. Keep moving, Wendell always said.