He nodded. “Her husband is Mwela Chansa. He works at the Nkana Mine in Kitwe.”
“What’s your number?” Zoe asked, fishing in her backpack for her iPhone.
He recited the digits and hastened up the path toward the bridge. When he reached the top of the hill, Zoe noticed that something was missing from the scene.
The man in sunglasses was gone.
Unnerved again, she turned to watch the Zambezi race through the rocky teeth of the escarpment, frothing and tumbling to the base of the gorge. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you ask any questions,” she said to Joseph.
“I’m getting used to it,” he said with a dry laugh.
“We need to talk to Cynthia about the letters.”
He hesitated. “You can call her if you want, but I don’t have time for a trip to Kitwe. I need to focus on connecting the magistrate to Darious.”
Zoe nodded, trying not to show her disappointment. “So we go home.”
Joseph smiled enigmatically. “Our flight isn’t until the morning.”
She looked at him in puzzlement. “What are you thinking?”
His eyes twinkled. “A swim might be nice. Followed by a cruise on the river. I haven’t done that since I was a kid.”
After an afternoon relaxing by the pool, they changed clothes and drove to the Zambezi Waterfront, arriving a few minutes shy of four o’clock. They followed the steps down to the wharf and crossed the gangplank to the MV Makumbi. The riverboat was an elegant antique, its handsome wood trim showing the wear of years. They climbed stairs to the upper deck and took seats at the rear of the boat behind a group of chattering international students.
Zoe closed her eyes to the sun, enjoying the way the light suffused her eyelids. The wind blowing off the river lifted her hair and played with the fringes of her skirt. She opened her eyes again and saw Joseph staring at her.
“You could almost pass for an African,” he said, as the riverboat got underway.
Zoe was taken aback. She touched the small mole above her eyebrow, remembering how many times her mother had said that the finest people she knew were Africans.
“When it gets in your blood there’s no reversing it,” she replied.
“What do you mean?”
“Once you live here, it’s hard to leave.”
“But this isn’t your home.”
“I’m not sure I have a home,” she admitted, surprised by her own candor. He frowned. “Your family must miss you.”
She looked toward the far bank of the river. “I suppose,” she said, hoping he would let the subject drop. But her hesitation only seemed to intrigue him.
“What does your father do?”
“It’s not important.”
He tilted his head. “You asked me the same question a while ago.”
She took a breath. “He’s in government.”
After a moment he asked, “You’re father isn’t Jack Fleming, is he?”
Damn, she thought. That’s why I didn’t want to answer the question. “I really don’t want to talk about him. Do you mind?”
“That’s fine,” he said. He gestured toward the bow of the boat where the host, a middle-aged Zambian in a shirt and vest, was opening a bottle of wine. “Would you like—”
His voice trailed off, and Zoe followed his gaze. A large man had just climbed the ladder from below decks. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the floral-print shirt and sunglasses.
“How did he get on the boat?” she hissed.
“I don’t know,” Joseph replied. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“How did he even know we were here?”
“Good question.”
Zoe watched as the man got a glass of wine from the host and took a place at the railing. He didn’t look at them, but she was certain he could see them in his peripheral vision. Her fright turned quickly into anger.
“I’m going to talk to him,” she said, starting out across the deck.
Joseph put his hand on her arm. “There’s no need to bother him.”
“I thought you said he’s harmless.” she retorted.
She marched toward the man, her heels clicking on the wooden planks. When she was ten feet away, he glanced at her and turned back to the river. His indifference fueled her antagonism.
“Hey,” she said. “Why are you following us?”
The man took a sip of his wine, ignoring her.
“Who do you work for?”
When he failed to respond, she raised her voice: “You want me to make a scene? Why are you here? Did the Nyambos send you?”
At last he faced her and spoke, his voice hard. “I would be careful who you offend.” Then he shouldered past her and walked toward the stairs.
She watched him until he disappeared below decks, her heart hammering in her chest. She realized that everyone was staring at her—the host, the international students, the other guests. She turned toward the railing to conceal her embarrassment. Joseph joined her a minute later, holding a beer bottle and a glass of red wine.