No Virgin Island (19 page)

The hike to the parking lot at Salt Pond Bay was easy after the literal cliffhanger they’d been through. Sabrina watched Kelly walk arm in arm with Mara, while she stayed a little behind with Deirdre.

Janquar insisted Kelly get checked out at the Myrah Keating Smith Clinic. He suggested that while they were there, Mara might want to have her hand examined. The one she’d clocked her husband with what seemed like a century ago.

“Come with us,” Mara said, turning to Deirdre.

“Are you sure?” Deirdre asked.

“It’s okay. I know. At least, I know what Seth told me,” Kelly said, looking a little dazed. “Before he almost killed me,” she added, beginning to sob.

Lucy Detree swept them into a cruiser and off to the clinic.

Sabrina stood with Neil and Janquar, chilled by an evening breeze and sore in her shoulders and thighs, but other than that, none the worse for wear.

“You did a great job getting that girl up the cliff, Ms. Salter. You saved her life,” Janquar said.

“Why, thank you, Detective Janquar.”

“Please, call me Lee,” he said, extending his hand.

“And I am Sabrina,” she said, shaking it heartily.

“And I am Neil, and you were wonderful, Salty. You are one helluva woman, but I never want to see you that close to the edge of a cliff again,” Neil said, sweeping her into a huge hug, hurting her shoulders a little but not enough for Sabrina to make him stop.

Sabrina heard the police radio through one of the cruisers. Apparently, the police boat had managed to find Seth’s body. The backpack with the gun and camera had been retrieved from the top of Ram Head.

“Seth was far more troubled than I would have guessed,” Sabrina said to Neil.

“We’ll find out all of that and more by the time we’re done,” Janquar said as he walked them over to the Ten Villas van.

“But it’s good to know none of our St. John people, you or Mr. Banks or even Mr. Eagan, killed anyone,” Janquar continued.

“What about Rory Eagan and the kids?” Sabrina asked.

“That’s up to Massachusetts,” Neil said.

“And Mrs. Leonard,” Janquar added.

“I feel bad for those kids having to face what their father did,” Neil said.

“Well, it won’t be easy for them,” said Sabrina, “but I can tell you between those two mothers, they’re going to be just fine.”

Sabrina refused to give any interviews about the murder at Villa Mascarpone and the rescue on Ram Head. Instead, she focused on what Neil had dubbed the “Cliffhanger Celebration.”

The celebration took place over at Hawksnest Beach, where Sabrina and Henry covered the picnic tables with floral twin flat sheets they borrowed from their villas, placing bowls of bougainvillea on each one. It was a typical island party where everyone brought their favorite dish. Sabrina brought lemon tarragon shrimp.

Since she thought she might be falling in love with Neil, Sabrina was nervous about the conversation she knew she had to have with him. She knew they had reached a point where there could be no more secrets if there was ever to be trust between them.

She walked by the table where Mara and the kids were sitting on one bench, with Sam and Deirdre on the opposite.
Liam’s plate was filled high with Sabrina’s shrimp, which pleased her.

“Tell me more about swim team,” Sam asked Liam, while Mara explained to Deirdre how much the children enjoyed their occasional trips to New York and that she was sure they’d love New England. Sabrina knew Deirdre, Sam, and Mara had engaged a mediator on-island to help them sort how to share the children and to help them through the reconfiguration of a tender new family. Deirdre had confided to Sabrina how relieved she was that the kids seemed to accept her into their lives, but she’d acknowledged how fiercely loyal they were to Mara. Sabrina expected they would spend summers and school breaks in Massachusetts with Deirdre and Sam and probably attend college there.

No one seemed to miss the man who made the party possible, the man who had stolen his own children and robbed them of a life with their biological mother. Rory was back in Massachusetts, probably having his own little pity party with lawyers, DAs, and cops. The laughter coming from the children and the women at the table was lighter than any she had ever heard while Rory was in the picture.

Sabrina felt a little hollow observing the “mothers,” as she liked to call them, who had agreed that the kids couldn’t have enough love and decided to share and care for them generously without being divisive. This was the price she paid for opting out of motherhood.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have love in her life. She looked over at Neil standing over the grill, placing a double burger on a bun for Lee Janquar, who had come with some of his officers to join in the celebration.

Gradually, the partygoers left as darkness began to fall and the no-see-ums joined them. Henry pulled off the last bed sheet from a table, took the bowl of flowers, and placed them in a box.

“I’m going to take these over to Lyla and Evan with some of the leftovers,” Henry said, getting into the van. They had declined the invitation because Evan needed a little quiet time, Lyla explained.

And then it was just Sabrina and Neil, sitting at a picnic table with Girlfriend at their feet.

“Ready for your swim?” Neil asked, pulling a couple of towels out of a canvas bag.

“Sure,” Sabrina said, surprised at Neil’s memory of her routine with Girlfriend and even more pleased he had thought enough about it to bring towels.

She slipped off her sundress, under which she was wearing her bathing suit. She called Girlfriend and dove into the still warm water on Hawksnest Beach, relaxing more with each stroke she made toward the beach at Gibney, the stress of the events washing off her, her breathing the only sound in her ears. She didn’t bother getting out of the water at Gibney, where she remembered the silly crew from INN trapped overnight behind the locked gate and smiled. Neil had been brilliant that night.

She moved a little faster as she reversed her swim back toward Hawksnest and Neil, ever aware of the four-legged creature, her friend swimming beside her. When she arrived back at Hawksnest, she found Neil nearly asleep floating on his back.

“Back so soon?” he asked, reaching for her hand as he led her out of the water and grabbed a towel, throwing it over her shoulders.

“Why didn’t you tell me about what had happened to you in LA, Neil? We could have commiserated,” Sabrina said.

“Salty, you were so skittish, I didn’t dare show any flaws,” Neil said. “Besides, after our little drunken swim when you first arrived on island, I knew I really liked you.”

He lowered the towel from her right shoulder, leaning in and kissing her neck.

“You are just the right combinations of sweet and salty,” he said, moving in a little closer.

Sabrina leaned in toward Neil as Girlfriend sank down onto the sand, knowing the party wasn’t quite over.

My deepest gratitude to my talented and unflappable agent, friend, and fellow yogi, Paula Munier, and to Gina Panettieri, fearless leader of Talcott Notch Literary Agency. I am grateful to my editor, Matt Martz, at Crooked Lane Books along with his assistant, Nike Power, for their enthusiasm and patient nurturing.

I have had incredible support on my long and winding writing path, starting with my writing group, Women Who Write, and, in particular, from Christine “Cissy” White. My fellow Sisters in Crime New England have been more than inspirational. I have learned more about writing from Hallie Ephron, Hank Phillippi Ryan, Kate Flora, and so many other sisters than I thought possible, and I have had such fun doing it.

I appreciate the loving encouragement and patience from my family and friends, including my biggest fan, Steve Dorsey, who has always believed in me more than I have myself.

My inspiration, the beautiful island and the wonderful people of St. John in the United States Virgin Islands, will always be in my heart and soul. I share their commitment to preserving St. John as the great jewel of the Caribbean. I am thankful to Mary-Phyllis Nogueira and Mary-Eileen Haim at Private Homes for Private Vacations for their gracious hospitality in St. John for more than thirty years.

So many of us enjoy reading a good mystery. It seems important to acknowledge that a fictional murder is far different from the senseless tragedy of a real one. The unsolved murder of Jimmy Malfetti in St. John in 2013 remains painfully real to his family and friends, who still seek justice and closure (http://www.justiceforjimmymalfetti.com).