No Virgin Island (6 page)

“The other thing is, Neil, INN is on island. A reporter was outside my house when the cops were doing the search. They probably filmed Girlfriend as Henry rescued her,” she said, sorry even her poor dog was being displaced by this sorry saga.

“Well, it looks like I finally have a costar I deserve. They got me on camera a little while ago when I threw their sorry asses out of Bar None,” Neil said.

For the first time that day, Sabrina smiled.

“Where are you?” Kelly tapped the text message onto the screen of her cell phone, stepping outside onto the deck surrounding the pool where reception was strongest. This was just one more reason she hated living on an island where nothing was easy. Even texting or talking to her boyfriend was a major hassle.

“In the cabana, inside the shower stall. Come see me,” Seth texted back.

Seth had done this before, always when her father was out. Hidden in the cabana, he told her to sneak out for a short visit. Seth’s daring nature thrilled Kelly more than it scared her. Making sure Mara wasn’t in sight and that Liam was with her in the kitchen doing homework, she walked past the pool toward the end where the cabana stood. She opened the door slowly and quietly, slipping in and closing it again. She passed the shelves of pool toys and towels, moving to the corner of the cabana, and pulled the shower curtain open about six inches. Seth stood waiting for her with a huge grin on his face. He pulled her into his arms.

“Seth, we have to be careful. I’ll never get out of the house again if we get caught,” Kelly said, but she wasn’t able to resist the strength of his embrace.

“Hey, wasn’t I your pool guy long enough to get the lay of the land? I can disappear down the hillside in a flash. I’ve told you not to worry. We won’t get caught.”

“Did you hear what happened today?” Kelly asked, stepping back, putting a little distance between them.

“Hear what?” he asked.

“Someone died next door at the vacation villa today,” she said.

“Really? At Villa Mascarpone? I hadn’t heard,” Seth said. “What happened? Someone drown in the pool? Have a heart attack?”

“I don’t know what happened. There’s a bunch of cops over there. Liam heard on the ferry someone carved out the guy’s heart over a drug deal, but I don’t believe it. You know how stories on the ferry grow.”

“That brother of yours has quite the imagination,” Seth said with a chuckle.

“He just gets carried away when something exciting happens. It gets his mind off of other things.” It bothered Kelly that Seth considered her brother immature. Kelly wanted to explain that Liam was having a terrible time struggling about how to tell Mara he was gay. But Liam had made her promise to keep his secret and she would.

“I don’t know what to believe about what’s going on at Villa Mascarpone. All Mara will say is that the guy staying there died.”

Kelly shifted so she could peek through the shower curtain and make sure Mara wasn’t looking for her. She didn’t think Mara really cared if she went out with Seth, but her father had gone ballistic the day he caught Seth flirting with her near the pool. Thank God he spent most nights at Bar None.

“Well, you know what you can believe, don’t you, babe?” Seth cooed into her ear.

“No, tell me,” she said, melting a little inside.

“How much I love you, sweetheart.”

“How much, Seth?” she asked, wanting him to tell her how special she was to him and how what they had was nothing like what he’d ever shared with another girl, even though she was sure she wasn’t his first. He was hers, though, and she knew they had something different.

“Babe, I wish I was better with words. When can I see you for more than a few minutes in a cabana? I want to—”

“Kelly, dinner’s on,” Mara called through the sliding screen door to the pool. Kelly was almost relieved she had to leave. It was one thing when she was alone with Seth in the dark and he was doing those things to her, but she wasn’t quite comfortable when he talked about it.

“Coming, Mara,” Kelly called out and then whispered to Seth, “Love you too, and soon isn’t soon enough for me.” She wished she could be with him tonight. She liked how he could take her away to a place entirely new to her. She just didn’t like talking about it.

Henry had just placed the frosted martini glass with three olives on the kitchen island in front of Sabrina when her cell phone rang.

“If that’s Ms. Angela Hissy Missy calling to bitch about how we let a guest get murdered in her villa, don’t answer,” Henry said, pouring himself a glass of Pinot Grigio.

“No, it’s Lyla Banks.” Sabrina picked up the phone and answered. “Hi, Lyla.”

“Sabrina, is that you? I’m always so surprised when someone knows it’s me on the line. I forget about caller ID, even though it’s my favorite modern innovation. How are you, dear? I wanted to make sure you are all right after the shock you had today.”

Sabrina was touched by Lyla’s concern. She felt her eyes begin to sting with tears. Here she was, a woman who had cried only a handful of times in her entire life, and in one day, she had come close to crying about a half-dozen times.

“I’m okay, Lyla. Really, I am. I’m at Henry’s right now because the police and the media are swarming all over my cottage.”

“Well, they must have imported some new police recruits because Villa Mascarpone is still crawling with cops. They have so many garish Klieg lights over there that Evan wasn’t comfortable taking our nightly skinny-dip in the pool after dinner. It’s really rather creepy,” Lyla said.

Sabrina had to admit, skinny-dipping wasn’t something she imagined as part of the Banks’ daily routine, but she liked the idea. “Oh, Lyla, I should have thought to call and offer one of our empty villas for you and Evan. Tree Frog is available and close enough to Cruz Bay to make you feel a little more comfortable,” Sabrina said, looking at Henry for approval. Henry nodded. They both knew how anything out of the Banks’ ordinary routine threw Evan completely off, including bright lights flooding their side yard where the pool was located behind a hedge of Hibiscus.

“Oh, no, we’re fine here, Sabrina, but thank you. It’s just, well, you’ve seen how Evan is when something unexpected happens. And this was definitely unexpected. Do you know, when we lived in New York, we bought a gun, just in case someone broke into our apartment while we were there? We didn’t care if we weren’t home and they helped themselves to our stuff, but Evan said we shouldn’t risk our own safety. We both took firearm training and
have gun permits. Never had to use the gun in all those years, and yet now that we decide to retire to safety in St. John, we have a murder across the way. It’s mind boggling,” Lyla said.

“Oh, Lyla, I am sorry. They’ll have this all sorted out soon, I’m sure. Do you feel safe out there? Do you still have the gun?” Sabrina asked. Henry’s eyebrows arched upward at the word “gun.”

“Yes, yes, we brought it with us. It’s locked in the safe. Neither of us felt we needed it out. Do you think I should take it out and place in my nightstand? You know, just in case?”

Really? Put a gun in a nightstand next to your bed, just in case? Sabrina didn’t think she was the person to answer that question.

“Lyla, you have to do whatever makes you and Evan feel safe and secure,” she said, taking a sip of the smooth slippery martini before it got warm. Henry made the best martinis in the world and she deserved this one.

“I know, I know. I’m just rattled by how much this seems to be affecting Evan. I persuaded him to tuck in early with the new John Grisham book I snagged today while volunteering at the library. Evan loves Grisham’s books, though he doesn’t remember them very well anymore.’”

“Lyla, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” Sabrina asked, knowing how difficult it was for Lyla to watch her husband of forty-odd years slipping away from her. It was such a cruel illness, for both the victim and his loved ones.
Lyla had explained to her one day that Alzheimer’s disease resulted in what was called “ambiguous loss,” which meant that the person who had the disease was gone, even though his body remained present. “How can you mourn a loss when you are sitting across the table on your lovely deck overlooking the Caribbean staring into his vacant eyes?” Lyla had asked.

“You already have, dear,” Lyla said now. “You’ve listened.”

“You call any time. All of this will be behind us by the time we meet for our book club next week,” Sabrina said.

“I certainly hope so, dear, but in the meantime, I’ll get the gun out of the safe and if I meet anyone who looks like or works for that horrible hack, Faith Chase, I’ll give it to her between the eyes.”

Sabrina clicked off her phone and took another sip of the Bombay Sapphire delight.

“I finally know who I want to be when I grow up, Henry.”

“And who’s that?”

“Lyla Banks.”

Deirdre walked out of the master bathroom, tying the sash to her white gauzy cotton robe, wishing it weren’t so short or transparent. She didn’t want to remind Sam about what he was missing after he’d attempted to make love to her. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Didn’t he know?

Sam sat on the edge of the huge mahogany four-post canopy bed, so high you had to climb on a stool to lie on. Deirdre watched his long, graceful feet dangling above the tile floor. A gentle breeze sneaked through the sliding screen doors. She knew he was thinking what a waste of a beautiful night in the Caribbean this was.

She climbed into the huge bed, leaving on her robe and nightie beneath. He lumbered onto his back. She waited a few minutes. Sam was still, but she knew from his breathing that he was awake.

“It’s not a honeymoon, Sam. You know that,” she said, her mouth in a pout Sam had once called beautiful.

“Deirdre, we’re stuck, for lack of a better word, in a villa so opulent I couldn’t have even imagined it. We’re here until they clear Villa Mascarpone. Why can’t you just go with it? Try to enjoy this as if it really were a vacation until we get over there.”

“Because I am consumed. Consumed and confused. We were so close. What happened? What went wrong?”

Deirdre turned to him now as he lay back in bed, stark naked, just wanting what any man in bed with a lovely woman would want.

“How do I know? Neither of us expected him to die here. It’s bizarre but probably totally irrelevant to us. It only complicates things, Deirdre. It doesn’t necessarily change them,” Sam said, reaching out to take her hand.

She curled her fingers around his and gave them a squeeze.

“I’ve waited so long, Sam. I’ve spent so much time and energy, not to mention nearly all the money Daddy left me. I can’t help how I feel. And what are we supposed to do now?”

He rolled over and faced her. Deirdre knew he found her what he called “stunning in a fragile way.” Wasn’t that why she’d brought sheer white cotton lingerie, giving him the hint of what was beneath? He had been seduced by her subtlety, which was lost on most men. It certainly had been on her ex-husband.

Ever since Sam had seen her at a faculty meeting one fall in South Hadley, he had been devoted to her. He had heard
the stories, even read some of the newspaper clippings. But it didn’t matter. He was under a spell when it came to her.

“Honey, I was only trying to make love to you, make you feel better. I wasn’t trying to upset you,” Sam said, tracing his index finger under her chin.

“I know, I know. But you knew this about me when we got married. I can’t do anything about it. You know I love you; it isn’t about that.”

Sam sighed.

Deirdre knew Sam appreciated that, for the most part, they had a good life, both of them now tenured professors at Mount Holyoke College. He taught history; she taught English. They had a beautiful home. They even had a golden retriever. But it wasn’t enough. It just couldn’t erase the past, give back what had been taken from her.

“Of course I do. Deirdre, I get it. I cannot imagine how I would feel in your shoes, especially now that I’m a father. I’m behind you, I just wish I could ease your pain, make this easier for you,” he said.

“I hope I didn’t ruin everything,” Deirdre said in a voice as small as a child’s.

“Nope. Don’t even worry about that. I’ve got your back. I already left her a voicemail apologizing if we seemed insensitive when she told us. We were just tired and disappointed after a long trip.”

Deirdre smiled. “You are brilliant, Professor Leonard. I think that will work just fine. Now if you could just figure out what we should do next.”

“We move over to Villa Mascarpone as soon as it’s available and take it from there.” Sam kissed Deirdre’s forehead, which got a little less wrinkled with the brush of his lips. He was so good at soothing her.

“Maybe there’s something we could do before that,” she said and rolled toward him.

Sabrina awoke to the familiar sound of a predawn tropical shower. Most mornings, St. John washed its beautiful face with a short rainfall just before sunrise. It was enough to quench the thirsty cisterns that collected rain for the island water supply but not so much to dash the plans of tourists. The sound of the rain was soothing, the green smell of wet vegetation intoxicating. As much as she had loved the challenge of forecasting the ever-changing weather in New England, Sabrina found great comfort in the predictability of the weather on St. John.

Girlfriend was planted next to her, lying against her butt, on top of the expensive multithread cotton sheets Henry had in his guest room. Sabrina was surprised by how well she had slept, collapsing into bed after a quick shower. She reminded herself about what Neil had said. There was no reason she shouldn’t sleep well. She had done nothing other than to find a dead body. This wasn’t Nantucket.

Sleep had restored her strong sense of logic. Because she was short on guidance, Sabrina had spent her whole life relying on her ability to think things through. Reclining on the guest bed, which was more comfortable than hers at the cottage, she took inventory of the events from yesterday. First, Carter Johnson had been fatally shot sometime before 10:35 a.m. when she’d arrived to clean the villa. Second, Evan and Lyla had not been home, nor had Mara and the children. Third, Rory Eagan had come out of his home to complain to the police in the afternoon, but how long had he been at home? Where had he been that morning?

No, this wasn’t Nantucket, Sabrina saw. Neil was right. She didn’t have to become a victim here. She had shot Ben, who was her husband. She had been arrested. Their personal relationship had provided the prosecutor with a motive. But she hadn’t shot Carter, didn’t really know him, and would make sure no one uncovered any information to the contrary.

Sabrina found her backpack on the chair where she had plopped it the night before and took out a black jersey tank dress, fresh underwear, and black flip-flops. She always kept these essentials packed to change into for her trips to the ferry when she met and greeted guests. Even though St. John was very casual, Henry had reminded her she needed to look the tropical version of professional for their guests. She owned six dresses identical to this one for just that purpose. After being dressed by the chic shops on
Newbury Street in Boston for television, Sabrina relished the simplicity of her wardrobe in St. John.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she had eaten only a handful of onion rings and conch fritters the day before. She found her way to Henry’s sleek, stunning kitchen, which was done in black and white, as was every room in his condo.

“No more ambiguity or ambivalence for this guy,” he’d told her. “I want to know where I stand. Black or white, no gray.” Poor guy was still scarred by a man who had each foot in a different world and had decided not to join Henry’s.

Sabrina opened the fridge, praying for leftovers. She wanted meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese. She wanted Ruth.

Staring at several containers of yogurt, she shut the door and rested her forehead against the cool stainless steel door. She still missed Ruth more than twenty years after her death. Sabrina wanted to be back in the diner, eating spaghetti and meatballs, her homework spread out on the table next to her plate, listening to thunder roar over the ocean in the distance. When she was growing up, all she could think about was getting out of Allerton. Now she dreamed of returning.

She was attempting to figure out how to use the European coffee maker, which required a three-credit course to understand, when Sabrina heard Henry behind her. Girlfriend’s footsteps followed his.

“Here, let me do that,” he said. She stepped aside and gave Girlfriend a pat. Sabrina found it funny that Girlfriend would sleep in some mornings after she’d gotten up. She admired her independence.

“Thanks,” Sabrina said, noticing how Henry looked as crisp as white sheets hanging on a clothesline in pressed khaki shorts and a white T-shirt.

“Honey, you have to do something with that hair,” he said, scooping coffee out of a bag he’d taken out of the freezer.

“I’ll put it up, under a hat,” she said defensively. She had planned to wear a big sunhat, under which she would tuck her black natural curls, and dark glasses when she went with Neil to the police station.

Henry took Girlfriend for a stroll while Sabrina fixed her hair. They decided Girlfriend should stay at Henry’s today rather than go with them and draw attention. Sabrina wanted to avoid the media as much as possible.

Sabrina and Henry synced their phones, which Henry had charging on the counter with their laptops. They were joined at the hip electronically so that Ten Villas was as organized as you could be on an island where power outages were as common as morning showers.

“It’s pool day,” Sabrina said, looking at the calendar on her phone as she got into the car Henry had borrowed from one of his neighbor’s villas. They would be far less visible in a vehicle that was not gaudy gecko green and without Ten Villas etched on its doors.

“Pool day!” they both said simultaneously. It was pool day, Sabrina realized, everywhere
except
for Villa Mascarpone, which was on a different schedule because their pool guy had done the Banks’ pool across the road the day before. Seth should have done Villa Mascarpone yesterday.

“Do you think he went out there?” Sabrina asked Henry.

“I have no clue,” he said.

“I didn’t notice if the pool was done,” Sabrina said, feeling like she had screwed up.

“Of course you didn’t notice. You’d found a dead body, for goodness’ sake.”

“This complicates things,” she said. She just wanted everything that had happened yesterday to be deleted with a simple push of a key.

“Well, maybe, but it may make things easier for you, Sabrina. You may not have been the last person to see Carter Johnson alive,” Henry said.

Sabrina felt a rush of relief, followed by a short shot of shame. Their pool guy, Seth Larson, was really just a kid, probably in his early twenties. She shouldn’t wish the police on him.

Henry drove to the back of Bar None and got out, letting Neil Perry into the driver’s seat as they had prearranged. Neil looked over at Sabrina in her large brimmed straw hat trimmed with black ribbon and large sunglasses.

“Very Audrey Hepburn. I like.”

“Our pool guy Seth Larson may have been at Villa Mascarpone yesterday morning,” she said, not wanting to waste time during the two-block ride to the police station.

“Really?”

“I don’t want to get him in trouble. He’s just a kid,” she added quickly. “And don’t forget, Rory Eagan was just next door.”

“It dilutes their theory, Salty. It doesn’t mean the kid did anything. It just means they can’t say you were the only one with the opportunity,” he said, pulling into a parking lot for a small trucking company located behind the police station. They’d have to climb over a cinderblock fence to get to the back of the police station, but that was far more preferable to risking being seen entering the front door.

“I want you to say as little as possible when we’re in the station. I wouldn’t bring up this Seth business unless they ask about it. You don’t want to sound desperate to pin it on someone else. That could make you sound guilty. Just tell them what we went over last night. You do remember last night, don’t you?”

“Of course I remember,” she said, sounding indignant. Arrogance must be a required course in law school, she decided, and Neil Perry had probably gotten an A. Sabrina noticed he had put on a shirt with a collar and some boat shoes for the occasion, which redeemed him a little.

Neil gave her a hand so she could follow him up over the three-foot wall onto the asphalt lot at the rear of the police station. Sabrina found the roughness of his hand
on hers oddly comforting. She wasn’t looking forward to being interviewed by Janquar.

They walked to the back door of the police station where Neil knocked three times. The door opened, and a young woman said, “Come in quick.” Her nametag told them she was none other than Officer Detree, with whom Sabrina had spoken the day before.

Detree ushered them down a cool corridor into a windowless room with a table and six chairs. Sabrina could hear the hum of computers and printers in the background. The air conditioning was on so high that she wished she had a jacket.

Neil and Sabrina sat next to each other, waiting for Detective Janquar. She knew not to say anything private. He had warned her that cops often make witnesses wait so they can eavesdrop on conversations.

“So how’d you end up with your name, Salty?” Neil asked, filling the air.

“That’s not my name and you know it.”

“No, no. Sabrina. How’d you end up with a name like that?”

“It’s from a movie,” she said.

“Not the Hepburn and Bogie one?”

“Yes,” she said. Neil was clearly trying to frustrate anyone who was waiting to hear her confess to Carter Johnson’s murder.

“So why Sabrina?” he insisted.

“My father was my grandmother’s driver. He and my mother eloped. That’s why,” Sabrina said, shivering a little in the frigid room. She never liked telling people about how her parents had such a romantic start because the ending was so disappointing. If her parents were an adorable old couple now recounting how she was named, it might be cute. But given that her mother had abandoned her father when she was a toddler, never to be seen or heard from again, the name Sabrina only underscored how ridiculous their relationship had been.

“Wait a minute. I thought you grew up poor,” he said.

“I did. My grandmother disowned my mother after that. I’ve never met her,” she said, wanting him to shut up. Apparently, Leon Janquar shared her view, entering the room seconds later, ending Neil’s endless questions about her background.

“Sorry to keep you folks waiting,” he said, filling the room with his bulk. He had a manila folder in his hands, which looked surprisingly full.

Neil rose and offered his hand.

“Good morning,” he said.

Sabrina sat not speaking. Let them play games, she thought.

“So what have you brought me that might help us out here?” Janquar asked. Sabrina was surprised at his cordial tone.

She opened her backpack and slid out the Villa Mascarpone file, which was noticeably thinner than the one Janquar had.

Janquar flipped through the pages.

“This is it?”

“Yes,” she said, wanting to scream, He was only renting a villa for two weeks, not buying it. Sabrina apparently pleased her lawyer with her brevity because Neil had a sweet smile on his face.

“Okay, let’s go through what happened yesterday,” Janquar said.

Sabrina repeated what she had told him yesterday, just as she had recounted the details to Neil. It sounded very reasonable to her. She had no connection to Carter Johnson.

When she was finished, Sabrina sat back against her seat as Neil leaned forward in his.

“Have you been able to locate his family?” he asked with a concerned, furrowed brow.

“No, his wallet was missing. The camera bag and backpack Ms. Salter remembers from his arrival are gone too. All that was left in the rental jeep was his duffle bag with his clothes in it.” Janquar stood to signal the meeting was over.

“Ms. Salter, if you remember anything else, please let me know. Please do not leave the island without checking with me. You are at the very least a material witness in this ongoing investigation.”

She wondered if she should tell him about the pool guy, even though Neil had suggested she wait. They still didn’t know if Seth had even gotten out to Villa Mascarpone yesterday. Besides, Sabrina wanted to run out the door before Janquar changed his mind.

“Detective Janquar, you haven’t mentioned the search warrant. We’re aware you’ve been through my client’s private residence. I assume there’s a list of everything you removed and that you’ll provide it to me, along with a copy of the warrant?” Neil asked, though it wasn’t a question.

Janquar slid open the file once more and found several pieces of paper.

“These copies are for you, Counsel. Better use the back door. Ms. Salter’s fans are gathered out front,” he said to Neil as they shook hands. Sabrina knew he meant reporters. She was relieved although a bit mystified by Janquar’s seeming disinterest in her.

As she exited the room, Sabrina saw Seth Larson coming down the hall with a broad grin across his face.