No Virgin Island (8 page)

Neil’s warning was a somber reminder of how high the stakes could climb when the police got involved in your life, a lesson Sabrina thought she had learned. She looked at Henry, her dearest friend, and was about to suggest they table the conversation for a more suitable time and place when she caught a glimpse of an apple-green object bobbing in the thick tropical shrubs that bordered the pool.

Sabrina placed her index finger against her lips, motioning to Henry and Neil to check out whatever it was she was seeing. Both crooked their necks and looked back at her in simultaneous curiosity. The bright-green object lent a sense of absurdity to the evolving saga.

Neil strode around the pool and stepped up over the small stone retaining wall onto the border shrubbery, moving through the thicket before disappearing into the brush. Sabrina and Henry remained poolside in silence, hearing only the rustling of bushes until Neil’s voice boomed through the foliage.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? This is private property. Get the hell out right now or I’m calling the cops.”

“Sam, Sam. Come here quick,” a woman said, with a tinge of hysteria in her voice.

The periwinkle-blue gate to the pool flew open and a very tall, middle-aged man carrying several pieces of designer luggage burst in, nearly falling into the hexagonal-shaped pool.

“Deirdre? Deirdre? Where are you?”

Sabrina raised both eyebrows, turning to look at Henry.

“Henry, meet Sam Leonard,” she said.

“Then this must be Deirdre,” Henry said, as the wispy strawberry blonde almost floated through the bushes ahead of Neil, her broad-brimmed green hat bouncing as she stepped over to meet Henry. She was a vision of delicacy, dressed in a long, gauzy pink cotton skirt and an ivory camisole. Sabrina found women who could pull off this look maddening. They managed without a word to inspire the men around them to take care of them, obviously a talent lost on her.

“Hello, Henry,” she said, extending her hand to him as if she owned Villa Mascarpone and he were her guest. For a moment, Sabrina thought Henry might kiss Deirdre’s hand.

“Thanks for getting us into our villa. We’re very grateful, Sabrina,” Deirdre said, apparently no longer feeling threatened by Neil. Sabrina accepted her handshake, not surprised to feel skin softer than a baby’s bottom.

Neil stood behind Deirdre, just inside the gate, taking it all in. Deirdre turned and looked at him, as if she expected an explanation. Sabrina was surprised to hear Sam say, “And you’re Neil Perry, aren’t you?”

Sam walked over to shake Neil’s hand.

“You know each other?” Henry asked, looking as confused as Sabrina felt.

“I don’t think so,” Neil said, “unless I met you at Bar None. I meet so many people—”

“No, no. I’m a history professor at Mount Holyoke. I teach an elective, the Great American Trial. The
State of California versus Rankin
is a big part of it, isn’t it, Deirdre?” Sam said, looking over at his wife.

California v. Rankin
? What was that all about? Two years of obsessing over whether she’d be convicted for her husband’s murder had left Sabrina with little appetite for news about other cases. Now Sabrina wished she had followed the urge to Google Neil after that night on the beach to see what she had missed. Somehow, Googling him had felt like more of a commitment than she was prepared to make at the time.

“I would love to interview you for the course while I’m on the island,” Sam said, in what Sabrina guessed was an academic’s gush. This was just too bizarre.

Neil walked over to the empty propane container, like a man on a mission, and picked it up. “I’m afraid my lawyering days are over. I’m just a barkeeper now, and I like it that way.” Sabrina had never seen Neil Perry so uncomfortable.

“Sorry if I frightened you on the path,” Neil said to Deirdre, slipping through the gate.

“What path?” Sabrina asked, noticing Henry’s furrowed brow. He was going to need Botox if this kept up.

“The one beyond the pool with such a lovely view of Reef Bay,” Deirdre said.

There was no path beyond the pool.

Sabrina picked up the pail of cleaning materials and sack of dirty linens, smiled at Deirdre, and asked Henry if he was ready to leave the Leonards to enjoy Villa Mascarpone, especially since they had been so patient.

“You folks have a lovely stay,” Henry said. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he added. “You’d probably like a tour of the house.” Sabrina could tell how flummoxed he was. Henry was normally the epitome of the gracious host, and he was off his game.

“No, no problem,” Sam said. “We’re fine exploring on our own.”

“Well, the laundry room is on the lower level,” Henry began to explain.

“I know. Carter told us,” Sam said, looking over to Deirdre, whose smile resembled that of the mysterious Mona Lisa at the moment. The woman fascinated Sabrina, but what really caught her attention was hearing Sam use Carter Johnson’s name.

“Carter told you about the laundry room?” Henry asked, his voice an octave higher than normal.

“We called the house number directly when you sent us the details about the location and contact information.
We had some specific questions. Carter called us back and filled us in. Such a sad end for him. He seemed like such a friendly man,” Deirdre said, looking at her husband with the smile still on her face.

Henry and Sabrina filed out of the pool area through the gate without another word. Henry latched the gate behind him. Sabrina set down her pail and laundry bag. Without saying anything, they both walked over the driveway to the shrubbery that extended along the pool area.

There was a path, freshly cut, wide enough for a person to pass along, looking down at Mara Bennett’s home and beyond to the splendor of Reef Bay with a sweeping view of Ram Head in the distance. Sabrina wondered if Carter Johnson had cut it so he could get a better view for his photographs.

They walked single file along the path until it ended at the edge of the Villa Mascarpone property line. In silence, they reversed direction.

Neil sat waiting in the car, windows up, air conditioning cranking. The sun was blazing down, although it was after 3:30. Henry walked by the car toward his scooter. Neil lowered the window on the driver’s side.

“We need to finish our conversation. There are too many unanswered questions and too many coincidences for me. Homicide is serious and neither of you should take it lightly,” Neil said as both Sabrina and Henry stopped in their footsteps.

“We’d better meet at my condo,” Henry said. “It’s the only place reporters can’t get in. But first, I have to
meet the Gunnings at the ferry and take them out to Hibiscus Hill.”

Sabrina had totally forgotten they had new guests arriving today. She really had left everything to Henry.

“Thanks, Henry. I’m sorry I’m so preoccupied with what happened here. I’ll make it up to you when this gets straightened out. You can take some time off, promise. I just don’t quite have my wits about me,” Sabrina said, worried that forgetting details like new guests not only arriving but needing to be picked up at the ferry might mean her focus was off. When the cops were scrutinizing everything she did, Sabrina knew she needed to be on her game.

Henry nodded and got onto his scooter. “If you get there before me, make yourselves at home.”

Sabrina and Henry had keys and knew the passwords and codes to each other’s houses. They had trusted each other from the start, knowing neither of them could make it in St. John alone after the trouble each had barely escaped. She felt bad about the exchange they’d had about the appetizers and propane. How important were those things anyway? It was the trust that was important. They were going to have to have a very difficult conversation for it to continue.

She got into Neil’s jeep after placing the pail and laundry bag in the backseat next to the empty propane tank. Neil looked as uncomfortable as she felt, his jaw drawn tight, his fists clenched on the steering wheel.

“Can we go to Henry’s and regroup?” she asked in a deliberately calm voice. She was not used to anything but an uberconfident Neil Perry and wasn’t sure he wanted anything more to do with her and Henry. Sabrina realized she desperately wanted him to help her, and because she did not convey a woman in jeopardy as well as Deirdre Leonard, she might just have to ask him not to bail on her.

“Sure, Sabrina. Whatever you want,” he said, pulling out of the driveway past the Bennett/Eagan home. Sabrina waved to Evan Banks as he leaned over a thick hibiscus hedge with a pair of pruning shears.

“Wait. Stop. Please,” Sabrina said.

Neil applied the brake and looked over at her. His expression was so grim, Sabrina hesitated. But what she had to do would only take a moment. If she wanted to have friends, Sabrina knew she had to work at being one.

“I just need to check on Lyla. She called me last night upset about the murder.”

“Whatever you say, Salty,” Neil said, putting the jeep in reverse and pulling into the Banks’ driveway next to their navy jeep.

“Do you want to come in with me?” she asked. Neil got out and came around to her side.

Evan was so intent on trimming the hibiscus hedge to perfection that he seemed oblivious to them. Sabrina had observed him tending to it on many occasions when she was out at Villa Mascarpone. She wondered if it made him feel accomplished, doing something physical when his mental acuity was diminishing.

Neil followed Sabrina in through the elaborate black wrought-iron gate, which divided the hedge into two sections. She knocked on the shiny coral door.

Sabrina wasn’t prepared for the Lyla who opened the door. Lyla was what some people call “put together.” Her short silvery hair always seemed combed into a feathery style. She frequently wore khaki shorts or skirts with crisp white cotton blouses. Lyla and Evan were both tall and lean, a handsome couple. No matter where you ran into them, they looked like they had just stepped out of an L.L. Bean catalog.

The Lyla who greeted them, unkempt, barefoot, and wrapped in a wrinkled blue paisley sarong, surprised Sabrina and made her feel embarrassed for both of them that she had decided to drop in and check on her unannounced.

“Lyla, I’m sorry. I should have called. We just finished cleaning up Villa Mascarpone and I thought I would check and see how you’re doing.”

“Oh, of course, dear. I know I look frightful, but please, please come in,” Lyla said, putting her hands through her hair and straightening her sarong all at once.

Neil extended his hand to her.

“Mrs. Banks, I’m Neil Perry. I’m sorry we didn’t meet properly yesterday under those unfortunate circumstances. I’m happy to meet you now.” Neil gave Lyla a big smile. Sabrina appreciated what Neil was doing to put Lyla at ease.

Looking beyond Neil’s handsome face, Sabrina realized that Lyla wasn’t the only disheveled thing at the Banks’ house. Sabrina had been to Lyla’s house at least a dozen
times since the couple moved from New York. Lyla’s house was always as put together as she was. The open floor plan was inviting and casual. You could sit at the kitchen island sipping coffee and see the pool to your right. It was surrounded by a small tropical garden filled with bottlebrush trees; bougainvillea in shades of peach, fuchsia, and pink; Plumbago; and lipstick plants, all meticulously cared for. If you looked to the left, you could see the Great Room, as Lyla called it. The room was filled with wicker chairs and sofas with deep cushions covered in warm tropical prints and loads of throw pillows in case you wanted to take a nap instead of looking out through a wall of French doors that overlooked Fish Bay with St. Thomas in the distance. There were two bedrooms at the back of the home. Lyla had told Sabrina a one-floor home made sense at their age.

Today, the house looked like a burglary had taken place. There were cushions tossed here and there. Magazines and books Sabrina had seen stacked with almost mechanical precision were strewn all over the room. Sabrina could see into the kitchen that doors and cabinets were open everywhere.

“Lyla, what’s happened? What’s wrong?” Sabrina asked, knowing it had to be awful.

Lyla motioned for Neil and Sabrina to come into the kitchen. She pointed to the chairs at the island, the only clear place for anyone to sit from what Sabrina could see.

“He’s lost the gun,” she said very softly. “You remember, the gun I told you about last night on the phone. It’s a
Colt Forty-Five. We had it in the safe, but when I went to get it, it wasn’t there.”

“Oh, god, Lyla, I’m sorry. But it has to be . . .” Sabrina looked around and realized Lyla had already come to the same conclusion. It had to be somewhere.

“Did you ask your husband if he put it somewhere, Lyla? I know he has some issues with his memory, but he must remember some things,” Neil said gently.

“Of course. The good news is he remembered taking it out of the safe. ‘A lot of good it would do us there, dear, if someone were to break in,’ he told me. He was sure it was in the top drawer of his nightstand until he saw it wasn’t. All he could say is, ‘Don’t worry, dear, it will turn up somewhere.’ It will turn up somewhere. Right, just after there’s been a murder across the way.” Lyla was struggling not to cry, Sabrina could see.

“Do you think someone might have stolen it, Mrs. Banks?” Neil asked.

“Please, call me Lyla, Neil. I don’t know if someone could have taken it. I try to stay one step ahead of Evan, really, I do. But his Alzheimer’s is so fickle. Some days, he is just the old Evan, like this morning when he got up before me and made the coffee. But other days . . . I have to be careful not to upset him and remain calm, even if I am not. The disease is just so cruel to the victim and even more unfair to the people who love them. Damn Evan, anyway. Why couldn’t he just have gotten a mild case of prostate cancer like most men his age?”

“Lyla, would you like Neil and me to look around? A second and third set of eyes? We’ll only look inside so Evan won’t see us.” Sabrina looked over at Neil, who gave her a discreet nod.

“Would you? That way, at least I’ll know it’s not these aging eyes missing it. Do you know what a Colt Forty-Five looks like? Oh, that’s silly. It doesn’t matter even if you don’t. It’s the only gun we have in house,” Lyla said.

A half hour later, no gun had been found, but the Banks’ home had been restored to its typical order.

“Tell you what, Lyla. If you can get Evan out of the house tomorrow for a little while, I’ll come back and search the shed and the yard,” Neil said.

“Oh, thank you, I’d really appreciate that. Evan volunteers tomorrow at the park department while I help out with the Friends of the Library. We’re gone almost the whole day on Tuesdays and Thursdays. There’s a spare key under the rock below the birdbath.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to pack up and move over to one of our vacant houses for a day or two?” Sabrina asked Lyla.

“No, thank you for offering, but it would just throw Evan off his game and make him more confused. Familiar surroundings and routine are two essential elements I have to maintain. You are such a wonderful friend to offer and to come here to check on us, Sabrina,” Lyla said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.

Sabrina shocked herself more than Lyla by throwing her arms around the older woman and giving her a hug.