Permanent Sunset (16 page)

Sabrina woke to find a cold nose nudging her cheek. Girlfriend had a sense of urgency, so Sabrina sprung out of bed, leaving a snoring Neil behind her. She poked her head out the door to make sure no one from INN had appeared during the night and let Girlfriend out on her own once she determined the coast was clear.

She put on a pot of coffee and grabbed the manila envelope Neil had left on the kitchen counter. She walked over to the corner of her living room where she kept her yoga mat and sat on the floor. Her legs reached up against the wall and she sidled her butt up next to it, her back resting on the yoga mat. Sabrina closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Her morning routine was to try to meditate during this ritual, but this morning she didn’t have time, so she was going to have to cheat and just read Neil’s papers.

She read the Pro Hac Vice order again quickly, comforted by the news Neil could be her advocate. Next, she took the thick document that was titled, “Antenuptial
Agreement between Sean Michael Keating and Elena Consuela Soto Rodriguez.” Sabrina wondered why everyone referred to the document as a prenup, when it was titled “antenuptial.” She would put that on her list of questions for Neil.

The first ten pages seemed to be boilerplate, so Sabrina skipped to the end like she often did when she wasn’t sure if she should continue reading a novel. Life was hard enough without unhappy endings, so even if it was considered cheating, she flipped to the end of a book if she was in doubt. The end of the document was simply pages and pages of financial disclosures. Sabrina noted that Sean’s finances took up eleven pages, while Elena’s only took up two. Sean’s net worth was at least ten times more than Elena’s. On the last page, there was a category called “Anticipated Asset Acquisition” in which Sean disclosed that upon his father’s retirement in three years, 50 percent of the stock in Keating Construction would vest in Sean. Sabrina assumed the other 50 percent would vest in Gavin.

She leafed back to the middle to see what would happen if there were a death or divorce, which Sabrina knew was the whole point of a prenup. There was a general recitation noting that Elena was a valuable employee of Keating Construction as of the date the parties entered the agreement and married. If Sean died, Elena was protected by a large life insurance policy, which was to be paid and maintained by the corporation.

The provisions that would govern if there were a divorce seemed very straightforward to Sabrina. If there were a divorce prior to the third anniversary of the parties’ marriage, Elena would maintain her position within the company at her current rate of compensation, unless it could be shown she should be discontinued for cause, in which case there was a mandatory arbitration clause if there was a dispute. Regardless, she would be precluded from claiming any right, title, or interest in Keating Construction or any assets owned by it.

If the marriage lasted three years and one day, Elena was entitled to the same conditions about retaining her employment and rate of compensation. However, she was also entitled to 10 percent of Sean’s share of Keating Construction.

Sabrina wasn’t a legal expert, but this seemed like a decent deal for Elena. Now she understood why the Keating clan had been perplexed when Elena had refused to sign. Her hysteria about the prenup seemed rather incongruous with her calculating, controlling nature.

The smell of the coffee lured her away from the wall and her yoga mat. She poured a mug of it and wrote a couple of questions for Neil on an index card. She could hear him in the shower and realized she needed to call Henry to let him know they had to meet at the police department at ten.

Neil appeared in the kitchen just as Sabrina was signing off with an uncharacteristically hungover Henry. In
contrast, Neil’s smoky blue eyes no longer seemed red with fatigue and his voice was chipper.

“Good morning, Salty. Are you ready for Matrimonial Law 101: Antenuptial Agreements?” he asked, accepting a mug of coffee from Sabrina.

She peppered him with her questions, getting the answers she’d guessed or expected. “Ante” and “pre” really meant the same in the law. It was like how a “separation” agreement was really a “divorce” contract. Sabrina got it. In her days as a meteorologist, she had used enough professional jargon to appreciate each field had its own language. Neil agreed with her that it was a pretty good deal for Elena.

“Especially the part about her only having to be married to Sean for three years before the property assignment kicks in. Usually you have to be married longer than that. The shortest I’ve ever seen is five.”

Sabrina thought back to her spur-of-the-moment picnic lunch yesterday with Jack and Paul. It seemed like the whole Keating clan thought in terms of a three-year plan.

She went into the bedroom and threw on one of her generic “meet the clients” black dresses, which were now also becoming her “go to the police station” dresses. Sabrina pulled her massive curls back into a ponytail, regretting going to bed with wet hair once again. Showering after her swim and a grilled cheese had been her limit the night before, and she couldn’t have been bothered to wait up while her hair dried.

“Come on, Attorney Perry. We’re off to see the wizard. Henry is going to meet us there. He spent the night drinking at Bar None with Heather, who continued to deny knowing anything about the necklace.”

Neil pulled the baggie containing the necklace out from the zippered side pocket of his khaki shorts.

“Well, you and I can do the same once we hand it over to Sergeant Detree, Salty.”

Henry was sitting on a bench in the lobby of police headquarters when Sabrina and Neil arrived. He looked as disheveled as Sabrina had ever seen him, wearing a black T-shirt with navy blue shorts, a color combination even Sabrina knew didn’t work.

“No matter what you’re asked or told here,” Neil leaned over and whispered to both of them, “Insist you’re here only about the skinny-dippers. If someone tries to press you about the investigation about Elena’s murder, tell them you’ll be happy to come back, but all you’re prepared to discuss is the skinny-dippers for now. Those were Sergeant Detree’s instructions.”

To the left of an empty desk, a door with a sign reading “Lobby Officer” opened abruptly. Two men in nearly identical blue pencil-striped suits emerged, followed by Gavin Keating in a crisp beige suit. Gavin looked over at them.

“The liquor supply needs to be replenished,” he said. He filed out the door behind what Sabrina guessed were the lawyers he had special-ordered for the occasion.

Sabrina recognized Officer Milan, who came out of the same door and took his station at the lobby desk.

“We’re here about the skinny-dippers,” Neil said, stepping in front of the counter, which sat in front of Milan’s desk.

“Are you sure about that? Aren’t you supposed to be here about the murder investigation?” Officer Milan asked.

“No, not now. We’re here about the skinny-dippers,” Neil said.

“Well, it’s just that I’m under orders to make sure . . .”

“Officer Milan, I assure you, we will return to discuss that matter later, but right now we are here about the skinny-dippers.”

“Well, okay,” Officer Milan said. “Come with me.”

Sabrina, Henry, and Neil followed Officer Milan through a door to the right of the lobby desk, down a corridor Sabrina remembered from the last time she’d been interviewed during the Villa Mascarpone case. The air conditioning was on so high it felt like a meat locker.

Officer Milan opened the door to the same room where Sabrina had been interviewed before. She felt her stomach clench at the memory.

Inside at the long table, Sabrina was surprised to see Detective Leon Janquar, now known to her as Lee, seated
with his left leg elevated on the chair next to him. Sergeant Lucy Detree sat to his right.

“Lee, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be home, watching sports with that leg up on a La-Z-Boy?” Neil asked, extending his hand to shake it. Sergeant Detree stood and offered her hand to Neil.

“Murder knows no holiday,” Janquar said, laughing. “But in this case, it’s the crazy skinny-dippers who dragged me off of sick leave. Please sit down.”

Neil put the manila envelope out on the table and began pulling out the Pro Hac Vice order. Sabrina was beginning to love those three Latin words, which for her translated to “I feel safe.”

“I got an order allowing me to represent the folks at Ten Villas and the owner of Villa Nirvana in the investigation of the murder. I assume you’ll honor it in this investigation,” Neil started.

“Put those away, counsel. I don’t need them. Why did you go to all that trouble?” Janquar asked. Sergeant Detree nudged his arm and wrote on the yellow legal pad in front of her. Sabrina, who had made it a practice to learn how to read upside down, read “V. H.” Vernon Hodge, her favorite detective. Janquar rolled his eyes.

“Sergeant Detree tells me that the skinny-dippers have made appearances at three of your villas, Ms. Salter and Mr. Whitman.” Sabrina wasn’t sure when she had reverted back to “Ms. Salter” after being on a first-name basis with the detective following the Villa Mascarpone murder.
She hoped it was because he was talking to her in an official capacity.

They confirmed that Villas Mascarpone and Bella Vista had been targeted.

“We now know for sure, they were at Villa Nirvana the night of the murder,” Sergeant Detree added.

“Yup. They came in last night, fortunately with their clothes on and with ID. I don’t know what we would have done if we had to have a line-up,” Janquar said. A ripple of laughter filled the room.

“What’s their deal?” Neil asked.

“Publicity. Money. They’re a middle-aged couple from Michigan, sick of snow. They said they watch
Vying for Villas
on some home improvement channel that runs a contest where you can win an extended timeshare in the Caribbean. They decided they would be more daring than the other entries they’d seen and would enter ‘Skinny-Dipping through the Caribbean,’ starting with St. John, as their bid.”

“I’ve seen the show. That’s a lot more creative than ‘In Search of the Perfect Margarita,’” Henry said.

“Unfortunately, it’s also illegal. When we let word out that we were looking to talk to them in conjunction with a murder investigation and would consider offering immunity from prosecution if they cooperated, they were here in a heartbeat,” Janquar replied with a grin. “Of course, that means now that the skinny-dippers admit they were
at Villa Nirvana the night Elena Rodriguez was killed, my investigation overlaps with Detective Hodge’s.”

Lucy Detree smiled at Sabrina in unmistakable glee.

“Well, I’m sure you will both work together to get the job done,” Neil said, chortling.

“So what we have here is film from the waterproof GoPro cameras they both wore. They had them mounted on their foreheads. You’re welcome to look at the footage from the other two villas later, but what I’d like you to check out now are some stills from the night they were at Villa Nirvana. They thought getting footage of the scenery where a big fancy wedding was about to take place would be quite a coup. I think they were considering selling it to someone like that unscrupulous talking head, Faith Chase, until we put out the word that they could be facing charges in connection with a murder.”

Sabrina’s heart skipped a beat, maybe two, at the thought of how close she may have been to another Faith Chase encounter.

Lucy Detree opened a file she had in front of her under her legal pad and pulled out an eight-by-twelve black-and-white photo that showed the pool area surrounded by the pots of gardenias, the tables and canopies above them lit with faerie lights. A second one showed the tabletops up close, with the miniature centerpieces of Villa Nirvana. The third photo was in color, the red hibiscus blossoms floating atop the surface of the pool.

The next shot wasn’t as clear as the first three because of the lack of light, but Sabrina still recognized Anneka Lund sitting in an Adirondack chair on the bluff above Ditleff Beach next to Paul Blanchard, who had a bottle of champagne on the armrest of his chair. They each had a crystal champagne flute, which Sabrina noted was strictly against the villa rules she and Henry had promulgated not to take any glassware outdoors.

“Can you confirm who these people are? Sergeant Detree has done an initial identification,” Janquar said. Sabrina knew he was letting them off the hook for implicating their guests by suggesting Detree already knew.

“That’s Paul Blanchard and Anneka Lund.” Sabrina was beginning to connect the dots.

“And how about the next photo?” Janquar asked as Detree slid a photo of Elena, alive and barefoot in her bridal gown, walking through the great room with a bottle of champagne in her hand. Around her neck lay the very necklace Sabrina had been lugging around for days. The one that now sat in Neil’s pocket.

“You probably need to know about this.” Neil interjected while putting the baggie on the table in front of Janquar. The detective picked up the baggie and held it at eye level. Without opening it, he pulled the chain within the baggie so the break was visible.

“Yes. I need to know all about this.”

“Go ahead, Salty. Tell him everything,” Neil urged her.

“When did you first see the necklace?” Janquar asked. He sounded a little stern to Sabrina.

“I found it in the pocket of Heather Malzone’s dress when I did the family’s laundry.”

Sabrina started by explaining how she’d put it away for safekeeping and then forgotten to return it to Heather in the face of Sean’s meltdown.

“Later when I picked Lisa up to collect her things from the Villa Nirvana, Lisa described a similar necklace she had found in Gavin’s bag, which she was sure was a gift he was going to present to her for their anniversary. Lisa was trying to convince me Gavin wasn’t such a bad husband when I’d mentioned bruises Henry had seen on her arms.”

“Did you tell Lisa you had found the necklace?” Janquar was shaking his head.

“Of course not. Lisa has enough to handle being married to Gavin. I decided I would simply put the necklace back where I found it. I tried to give it back to Heather the next day, but she claimed it wasn’t hers and handed it back to me,” Sabrina explained.

“Did you know about this?” Janquar asked, turning to look at Detree. She shook her head and narrowed her eyes at Sabrina.

Sabrina could feel the interview going south.

“Hold on a minute,” Neil said. “Sabrina entrusted it to me as her attorney. As soon as I determined I could serve in that official capacity—because Detective Hodge
insisted I would be hung at sunset if I ‘practiced law without a license’—we brought it here.”

“All right. Everybody cool down. Obviously, I need to talk to Lisa Keating and Heather Malzone immediately. Can you arrange to have them brought in?” Janquar asked Detree, who nodded and left the room.

“Mr. Whitman, do you have anything to add?”

“Just that I was with Heather last night and she continued to deny having any knowledge about the necklace,” Henry said.

“There’s more you need to know, Lee,” Neil interjected. Sabrina could have killed him for prolonging the meeting. She wanted to bolt, to be out of this room, out of the police station, preferably off island if the conversation was going to continue to suggest she had been withholding information or played any role in the Keating situation. It was irrational, she knew, but sitting in a courtroom day after day, hearing people testify that you were guilty of murdering your husband, tended to make you irrational when confined by the cops.

“Like what?” Janquar barked.

“Like who Elena Consuela Soto Rodriguez really was,” Neil said. “I don’t think Henry and Sabrina need to stay for that discussion, and I know they have things to tend to, so can we let them go while I explain what I learned in Puerto Rico?”

He had become her hero by taking the heat for her.

Sabrina and Henry nearly tripped over one another in their rush to leave the police station.