Permanent Sunset (8 page)

Sabrina woke early the next morning without an alarm. She had so much to do, so she leapt out of bed and began making a list. She loved lists. They made her feel as if she had some control over her life. And when she crossed off items, she knew she was in charge, or at least felt accomplished.

Before she went to bed, she had remembered her promise to get the fresh laundry over to the Keatings first thing in the morning. Exhausted, she hadn’t worried too much about special-care instructions and had dumped the contents of the black plastic bag into the washing machine with a small amount of detergent because the water on island came from cisterns that collected rain water, which was softer. Everything got washed on cold. Island living was pretty simple.

The first item on her list was to “put clothes in dryer.” Next, “call Cynthia at St. John Car Rental to let her know her jeeps are in police custody and might not be returned
on time.” Third, she needed to call her friend Lyla Banks to make sure Girlfriend, who was staying with the Banks while Sabrina worked the Keating wedding, was okay. She added an item to remind her to pick up Henry for their mission to speak to David.

After making a mug of French roast coffee, Sabrina went over to the washing machine, which was located in a small alcove outside of her kitchen. She opened the lid to the machine and began lifting items out and loading them into the dryer.

She smiled as she took Jack’s linen pants out of the washer, thinking he looked pretty happy in that Sloop Jones bathing suit and might not want to climb back into hot, scratchy linen. Kate’s painting clothes went in next, followed by Paul’s shirt. Sabrina reached to grab Heather’s blue-and-green dress, something Ruth, the woman who had raised her, would have called a “muumuu,” when she felt something in the pocket. She grasped the object and was surprised to find herself holding a platinum necklace with three large, princess-cut stones that looked to be diamonds.

Sabrina held the necklace up, now seeing that one side of the flat chain was shorter than the other and had been broken. The stones were large, at least a carat each judging from what Sabrina has seen in engagement rings. She had never had a diamond because Ben had thought them silly. Of course he had. He’d already bought two of them, one for each of her predecessors.

“Why you could buy a boat or a car for that kind of money,” he’d told her, so she’d settled for a Claddagh wedding band, cliché even for Irish American Boston, with the hands, heart, and crown symbolizing friendship, love, and loyalty. Oh what a crock.

Sabrina had known a few women who had three-diamond necklaces, each stone symbolizing one of her children. She knew from ads in magazines they were often touted as a way to memorialize, “the past, present, and future” of a relationship.

Whatever the symbolism was, Sabrina knew she was looking at a stunning and very expensive piece of jewelry. She hadn’t seen Heather wearing the necklace, which she surely would have noticed. It definitely wasn’t something you would wear with a muumuu. She couldn’t imagine why Heather was carrying it in her pocket, other than the chain was broken and couldn’t be worn. Sabrina placed the pendant in a small plastic sandwich bag, zipped up the seal, and tucked it in her own pocket. Making a mental note to ask Heather about the necklace later, she finished placing the laundry in the dryer and moved down her list.

Cynthia was sorry to hear that the wedding had turned into a tragedy and would wait to hear about when the jeeps would be returned. Sabrina had rented them for a week in case the family decided to extend their trip and was confident she would have them back at St. John Car Rental by the end of the rental agreement.

Lyla Banks answered her phone on the first ring.

“Girlfriend is having a nice visit. She and Evan are out for a little walk. But how are you, dear? We’ve heard the news about the poor bride accidentally drowning before the wedding. You and Henry must be a wreck.”

Sabrina assured Lyla that she and Henry were coping as best they could, asking if Girlfriend could hang out with them a little longer. She didn’t bother correcting Lyla’s version about how Elena drowned. Everyone on island would know the facts soon enough.

“She can stay as long as you need. Honestly, she is so good with Evan, I might consider getting a dog for him. He seems more relaxed, and the Alzheimer’s symptoms aren’t as apparent. Taking care of the dog makes him work at remembering,” Lyla said.

After hanging up with Lyla, Sabrina folded the now-dry laundry, placing it in a basket. Within fifteen minutes, her jeep was climbing up Bordeaux Mountain for the second time in less than ten hours. She hoped the Keatings had been able to sleep. Henry should be there already, since he was on breakfast duty.

The smell of bacon wafting through the open windows brought Sabrina right back to Allerton, where she had grown up next to a diner and where bacon was considered medicinal. Bacon could make anything better. Bacon and fried egg sandwiches. Bacon baked on top of meatloaf. BLT’s on white bread with Hellman’s mayonnaise. She hoped bacon was doing its magic this morning.

She found all of them sitting back at the dining room table where she had left them the night before. They all looked comical in their lost-and-found outfits, other than Sean. He was still in the outfit he had put on twenty-four hours earlier when he’d set out on his doomed mission to find Elena and tell her he didn’t care about the prenup.

Henry was removing empty plates where only traces of egg yolk remained. He cooked a great breakfast, Sabrina knew firsthand, although he would always say hers were better.

She set the basket with clean laundry over on a small buffet table.

“I’ll just leave these here for you in case you want to change back into your things.”

“Hell no, I want to go buy more of what I’m wearing.” Jack pointed to his Sloop Jones outfit.

“I’m not sure about that, but if we’re not going to get our own personal belongings soon, then I would like to go shopping for a few items,” Paul looked uncomfortable in wrinkled clothes. Sabrina imagined he was the kind of man who wore jeans that had been ironed and had a crease—that is, if he wore jeans.

“I’m fine in my painting clothes, but would love to get my hands on a sketching pad,” Kate said.

Heather sat silent, looking over at Sean who had his forehead in his hands.

“You’re wondering how we can be going on and on, like this is just another day, aren’t you?” she said to him.

Sean nodded without looking up.

“I’m sorry, dear. I don’t mean to be insensitive.” Kate reached across the table to take his hand.

“There are things we need to consider. I know Gavin was premature and inconsiderate yesterday when he dove right into business, but practically speaking we need to talk about how to handle this from our company’s perspective. This could be disastrous for Keating Construction just as we’re beginning our expansion into villa construction. I think we ought to get Gavin over here and have a board meeting,” Paul said.

“A board meeting? Are you frigging kidding me?” Sean asked, rising from the table and turning around to leave the room just as Neil Perry entered. Neil was holding a box of baked goods from the island bakery, Baked in the Sun.

“Hold on a minute, Sean,” Neil said, putting the box on the table. “I can appreciate you’re not up for a board meeting, but I’m here trying to help sort the Elena situation out for you. We just have to be a little discreet here, like I’m just bringing you a few island pastries and muffins as a measure of kindness. What we talk about is just a civilized conversation between a guy and his former lawyer after a tragic event. Just a little man-talk. Nothing legal, of course.”

Sabrina had half-expected something like this. She knew Neil liked to be in charge, that him taking a backseat in the investigation wouldn’t last.

“Well, you guys have your chat. I’m changing back into my clean painting clothes.” Kate walked over and started handing the others their items from the laundry basket. In short time, only Henry, Sabrina, and Neil remained in the dining room with Sean.

“Listen, buddy. I know this has been hell for you, but you want to know who did this, don’t you?” Neil asked Sean, sitting down and gesturing for Sean to take the chair next to him.

“Of course,” Sean said, taking the chair.

“Even if some stuff comes out that you don’t necessarily like?” Neil asked.

“What do you mean?” Sean asked. Sabrina wasn’t sure where Neil was going, but she found it impossible not to feel sorry for Sean.

“Well, Elena may have had a few secrets. Most of us do. I’ll bet you didn’t share with her every little tidbit that was in my files about you,” Neil said.

“Of course not,” Sean almost smiled.

Sabrina and Henry listened to the conversation silently, turning their heads from Sean to Neil as if at a tennis match.

“It turns out that Elena didn’t graduate from Babson or Harvard, at least not under the name Elena Consuela Soto Rodriguez. Maybe you got the schools confused. Maybe she used a different name in the states. Perhaps she fudged her credentials a bit. Lots of people do. But it doesn’t check out.”

“But I saw the diplomas on her office wall. Gavin checked her references and resume when he hired her,” Sean said.

“It gets confusing when people use two last names, which is common in the Hispanic community. Maybe they were reversed or misspelled. Would it help to check the marriage license? Henry, can you get your hands on it so we can see if there’s a spelling error?” Sabrina asked.

“Uh, not easily. I was nervous I would forget where I had put it. I mean, it was the first wedding I was performing and I didn’t want anything to go wrong, so I put it someplace where I knew I wouldn’t be able to forget it.” Henry looked sheepish. Sabrina was afraid of what was coming next. Sometimes Henry’s sense of logic seemed unique to him. He would frequently tuck objects, like keys, in odd places like microwaves as reminders that he needed to go to a certain place. Sabrina might find the extra flatware in the wine cellar and have to ask Henry why it was there. “So we’ll remember it’s time to replace the batteries in the smoke detectors, of course,” Henry would say, as if Sabrina was silly not to already know.

“Henry?” Sabrina pressed.

“I put it in an envelope and then stuck it in a sheet protector and placed it under the wedding cake in the refrigerator. I knew I would remember it that way,” Henry said.

Sabrina stifled the urge to groan.

“Okay, so we’ll have to wait to verify the spelling of the names and then I’ll double check the school records.
But Sean, you can see why it’s necessary to know as much as we can about Elena. Right now the cops are collecting evidence that they hope will point them toward the person who killed her. They’re going to want to find a person who had a motive and doesn’t have an alibi. You could be their best candidate. You’ve got to understand. Police investigations don’t work the same way here as they do in the States.”

Sean’s tanned face drained to a pasty gray.

“But it sounds like she did sign the prenup. Those detectives were here last night asking if anyone could identify the signatures on a document. It had to be the prenup. Why would any of us want to kill Elena if she had signed it?” Sean asked.

“Did any of your family know she signed it?” Neil asked.

“No, of course not. They would have been thrilled that the whole issue was resolved and the wedding could go forward. The only one who would have known for sure was the witness. Gavin’s mother.”

Sabrina and Henry left Neil with Sean, who was pulling up a copy of the draft of the prenup he had on his phone so Neil could review it. She hoped Detective Hodge didn’t make another surprise visit to Bella Vista, but she couldn’t save Neil from himself any more than he could do the same for her, much as he tried.

Henry hadn’t been wild about approaching David to fly Neil to San Juan the following morning. But he eventually accepted that unless Elena’s murder was solved, Ten Villas would continue to be under scrutiny and possibly subject to a trumped-up charge of negligence. Without a real estate broker’s license, Ten Villas was out of business.

“You don’t think you should call him first?” Sabrina asked. She’d offered to drive to Gibney Beach, knowing Henry was a wreck. She couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t seen David for a long time. Now he was forced to meet him face-to-face and ask for a favor at the same time.

“No. I want him to be as uncomfortable as I am,” Henry said. “And that’s pretty damn uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry,” Sabrina didn’t know how to comfort him. It was not lost on her that Henry was dressed far less colorfully than usual. Instead of a tropical print shirt or his beloved New England madras shorts, he was wearing khaki shorts and a plain white T-shirt.

“It’s not your fault. Remember, I’m the idiot who forced Villa Nirvana on you.”

“It seems like such a silly name now for the villa. Nirvana. ‘Stillness, after the extinction of desire.’ Hardly,” Sabrina said, trying to distract Henry from his guilt.

“What? Oh, you’re talking Nirvana as in Buddhism. That’s not what it’s named after.”

“I thought it was supposed to be a new age spiritual retreat with a business twist. That’s what Elena told me when we met with the chef.”

“Hell, no. Sean told me he named it after Kurt Cobain’s band,” Henry said.

That sounded to Sabrina more like the Sean that Neil had told Sabrina he’d represented in LA—fun-loving, ambitious, a little reckless, and a bit of a womanizer. It seemed to Sabrina that Elena had almost cast a spell over Sean, transforming or perhaps reforming him into a serious, although still ambitious, paragon of virtue.
How had she done that?
Sabrina wondered. How can one human being influence another so profoundly? She just couldn’t get a handle on Elena. And she’d never been able to get
under the skin of another human being like that. At least, not that she knew of.

They arrived at the imposing black wrought-iron gates, which were closed but not locked. The gates said “Oppenheimer Beach,” but many people referred to it as Gibney. The beach below the steep driveway, which lay beyond the gates, was named for the two families who had settled there. No matter which name you called it, it was Sabrina’s favorite bit of coastline, the spot where she and Girlfriend swam to each night from the next beach, Hawksnest.

Early beach goers took the four parking spaces located right outside the gates, but since she and Henry were actually guests of one of the people renting a Gibney villa, they used the private driveway that ran down to the cottages.

They parked to the right of a rental jeep with the name of a St. Thomas car rental company on it. Sabrina and Henry always recommended that their villa guests stick to car rental agencies located on St. John to avoid the need to take the car ferry and also to avoid the complications that could occur if the vehicle needed repairs.

“Jerk. He doesn’t even know where to rent a jeep from.” Henry slid out of the Ten Villas van.

“Well, how would he if someone didn’t tell him?” Sabrina asked. She thought that Henry should maybe go a little easy on David, especially since they were there to ask him for a big favor.

They walked up the driveway past the “Garden Cottage” and the “Orchid House,” which separated it from
the “Beach Cottage” where David was staying. David had opted for one of the few accommodations on island where you could roll out of bed and land directly on white sand, within a few steps of warm turquoise water. Sabrina had always thought it was the perfect spot for a honeymoon, not that she was ever going to get another one. She and Ben had spent theirs in Detroit during the playoffs one year when the Red Sox had managed to exceed everyone’s expectations in Boston and Ben had been covering the game.

Henry stopped in his tracks and pointed toward a chaise on the beach where a man in a Boston Red Sox cap, swim trunks, and sunglasses sat reading a very thick book. They would be approaching David from the rear, surprising him. Sabrina would take her cues from Henry. Even though they were there to ask for help protecting their business, Henry deserved the courtesy of choosing how.

“Good morning, David,” Henry called out, reminding Sabrina a little of Robin Williams’s titular greeting in
Good Morning, Vietnam
.

David swung his feet quickly off the chaise and stood up, dropping
The Goldfinch
onto the sand. Sabrina bent over to pick it up, grateful for a few seconds of relief when her eyes did not have to bear witness to this awkward moment.

“Henry, and this must be—”

“Sabrina Salter, David. So nice to finally meet you.” Sabrina used her best manners, the ones Henry exemplified, as she handed David the book and then her hand, which David shook. She was surprised to see that David
was completely bald, which made his deep-green eyes pop. He was taller than she was, making him much taller than Henry, whom she towered over.

“Please, come up on the porch. Can I get you coffee, maybe a beer, or is it too early?” David asked, clearly rattled by their surprise appearance. Sabrina felt a little sorry for him, but then remembered what a prick he’d been to Henry.

“Never too early for a beer on an island, right, Sabrina?” Henry said.

“The breakfast of champions.” Sabrina followed Henry as David led them through the white-picket gate and up the stairs to the front porch, gesturing toward chairs for them to sit in.

“I’d love a cold water. I have a pretty gruesome day at work ahead and think I’d better leave alcohol out of it, at least until it’s over,” Sabrina said.

“I’ve heard about the death of the bride. It’s all over the news.” David glanced over at Henry.

“Shit.” Sabrina sunk into an Adirondack chair.

“What are they saying?” Henry slumped into the chair next to Sabrina.

“That she drowned the night before her wedding to a big-shot businessman and that they don’t know if it’s suicide or an accident.” David cleared his throat and edged toward the kitchen. “Let me grab those waters.”

“Henry, we need to ask David fast if he’ll help. Before this gets worse and the media finds out that Elena was
actually murdered,” Sabrina said quietly, leaning over toward Henry so David wouldn’t hear.

“I get it.”

David returned with three bottles of water and three glasses.

“You can skip the glasses. We really can’t stay long. As much as it’s killing me, I’m really here to ask a favor, David.” Henry paused, Sabrina assumed, waiting to see how David was reacting to his abrupt revelation.

“Okay, what can I do for you?” David asked evenly, handing them each a bottle of water, then sitting on a stool opposite the Adirondack chairs.

Sabrina decided to jump in at this point, since David seemed willing to listen and Henry had already done the hard part. She quickly summarized what had taken place the day and night before and how they’d come to realize it was impossible to make sense of Elena’s murder without knowing more about her history, which involved growing up in San Juan.

“Neil Perry, who used to practice law in California, is willing to go and dig up whatever facts he can from local legal records, but the only way to get to San Juan and back fast is to fly. Of course, you know there’s no airport on St. John. The commercial flights out of St. Thomas wouldn’t give him enough time in Puerto Rico before having to return to his business here. He would’ve asked the one guy on St. John who has his own seaplane to fly him over, but he was killed in a car accident the same night
Elena died. No connection, just an unfortunate coincidence, but what we’re left with is—” Sabrina stopped to catch her breath, realizing just how ridiculous and pitiful at the same time the whole story was sounding. Henry must have sensed this and came to her rescue.

“What we’re left with, David, is a seaplane without a pilot. And what Sabrina is so kindly omitting from the story is that on top of all of everything else, this is all my fault. I was bullheaded about adding this over-the-top villa to our cadre of rental homes, refusing to listen to the very good reasons she was against it. Now the local police want to use Elena’s murder at one of our villas, after another death a few months ago also connected to our business, as mounting evidence that we are incapable, negligent at protecting the public, and should not have a real estate license allowing us to rent to the public. They want to shut us down.”

Sabrina was shocked that Henry had been willing to fall on his sword for her in front of David, an act that must feel humiliating. It was far greater than any apology he might ever offer her. She watched as Henry and David locked eyes with one another without exchanging words.

“You want me to fly Neil Perry to San Juan. When?” David asked, turning to Sabrina.

“First thing tomorrow. Will you do it?”

“Of course. I will do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes,” David said, but this time he was talking to Henry.