No Virgin Island (14 page)

Over a cup of French roast coffee, Henry set three goals for the day. First, he would call Elaine Kimball back and figure out what she had been babbling about on the telephone. Next, he would get back the laptops from Detective Janquar. Last, and most important, he would not think about David’s telephone call last night. Not for one fleeting second.

He’d been awakened early by the randy rooster who lived down the hill from him. No need for an alarm clock in his neighborhood or throughout most of St. John. Henry made it a practice to warn guests that roosters, pigs, goats, donkeys, deer, and mongoose roamed freely throughout St. John. That was part of its charm.

Henry decided he wouldn’t call Sabrina until he had something coherent to say about the Elaine Kimball situation. It had gotten so crazy over the past several days that he wasn’t sure if he’d even mentioned the weird telephone conversation he’d had with Elaine. Henry had gotten
very good at knowing which customers and owners were inclined to call when they were a little tipsy, but Elaine wasn’t one of them. He waited until 8:00 a.m. on the dot and made the call.

“Hi Elaine, Henry Whitman from Ten Villas calling again. Have you settled in after your trip?”

“We have, Henry. And as gorgeous as Hawaii was, I don’t know if I can wait for a whole year to come back to St. John. I wish we’d won the lottery instead of this contest so I could buy a villa on St. John. Not that we’re not grateful, of course. We are, Henry. I hope you told Sabrina,” Elaine said, sounding buzzed with caffeine, which he hoped would bring clarity to her tale about the contest.

“Elaine, sweetie, let me be frank. Things here on the island have been a little crazy. I told you about the man who died at Villa Mascarpone. And it seems some funny stuff has been going on. Like that contest. Can you tell me a little more about it? Like who contacted you?”

“Clinton Taylor? Well, I only talked to the man twice. The first time I really didn’t believe what he had to say. But when he sent the tickets and itinerary, I thought maybe this is legit. John said I should call you or Sabrina, but when I mentioned it to Clinton, he said he’d been hired by you guys to run the contest, that it’s what he does for a living. He said these kinds of contests, where someone gets the dream trip of a lifetime, pay for themselves, that people like you use them for advertising. And that all we had to do was allow our names and photos to be used in some ads
for Ten Villas in which we say, ‘I’d rather be in St. John.’ Which is true, of course.”

“I see,” said Henry, but he didn’t. “Did this guy tell you the value of the vacation?”

“Not exactly, but he mentioned that the villas were five grand a week and we flew first class, so you can kind of figure it out. Why are you asking me this stuff, Henry? It was your contest. Didn’t your business have to pay for all of this and for Mr. Taylor?”

“Actually, Elaine, we didn’t. That’s the problem. I don’t know anyone named Clinton Taylor, and while Sabrina and I are pleased with how Ten Villas is doing, we’re not in a position to be giving away twenty-five-thousand-dollar vacations, even for advertising purposes.” Henry said, figuring there really was no reason not to just tell her the truth, which was becoming a rare commodity on St. John. Then he remembered something Elaine had said earlier.

“How did you know that Villa Mascarpone would be rented for the month when you normally are there?” he asked.

“Mr. Taylor told me. Henry, this is sounding very creepy to me. Do you think I should do something?”

“Give me ’til tomorrow to see if I can figure this out, Elaine. I know you’re trying to do what’s right, but there are enough fingers down here wagging in different directions to make quite a commotion. Let’s not get you in the thick of it, if it can be avoided,” Henry said, genuinely feeling bad that Elaine was being drawn into a mess.

“Thanks, Henry. You’ll keep me posted?”

“That I will,” Henry said, signing off, wondering why someone would pay twenty-five grand to send the Kimballs to Hawaii and give Ten Villas the credit for doing it. And why did these names sound like they belonged on Mount Rushmore? Clinton Taylor. Carter Johnson. All mixed and matched names of former presidents. He was pretty sure Carter Johnson and Clinton Taylor were the same guy and no president.

The next morning, Sabrina found Kelly sprawled all over the sofa, sheets draping over her as though she were a Greek goddess with honey red hair. Sabrina wondered if she was ever that beautiful. And if she had been, had anyone appreciated it? She certainly hadn’t. Why do women never know their own beauty until it is lost and only left to regret?

They’d had a nice chat about St. John, college, and New England and had stayed clear of the topic of men. Sabrina wasn’t in a hurry to learn more about Kelly’s relationship with Seth and she definitely didn’t want to field questions about the one she didn’t have with Neil.

Sabrina brewed coffee and got into her shower, even though it was raining and the shower had no roof.

She offered Kelly use of the shower, but Kelly declined, saying she had just showered before she went out the evening before.

Mara arrived with Kelly’s clean school uniform—which all students in the Virgin Islands wore, whether
in private or public school—just as Neil called to tell Sabrina there were some new developments in the case that he couldn’t discuss on the telephone. She told him she’d hop a ride with Mara, who was bringing Kelly to the ferry.

“How was the slumber party, Salty? I bet you and Kelly had a pretty nice time,” Neil said.

“Actually, we did. Remind me to tell you something,” she said, not wanting to forget to let Neil know that Rory Eagan had a key to Villa Mascarpone. Sabrina wondered if the police knew, but she doubted it. She knew the murder had taken place outside of the house, but still, having access to a home where a murder occurred had to count for something, didn’t it?

Or did it? So far, Sabrina knew so many bits and pieces, which individually meant nothing. But, she wondered, could those chips create a mosaic picture that made sense of all the parts?

The difference in Kelly’s appearance on the porch the evening before and this morning in the backseat of Mara’s car was remarkable. Today she looked like the schoolgirl she was. The night before, she’d looked like a young woman in love. Sabrina was glad, not for the first time in her life, that motherhood had passed her by. She didn’t think she was equipped for the job.

Kelly thanked Sabrina for her hospitality before she got out of the car and onto the ferry, a matter Mara did not let go to chance, watching her board and remaining at the
dock until the ferry sailed. They drove over to the back of Bar None and chatted before Sabrina went to find Neil.

“Funny, I never get to come to this place,” Mara said. “I guess it might get a little crowded if I did.” She gave Sabrina a knowing smile. Sabrina grinned back. What else was she to do?

“At least you don’t have to have a container blockading your home from the rest of the world,” Sabrina said, wanting to commiserate with her.

“No, but if you need me to build you a fortress, just give me a jingle. It’s what I do best.”

They laughed an easy laugh between two women whose lives just didn’t seem to stay on track.

“Thanks for inviting Kelly to stay last night. It was better she wasn’t home. After Rory and Seth nearly came to blows, I don’t think Kelly could have handled much more. Especially when Lee came to interview us. Talk about a dark and stormy night.”

“Who’s Lee?”

“Janquar. Leon Janquar. The police detective. He wanted to interview everyone who lived up on the hill to see if we remembered seeing anything or anybody. Rory had been avoiding it. I’ve known Lee for years. He’s a big teddy bear under all that serious police business.”

Teddy Bear? Janquar? In the same sentence? That didn’t work for Sabrina. But she kept her opinion of the detective to herself, wanting to learn more.

“How did it go?”

“Oh, Rory had a few drinks in him, so he got belligerent and tested Lee’s patience. Neither of us have alibis for that morning. I mean, I was around Cruz Bay doing errands and at some building sites, but not in one spot the entire time. And Rory, well, he sleeps pretty late and then he goes on the computer, so he can’t really back up where he was. Not that we’re suspects, but I guess it’s helpful if the police can pin down where people were and what they remembered seeing,” Mara said, turning the air conditioner up.

“Did either of you see anything? They are all over me because I found the body,” Sabrina said, not pulling any punches. She needed help and knew it.

“I didn’t. Rory only saw you and the Bankses after the police got there when he was leaving to come here—to town, I mean. He mentioned seeing you at Villa Mascarpone one afternoon but couldn’t put a date on it. It was probably the afternoon the guy arrived,” Mara said, then added, “Oh, I almost forgot. Did the people in Villa Mascarpone get in touch with you or Henry? The woman with the strawberry blonde hair came over last night, right in the middle of Kelly’s snit, to see if we were having power surges. I told her we weren’t. What’s with them wanting to stay in a house where someone’s just been murdered, anyway?”

Yes, what was with that? Sabrina decided that she needed to get a grasp on the Leonards, especially since they had at least spoken to Carter Johnson on the telephone while he was a guest. But here was her opening about the key.

“You know, Mara, I appreciate you being the contact guests in Villa Mascarpone can reach out to if there’s a problem, but I can understand it if it’s gotten a bit much,” she said.

“No, no, Sabrina, it’s nothing. It’s what we do here on an island, help each other. You know that. Look what you did for Kelly last night. And I’ve always had a key to Villa Mascarpone, even before you and Henry managed it. I used to have one to the Banks’s house before they bought it, when it was a rental. I probably still do,” Mara said, her words slowing as she spoke them. She looked directly at Sabrina.

“You know, don’t you?” Mara asked. “You know about Rory’s ‘other house.’”

“Yes, but you mustn’t blame Kelly.”

“Kelly? She’s the last person I’d blame. I blame me. I’m the one responsible here. I shouldn’t have let it go on, but . . .” Mara’s voice trailed off.

“It gets pretty bad, I guess,” Sabrina said.

“You know, if I can give Rory credit for anything, it’s for how he knew to get the kids away from Massachusetts after their mother killed herself, to let them start fresh in what he saw as a perfect place to raise kids. But he’s never given up the anger he had for Dee, and she’s been dead how many years? He drinks, gets mean, and it’s just too much. I tell him he has to leave until he sobers up. At some point, he found the keys to Villa Mascarpone and decided it would be his home away from home when there were
no guests there. I figured it out right away when he would show up the next day on foot, his car still in the garage. But I let it go.”

“I see,” Sabrina said, because she did. She’d seen enough of Rory Eagan to understand why Mara’s relief could let her ignore what he was doing.

“I’m sorry, really, I am. I know it was deceptive. I always went over and cleaned up after him when he stayed there, but I know that doesn’t make it right. I just needed to get him away from the kids, especially Kelly. Once she began looking like a young woman, Rory started to get angry with her, more than just annoyed. I got scared.”

“Do the police know about the key, Mara?”

“No, I didn’t tell them. Lee was asking a lot of questions about Evan Banks. I got the impression that he was concerned Evan’s dementia, or whatever he has, might have caught up with him.”

“I think Janquar has to know, Mara,” Sabrina said firmly, refusing to address him as either Detective or Lee. He wasn’t her buddy and she wasn’t so sure how great a detective he was if he hadn’t found out who else had a key to Villa Mascarpone.

“You’re right. I’ll go see Lee personally and let him know. Why don’t you come with me, Sabrina? I know you and Lee haven’t been on good terms ever since you had a villa broken into, and now this murder at Villa Mascarpone doesn’t seem to be helping. Look, I’ll be honest, Sabrina. I know the cops resented you coming to live
here after you were acquitted. I think some of them think you got away with, well, murder,” Mara said. “Come with me when I talk to Janquar and I can show him you are my friend.”

Sabrina liked the sound of that much better than the getting away with murder part. She appreciated Mara’s offer to demonstrate to Janquar that she was one of them now.

“I can’t go until later this afternoon. I have to meet with Neil and Henry in a few minutes and then Henry and I have three houses to prepare for guests,” Sabrina said.

“That works for me. I’m heading over to the East End to meet with some people who want to build a house. A six-thousand-square-foot house. That would keep me busy and pay for some college tuition, now, wouldn’t it?” Mara said.

The two women agreed to meet mid-afternoon.

As Sabrina got out of the jeep, Mara asked, “How can a man alone on a vacation on an island generally considered safe get murdered and screw up the lives of strangers?”

Sabrina slipped under the straw curtain door to Neil’s office, feeling more relaxed after her conversation with Mara. She was ready to tackle the three villas that needed cleaning right after the meeting. It would feel good to be busy.

“Hey, Salty. You’re looking no worse for the wear this morning,” Neil said, clearing his throat. “Sit down and listen to this.”

Neil sat opposite Henry, a thermal carafe of coffee sitting between them. Sabrina slid next to Henry, who sipped a glass of tomato juice with a slice of lemon while he spilled the story about Elaine Kimball.

“So you’re telling me someone paid about twenty-five grand for a vacation in Hawaii and gave Ten Villas credit for it? Why would someone do that? Do you guys have that kind of money? Have you got a fairy godmother?”

Henry shrugged his shoulders.

“I have no benefactors. I had to cash in my retirement from the airline and combine it with the settlement
I got to buy my condo and my share of the business with Sabrina. I have a little nest egg left, but not the kind of money to finance some crazy advertising scheme,” Henry said, sounding more serious.

“The same goes for me. Hey, whatever happened to the INN crew? Are they still stuck at Gibney?” Sabrina asked, helping herself to a mug of coffee and offering to refill Neil’s, as if this were her tea party.

Neil started to laugh, Henry joining him.

“What? Let me in on the joke. I could use a laugh,” Sabrina said.

“Well, those reporters finally did reach Fred Sinkhole here at the bar, just as we were closing. Fred decided they were trespassing, that they had interfered with use of public property on the island, so he called up someone in the Department of Public Works and made them go and tow the news van. It’s impounded at DPW until INN pays a big fat fine and the paperwork to release it is processed. You do know how long that takes on an island, don’t you, Salty?” Neil asked, arching his eyebrows.

“But Neil heard they’ve rented a jeep, so you still have to have your eyes wide open.”

“What did you want to tell me that you couldn’t over the telephone?” Sabrina asked Neil.

“I stopped by the police station this morning to get the items taken from your house. It was mostly lists of your guests and which houses they stay in. Henry was already there, retrieving your laptops. They showed up at his condo
with a search warrant right after I took you and Girlfriend for your swim. Found diddlysquat, but whatever. They did what cops do. Look at the most logical suspects. But now they know who Carter Johnson was and where he lived, so the possibilities are wide open,” Neil said with a small smile at the corners of his mouth. Sabrina could see Neil enjoyed delivering a little good news, even in small doses. “His real name is Joel Levin. He owns a private investigation firm in New York City called Presidential Investigations Inc. He’s a one-man shop, but according to Janquar, he’s highly respected and discreet. He specializes in finding people who have disappeared. He lived in New Jersey. No wife, but two exes. Let’s keep this to ourselves ’til Janquar goes public with this information,” Neil said.

“Well, I guess that proves my gaydar is way off,” Henry said, shrinking down a little in the bench.

“How did they find this out?” Sabrina asked.

“Fingerprints. To get a PI license, you have to be fingerprinted. Levin’s prints came up when they were run through the national registry. Now Lee’s got to work through the police in New York and New Jersey to come up with more background on Levin to see if there’s anything to suggest who might want to kill him,” Neil said.

“I thought he was a photographer. All of those pictures sitting on the dining room table,” Henry said.

“Investigators take photos. Just like journalists. So was he here on an assignment or was he on a vacation?”
Sabrina asked, taking note that now Neil was referring to Janquar as Lee, which was a little unsettling.

“We don’t know. Neither do the police,” Neil said.

“You have to wonder,” said Henry. “What next?”

“How about the fact that Mara and Rory have been using the spare key to access Villa Mascarpone?” Sabrina said. Henry looked at Neil, who was shaking his head.

“And I thought I’d moved to paradise and left all of my worries behind,” Neil said.