“There’s nothing wrong with building parking garages, Sean. People need places to park their cars, right, Jack?” Paul said, emptying his tumbler and heading over to the bar to help himself to a refill.
“Yes, we’ve made a damn good living building garages. But Elena did bring some fresh thinking to the company, including recognizing the tax advantages of moving our headquarters from San Francisco to St. Thomas,” Jack said.
“She was brilliant. She went to Babson undergraduate and Harvard Business School for her MBA. Here I was, barely able to get out of Golden Gate University with an undergraduate degree. I couldn’t believe she was interested in me. We were so lucky when she decided to join the company,” Sean said. Sabrina took his empty glass with hers and headed to the bar for refills.
“I think she was the lucky one,” Heather said. “You’re smart, adorable, and totally charming, baby brother. No, Elena was getting herself a good deal between you as a husband and becoming a permanent part of the company.”
“Those are really great schools she attended. Babson and Harvard Business. I’m from Boston originally, and I know you don’t get better than that. I couldn’t help but hear she came from a poor childhood in Puerto Rico. She must have gotten good scholarships,” Sabrina said, marveling that she was actually getting information. She needed to find out as much as possible about Elena so this story would be over before it ever got out and hot.
“She did. She grew up in the Louis Llorens Torres caserio, the absolute worst project in Puerto Rico. When she was a teenager, Elena’s family died in an explosion set off by some drug lords after a deal with someone in her building went sour. The only reason she escaped was that she was staying with a classmate in another part of the caserio doing a school project. She said that if she hadn’t been orphaned in that fire, she never would have gotten the scholarship to a private girls’ academy, which ended up being her ticket to Babson and beyond,” Sean said, accepting his refilled glass back from Sabrina.
“Maybe we can establish a scholarship fund in her memory, dear,” Kate said softly.
“Of course we can. That would be a lovely tribute,” Jack said, in an obvious effort to comfort his grieving son.
Sean stood and rushed over to the French doors, which overlooked the tropical shade garden at the front of the house. He pulled open the glass doors, letting the fragrance from the jasmine and gardenia plants rush in.
“But I don’t want to start a scholarship fund. I want to be standing in this sunset at Villa Nirvana marrying Elena. I don’t want her to be dead. I don’t ever want to see another sunset without her,” Sean said, bending over in a wail that Sabrina felt in her chest.
Kate and Jack rushed to Sean, each taking one of his arms.
“Let me show you a room where Sean can lie down and get some rest,” Sabrina said, rising to lead them off to the bedroom closest to the great room. The sound of a sobbing man suffering a permanent sunset filled her ears and heart as the real sun sank below the horizon.
Chapter Thirteen
Henry cursed under his breath when he saw that he and Gavin had drawn a lime-green safari cab named “Mr. Terrific,” driven by the most obnoxious cab driver on island, which was quite a distinction given the tight competition. Cutthroat, aggressive, and rude, cab drivers seemed to learn their manners from tourists and then some.
“Good afternoon,” Henry greeted Mr. Terrific with the customary greeting on island. “Hi” and even “hello” were not considered proper. “Good morning,” “good afternoon,” “good day,” and “good evening” were what worked on St. John. Mr. Terrific didn’t bother to respond. Gavin skipped the greeting part all together.
Two miles later, Henry emerged from the back of the cab at Trade Wind Estates.
“Thank you,” Henry said, stepping down from the open-air seat.
“That will be fifteen dollars,” Mr. Terrific said.
“We already paid you in advance,” Henry started toward the gate to his condo community.
“That was for the island tour. This was a transport.” Mr. Terrific pointed his index finger at Henry.
“The island tour would have taken you two hours. All you did was drive us two miles for five minutes.” Henry looked over at Gavin, who had a smirk on his face. Henry couldn’t tell who Gavin was rooting for.
Then Mr. Terrific started with the f-bombs for which he was famous. The litany continued growing louder and louder even as Henry peeled money from his wallet before the neighbors came out and he got thrown out of his place by the condo association.
Mr. Terrific peeled out of the condo entrance while uttering a new string of expletives.
“Don’t you have somewhere else I can stay? It’s going to be awfully crowded there with the girls and Lisa,” Gavin said as Henry hit the code to open the gate to his complex on Gifft Hill.
“No, we’re full. And so are the Westin and Caneel Bay, mostly because of the wedding. We’re lucky to have Bella Vista for the rest of the family. Besides, won’t your family want you with them during such a difficult time? Elena’s death has to be a shock for everyone.” Henry led Gavin up a slight hill to his unit, where the Ten Villa van awaited them. He hadn’t liked Gavin from the first time he met him, when Gavin arrived by helicopter two days before at Villa Nirvana. Seeing the bruises on Lisa’s arms this morning didn’t improve Henry’s opinion of him.
“Our bags are in the rear,” Gavin had told him, ignoring Henry’s “Welcome to St. John” greeting. Gavin had gotten off the helicopter without bothering to assist Lisa or his three little girls.
“They’ll be fine. The kids barely knew her. Lisa thought she was cold. My mother only met her once. I’m the only one who really knew Elena.”
Henry let Gavin into the van, starting the ignition and getting the air conditioning going. The late afternoon sun was relentless, and Gavin was definitely the kind of guy who didn’t like to sweat.
“So how well did you know Elena? Did you work with her at the company?”
“I’m the one who hired her. I knew she had what the company needed the moment I met her,” Gavin said. Henry was surprised to detect a note of sadness in his voice, although Gavin was probably mourning not Elena but her value to the business.
“Where did you find her?”
“We met at a business conference about exploring borders for companies looking to expand. She had some great ideas. Actually, in many ways, they were quite simple, so much so that they were easy to overlook,” Gavin said, as if off in another world. The incongruity between Gavin’s callous initial reaction to Elena’s death and now his near reverence for her business acumen confused Henry. The guy was odd, at best.
“So how is it your mother came to St. John if she wasn’t invited to the wedding?” Henry asked, knowing it was a question Gavin probably wouldn’t like, but not really caring much about what he thought at this point.
Gavin surprised him by chuckling.
“One thing I do know, Henry, is this—I have no idea why my mother does anything.”
They pulled into the Westin complex, stopping at the gatehouse to find out where Anneka’s unit was. Henry stopped at the curb outside of the condo and got out of the van to properly dispose of his human cargo. Gavin was about his age, Henry figured, but they had absolutely nothing in common, and he had no desire to spend more than another second with the man.
“There you go, Gavin. We’ll be in touch about what happens next and when you can get your stuff out of Nirvana,” Henry said, opening Gavin’s door.
Gavin stepped out and reached over the door to pluck a piece of paper from under the van’s windshield wiper.
“Looks like you got yourself a ticket somewhere, Henry,” Gavin said, giving him a smug smile and handing him a scrap of yellow paper.
Henry stepped back into the van, wondering what he’d done to earn the ticket, especially one he hadn’t noticed. He and Sabrina had been careful not to get tickets because they were very expensive on island and almost impo
ssible to appeal in Superior Court, but they had gotten a few unavoidable ones that cost them about seventy-five dollars each. This one didn’t look anything like the others he’d gotten. Henry unfolded the ticket to see it wasn’t a ticket at all.
On island. Staying at the front cottage at Gibney Beach Villas while I look for long-term housing. Would love some company. Have so much to tell you. Love, David
Chapter Fourteen
Sabrina was looking at the mountainous trays of food scattered across the blue-and-white Scandinavian tiled kitchen counters, wondering what the hell she was going to do with them, when she heard the sound of the van. A little fuzzy from a couple of vodkas, she could sure use some help from Henry, although the sounds of Sean sobbing had pretty much sobered her up.
“Holy crap, what are we supposed to do with all this food?” Henry asked, flinging the two lost-and-found bags onto the floor.
“I was hoping you would know.”
“You’re the one who grew up in a diner. But I suppose we can figure it out. How’s it going here?” Henry asked.
Sabrina filled him in, explaining that Sean had a total meltdown at sunset and that he and the rest of the family were resting until she let them know dinner was ready.
“How did it go with Gavin?” Sabrina asked.
“All right. The guy’s not my favorite Keating, shall we say. He didn’t seem overly upset about Elena’s murder, but got kind of maudlin when he talked about her and the business. Weird,” Henry said, lifting covers off of dishes to see what had been delivered. “I think he’s been roughing up Lisa. I saw bruises on her arms this morning.”
“Oh, that’s not good.” Sabrina thought there was already enough drama in the Keating family without adding domestic violence to the mix.
“I say we just serve half the food and put the rest in the refrigerator for another meal. Who knows how long the police will keep Villa Nirvana off limits.”
“That won’t work. Some of this stuff won’t keep well, but at least we don’t have to worry about reheating anything. I guess Elena’s insistence on a cold menu ended up being a good idea after all.” Sabrina remembered reviewing the menu with her and Sean at a meeting with Zeus’s chef, Carlos Holmes. Chef Holmes had urged Elena to include at least one hot item, but Elena resisted.
“It will be warm at sunset,” Elena had proclaimed. “An elegant, cold meal will be perfect, and we won’t have to worry about timing things around food.” A proud Sean had beamed at her brilliance while Sabrina and Carlos had demurred.
Feta and watermelon salad. Beef carpaccio. Shrimp cocktail with avocado and grapefruit. Lobster tails with mango puree. Artisan rolls. Island-churned butter. Two cases of chilled Veuve Clicquot. It had turned out to be the perfect menu.
“Shall we serve them out by the pool or inside?” Henry asked, beginning to pull plates out of the kitchen cabinets.
“I’d say inside. Then we don’t need to worry about no-see-ums.” Sabrina often marveled how insects so tiny that they were almost invisible could cause vacationers such misery, arriving at dusk just in time for happy hour. By the next morning, people were itching bites that were ten times the size of the bug that got them.
“Bad enough we had the skinny-dippers here. Gave a little comic relief before it got really heavy,” she added. “I just hope they don’t come back. The Keatings need privacy. Sean is a mess. Everyone seems to be avoiding the suggestion that Elena may have been murdered. Why would someone kill her?”
“Other than because she refused to sign the prenup? I have no idea, except people didn’t seem to warm to her,” Henry said.
They set the table in the dining area overlooking the other tropical garden that bordered the front walkway. Moonlight had begun to filter through the trees and shrubs while a gentle breeze rustled through the leaves. Sabrina couldn’t help but think that it was a perfect Caribbean evening for a wedding.
Henry knocked on everyone’s doors, except Sean’s, to let them know dinner was being served.
Heather was the first to enter the kitchen.
“Would either of you know where I might find some aspirin? I never drink in the afternoon and now I remember why.” Heather rubbed her temples, groaning.
“Of course, sweetie. I have some in my backpa—oops, I don’t have my backpack. It’s at Nirvana. Maybe there’s some left in one of the medicine cabinets,” Henry said as Kate and Jack entered the kitchen.
“I’d love to get out of these clothes. Any idea when we can get some of our stuff from the villa?” Jack asked. Sabrina looked at him, dressed in a now-wrinkled silk shirt and linen pants, guessing this wasn’t a standard outfit for a guy in construction.
Henry and Sabrina dragged the two bags of lost and found out into the great room, where they found Paul sitting in a chair looking as if he’d just had a cool shower and put fresh clothes on. They explained that everything in the bags was clean.
“Oh, look. Fabulous!” Heather said, grabbing a shapeless, gaudy, loose-fitting sleeveless dress in an orange-and-green blossom print. The style wasn’t very different from the green-and-blue polka-dotted dress Heather was already wearing, except hers had two front pockets, which made it seem even more matronly.
Jack found a pair of Sloop Jones swim trunks, which were hand painted in a wild pattern of red, yellow, and green.
“Way to go, Jack. I don’t know how those got by me. Sloop’s a local artist and hand paints all his stuff. You just scored,” Henry said.
Sabrina winced, catching Paul shaking his head at Henry’s familiarity, but Jack just grinned as he reached in trying to find a T-shirt.
Kate found a skirt and tank top.
Henry handed out the toothbrushes and toothpaste that Ten Villas kept stocked. Paul accepted a fresh Izod shirt from Sabrina. It was beginning to feel a little like a party on Gilligan’s Island.
Sabrina suggested they all sit so she and Henry could serve them dinner. This time Paul surprised her.
“You and Henry have been working all day, first thinking you were throwing a wedding and then helping us after . . . after, well, you know. Please join us,” he said, taking a place at the head of the table, while Jack moved toward the opposite seat, like two chairmen of the board commencing a meeting.
“There’s cold champagne I could open, unless you think it inappropriate given the circumstances,” Sabrina said, hating how awkward she sounded. But how the hell was she supposed to know if it was bad taste or simply an act of kindness to offer champagne after someone was murdered? Really, she had read all the etiquette books ranging from Miss Manners to Emily Post in an effort to compensate for her own lack of experience, but none of them had prepared her for this. She supposed she had the breeding, given the substantial amount of wealth on her mother’s side of the family, but without someone to model manners and social grace, Sabrina had to educate herself on social skills.
“Yes, let’s open the champagne and eat and gather our strength for what lies ahead,” Kate said, taking a seat next to her husband.
Henry had inserted place settings for them. He sat next to Heather, while Sabrina sat next to Paul on one side with an empty chair reserved for Sean on the other, in case he woke up and decided to join them.
Henry began passing the serving dishes. The conversation dwindled as they ate their way through the wedding menu. Sabrina was impressed by how tasty the combination of salads and cold foods were, silently admiring Elena for being right in all her choices. She felt a little guilty for enjoying a meal that should have been part of the celebration of a marriage, not comfort after a death. But Kate was right. They had all been through an ordeal and needed to fortify themselves. And it wasn’t like they were eating the wedding cake, which sat on a shelf in the middle of the refrigerator at Villa Nirvana. Would the police appreciate the elegance of Elena’s wedding menu?
She heard the sound of a car engine, then saw lights shining into the garden from the driveway. Who would be coming to Bella Vista at this hour?
Henry rose from the table, leaving the dining room and walking toward the front door as Sabrina heard the loud knocks. After some low murmuring, Henry entered the dining room, followed by Detective Hodge and Sergeant Detree.
“I’ve come to ask several important questions. First, where are the other two Mr. Keatings? The brothers?”
Sabrina explained where Gavin was staying and that Sean was finally sleeping and should not be disturbed if at all possible.
“Well, if you can answer my questions, we can leave him be,” Hodge said, sounding more stern than kind.
“Go ahead and ask,” Paul said, leaning forward and staring directly at Hodge with an “I’ve had enough for one day” face.
Hodge opened the flap to an eight-by-eleven-inch envelope he had tucked under his arm and pulled out a piece of paper wrapped in what Sabrina affectionately called “document raincoats,” otherwise known as “sheet protectors.” Although she had grown up on the South Shore below Boston on a peninsula that seemed to fluctuate between cold dampness and hot humidity, she had never experienced moisture in the air like she had in the Virgin Islands. Everything got moldy. Shoes, bra straps, sheets, and even paper. Paper became limp and discolored in no time.
Detective Hodge held up the document but didn’t remove it from the sheet protector. Sabrina realized he was probably more concerned about fingerprints than moisture if this was evidence in the case. She strained to see what the document was, but Hodge seemed to be teasing them by not bringing it closer.
“There are two signatures on this document. One is above a line with ‘Elena Consuela Soto Rodriguez’ typed below. The other is a signature above a line typed ‘Witness.’ I need to know if anyone can confirm that the signature is actually that of Elena Consuela Soto Rodriguez. Of course, we’ll have forensics confirm it, but for now if you reasonably believe it is her signature, please indicate so,” Hodge said, sounding very formal.
Permanent Sunset Page 6