Temptation Island

by Rachel Woods

  “If the person who killed Henri has the 0007 phone,” I said, shaking my head, “then they’re not going to be stupid enough to answer it.”

  “Well, in other news,” Icarus said. “Tavie told me that Nick gave a statement to the cops about Henri’s alliance and Sam and Stazia’s involvement in the blackmail scheme. Apparently, Detective François asked him to come down the station.”

  “Guess maybe the meeting with the detective wasn’t a waste of time, after all,” I said.

  Nodding, Icarus said, “So, because of Nick’s statement, the cops questioned Sam Collins, but he refused to talk without a lawyer. Tavie said they didn’t have any evidence against him, so they couldn’t keep him.”

  “Not surprised,” I said, trying to fight my disappointment. “There’s just no proof that Sam killed Henri.”

  “There’s proof,” Icarus insisted. “And we’re going to find it.”

  “Yeah,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck, not as convinced as Icarus sounded.

  “Well, not that this is really a good thing,” he started, his wry smile suggesting a subject change. “But, I was put on probation,” he said.

  “Why? What did you do?”

  “I entered into an improper relationship with one of the hotel guests,” he said. “Which is a direct violation of the employee rules.”

  “An improper relationship with me, you mean,” I said, upset for him, although I realized we shouldn’t have been so brazen and cavalier with our affections. “How did the hotel management find out about us?”

  “Security footage,” he said and then shrugged. “Employee gossip.”

  “So we can’t see each other anymore?”

  “Not at the Heliconia,” he said. “But, you could visit me at my place.”

  Wary, I stared at him. “At your place?”

  “Only if you want to,” he was quick to say. “They can’t stop you from going wherever you want to go on the island.”

  That was true, but the idea of hooking up with Icarus at his house worried me. I might be committing to something I wasn’t ready to commit to, not just yet, maybe something I couldn’t realistically commit to. Maybe I was just overthinking things. Icarus’s house was a more convenient place to hook up, where we wouldn’t be spied upon and gossiped about.

  “So, technically, you really shouldn’t be here right now, should you?” I asked, giving in to the sudden onset of friskiness I felt, although to call it sudden would be dishonest. I was always horny whenever I was around Icarus. Standing, I walked around the coffee table, to the divan where he sat, and settled down on his lap.

  “Technically, no,” he said, wrapping an arm around my waist. “After I leave, I probably shouldn’t come back here, since they’re watching me.”

  “Well, then,” I said, winding my arms around his neck and lowering my head to kiss him. “I think we should make the most of your last day in my hotel suite.”

  DAY SIXTEEN

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “One of Stazia’s cousins texted me this morning and told me that he’d seen her,” Icarus said. “So, I went over to her place. But, when I got there, it looked like she’d left in a hurry and ran out the back door. So, I decided to look around and I found this …”

  Excited, and yet apprehensive, I waited, perched on the edge of the chair in front of Octavia’s desk, as Icarus stood and removed something from the front pocket of his jeans.

  Despite the hour, around ten a.m., the office was gloomy. Outside the wide picture window behind Octavia’s desk, dark gray thunderclouds swirled across the sky and over the ocean, giving paradise a steely, almost dystopian pallor.

  Icarus placed the object on the large desk calendar on Octavia’s desk.

  Frowning, Octavia said, “A cell phone?”

  “Think it’s a burner,” Icarus said, taking his seat.

  Staring at the cell phone, I couldn’t help but notice the date. I was nearing the end of my escape to paradise, but I wasn’t going to be leaving unless the murder charge against me was dropped.

  “It was dead,” Icarus said. “But, I recognized the model and I bought a charger for it.”

  “Is it the 0007 cell phone?” I asked, hopeful.

  Icarus shook his head. “Wish it was.”

  “How did you get into Stazia’s house?” Octavia grabbed a pen from a coffee mug next to her computer.

  “When she didn’t open the front door,” he said. “I went around to the backyard. The back door was open and so I went inside.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” I scolded. “Could have been dangerous. Stazia was in Henri’s alliance. For all we know, she could be the killer and you just walked into her house, and—”

  “Wasn’t a big deal,” Icarus said, with a casual dismissiveness, as though he thought I was blowing things out of proportion. “In the Double-H, people sometimes leave the back door open because they’re going in and out. Wasn’t dangerous at all.”

  Scribbling furiously on her legal pad, Octavia said, “Okay, you find this phone at Stazia’s, and you charge it up. Did you look at the call log, or—”

  “There was no activity on the call log,” Icarus said. “But, there were lots of text messages.”

  “Messages from Stazia?” Octavia asked, grabbing the phone and pushing buttons on its keypad.

  “I don’t think so,” Icarus said. “Don’t think the phone belong to Stazia. I think it was Sam Collins’ phone.”

  “Why do you think it was Sam’s phone?” I asked.

  “The text messages I saw were between Sam and Henri,” Icarus said, answering my question.

  “How do you know it wasn’t Henri’s burner?” Octavia asked.

  “Well, I guess I don’t,” Icarus admitted.

  “So, right now all we know for sure is that it’s a burner with text messages between Sam Collins and Henri Monteils,” Octavia said, placing the phone on her desk. “And you found it at Stazia’s.”

  “So, maybe Stazia took the burner from Henri,” I speculated. “Or, maybe she took the burner from Sam.”

  “Where exactly did you find the burner, Ish?” Octavia asked, leaning back in her chair. “I mean, where in the house?”

  “It was under the table in the kitchen,” Icarus said. “Reason I looked is because one of the chairs was turned over on the floor, which I thought was strange. When I picked the chair up, I saw the phone.”

  “Earlier, you said it seemed like Stazia had left the house in a hurry,” Octavia leaned forward, placing her elbows on the desk. “Was that because you saw the overturned chair?”

  “Because of that,” he said. “And because her bedroom was a mess. The dresser drawers were pulled out and there were clothes all on the floor. Now that I think about it, I guess it seemed like maybe she’d been looking for something.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t Stazia who’d been looking for something,” I said, wary. Icarus’s description of Stazia’s bedroom made me think the place had been tossed. “Maybe somebody was in her house searching for something.”

  “Maybe Sam Collins,” Octavia suggested, and then tapped the pen against her bottom lip. “Maybe Sam went to Stazia’s house to look for something, and he either found it, or he didn’t, and when he left, maybe he accidentally dropped the burner phone.”

  Icarus nodded. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Okay, let’s focus on what we do know,” Octavia said. “I’m going to have my assistant print out the text messages, but give us the gist, Ish.”

  Exhaling, Icarus said, “All of them were basically Sam threatening Henri.”

  “What?” My heart nearly leaped out of my mouth.

  “Sam threatening Henri how?” Octavia asked.

  “Sam texted things like, ‘henri, don’t f with me’,” Icarus said. “And actually threatening to kill Henri, like one text said, ‘don’t play with me, I will fuck you up, they won’t find your body’.”

  “We need to show the messages on this burner to the police,�
�� I said. “They prove that I didn’t kill Henri.”

  “Not so fast,” Octavia cautioned, holding up a hand.

  “What do you mean, not so fast?” Icarus demanded. “We’re not moving fast enough. We should already be at the police station.”

  “First of all, we’re talking about text messages on a burner phone,” Octavia said. “There is no way to definitively trace the owner of that phone or who bought it. Second, I’m sure we wouldn’t be able to prove that the ‘Sam’ who sent threatening texts to ‘Henri’ is actually Sam Collins. And third, Ish, not that I don’t trust you, but we only have your word that you found that phone under Stazia’s kitchen table, which the cops will point out.”

  I shifted in my chair, discomforted by how much Octavia’s third point reminded me of my own suspicions of Icarus. I was still trying to put those suspicions behind me, once and for all, but in the back of my mind, I still had doubts.

  “So what the hell are we supposed to do?” Icarus asked. “Sit around and let Sam get away with murder while Quinn goes to trial and maybe gets convicted of a crime she didn’t commit?”

  “No, that’s not what we do,” said Octavia, in her firm, yet logical tone. “We have to find proof that Sam Collins sent the threatening texts to Henri Monteils.”

  “Well, I might know how to do that,” Icarus said.

  From the determined set of his strong jaw, I had a feeling I knew what he was planning. “You’re going to talk to Sam, aren’t you?”

  “You think that’s a good idea, Ish?” Octavia asked, skeptical. “I doubt he’ll tell you the truth.”

  “I want to be there when you question him,” I insisted, eager to tag along because, honestly, I didn’t want Icarus to return with another story about how he hadn’t been able to get any information.

  “Fine.” He stood and held out his hand to me. “C’mon, we’re going to look for him now.”

  For what seemed like weeks, Icarus and I crisscrossed the island in his battered Jeep, relentless in our pursuit to find Sam Collins and question him about the threatening texts on the burner phone. The morning storm clouds eventually dissipated, rolling away to allow for another gorgeous day in paradise, but I hardly noticed as Icarus sped along roads that snaked around the mountainous terrain.

  Our first stop was Sam’s apartment, a crumbling duplex surrounded by overgrown hibiscus bushes, but Icarus’s persistent knocks on the pale green door had gone unanswered.

  “He may not be home,” Icarus said, climbing back into the Jeep, “but he’s somewhere. We’ll find him.”

  Icarus knew some of the places where Sam liked to hang out, and he vowed to check each place.

  Dizzy and disheartened, I clutched the armrest. Icarus grew increasingly frustrated as it seemed that time and again Sam wasn’t at any of his usual haunts. None of his family, friends, or acquaintances seemed to know where he was, but most agreed to give Icarus a call if they saw Sam. Others told him they would tell Sam that Icarus was looking for him.

  Finally, around four in the afternoon, Icarus made an abrupt, wild turn off the highway, eliciting a chorus of angry, trumpeting car horns. He steered the Jeep into the crushed oyster parking lot in front of a local bar on the east side. A faded and chipped hand-painted sign announced it as Nelly’s Bar. I doubted it was mentioned in any of the St. Mateo guidebooks. A sad, seedy place, it seemed to be constructed of various materials, corrugated siding, plywood, and even a few panels of unfinished sheetrock.

  Inside was worse. Dank and dim, the sun struggled to penetrate the layers of filmy grime on the windows, and it reeked of cheap booze, stringent aftershave, and strong piss.

  “There’s that son of a bitch,” Icarus said, staring toward the bar, which was about fifteen feet from the doorway. Sitting on a stool, with his back to us, was a large, muscular guy, casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. I couldn’t see what he was drinking, but he was alone.

  “Go sit over there,” Icarus said, pointing to a small, rectangular table in the far right corner.

  “I want to be with you when you talk to him,” I insisted, reminding him.

  “We’ll talk to him at the table.”

  Slightly irritated, I nodded and went to secure the table. Not that I had any competition for it. Besides Sam, the only other patrons were two guys at a table on the opposite side of the room. Despite the squalor of the place, the table was clean, and as I took a seat, I had no illusions of ordering a drink, but I really wanted one. I was tense, jittery, apprehensive, and not exactly holding out hope that this impromptu meeting with Sam would make a difference.

  Octavia was right to question the effectiveness of this idea about confronting Sam. Would he tell us the truth? Absolutely not. So why bother talking to Sam? Why not come up with some other way to prove Sam had sent the threatening texts to Henri?

  Glancing up, my heart thudded, and I almost changed my mind about that drink. Icarus and Sam were walking toward the table, both of them frowning, though Icarus seemed determined while Sam was disgruntled.

  Icarus and Sam took their seats. I stared at Sam. Months ago, when I was still the shrewd, hotshot litigator, I would always scrutinize the opposition’s witnesses, looking for flaws to exploit. As Icarus questioned Sam, I searched his face for signs of deceit, little telltale tics, and a shifty gaze, hoping for the discernment I used to depend on.

  Icarus wasted no time in confronting Sam about the threatening text messages. Not surprisingly, Sam denied all knowledge and involvement and quickly became belligerent and aggressive.

  “First you come to me with some bullshit about me blackmailing that bitch,” Sam said, cutting his eyes toward me, giving me a baleful glare before focusing on Icarus again. “Now, you want to accuse me of killing Henri, who was like my brother? You come to me with shit about me stabbing Henri, something I would never do!”

  “I think it’s something you absolutely did,” Icarus said, his voice rising, causing the bartender to glance over for a moment before going back to polishing glasses. “And it had to do with the blackmail money. You and Henri must have argued about it. Maybe he didn’t give you a big enough cut. Maybe he didn’t think you deserved any of the money.”

  “I told you I wasn’t helping Henri blackmail nobody.”

  “And I told you I don’t believe you,” Icarus said.

  “Fuck you,” Sam spat. “Anyway, I heard the cops already arrested who killed Henri. If it was me, I’d be in jail, but I’m not.”

  “You’re not in jail, yet,” Icarus told him. “But I’m gonna find proof that you killed Henri.”

  “Oh, what, you’re a cop, now?” Sam scoffed. “Look, if I killed Henri, why didn’t the cops arrest me when they told me to come to the station to answer questions? Because they couldn’t. They ain’t got no proof that I killed Henri, I don’t care what Nick told them. Nick lied to you and to the cops.”

  “Why would Nick lie and tell the cops that Stazia said you killed Henri?” Icarus asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sam said, dismissive. “What I do know is that Stazia didn’t tell Nick that I killed Henri. That bitch knows better than to do something stupid like that. She knows I’ll …”

  “You’ll what? Kill her?” Icarus demanded, leaning forward. “Like you killed Henri because he didn’t give you your cut of the blackmail money?”

  “You ain’t got no proof I killed Henri,” Sam said, laughing as he got up to leave, staring at me. “Don’t I know you?”

  “What?” I shook my head, trembling, praying that my worst fears were not about to come true. “No, I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Yeah, we met.” Sam leered, nodding as he gave me a smug smile. “You’re the one we were supposed to give it to by the waterfalls.”

  Peripherally, I knew Icarus was staring at me, and though I wasn’t looking directly at him, I could feel the questioning skepticism in his eyes.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Icarus demanded.

  “She knows what I’m
talking about,” Sam said. “She remembers. She was supposed to take all three of us—me, Henri, and Nick—but, the bitch got scared.”

  My body went rigid as anger and disgust paralyzed me. Glaring at him, I wanted to scratch his eyes out and rip his balls off.

  “You were acting like a dumb virgin that day, but I bet you a real nasty freak. I bet you would have loved being screwed by three guys at the same time,” he said, leering at me. “I would have enjoyed myself, too. I bet you got a real tight, wet—”

  Standing, Icarus said, “Get out of here before I—”

  With a scoff and a sting of curses, Sam gave us the finger, turned, and walked away.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Can we talk about the meeting with Sam now?” I asked, following Icarus into his little yellow house, baffled by his dour mood, which I’d picked up on as soon as we left Nelly’s Bar. Tense, fractured silence surrounded us as Icarus navigated the roads he knew so well. Icarus refused to be coaxed into a conversation, though there was much to discuss, and I gave up trying to talk to him. The silence followed us into the house, swirling around us like some polarizing specter.

  Mumbling something I couldn’t make out, Icarus walked out of the living room, into the kitchen, and through a door that appeared to open to the back of the house. Curious, and worried, I followed. In the backyard, Icarus sat on a large palm tree whose trunk had grown horizontally to the ground. With his back to me, I noticed his head was down and his shoulders seemed slumped.

  Cautiously, tentatively, I walked across the grass to the palm tree, stopping about five feet away, close enough for him to hear me when I said, “Icarus, what’s the matter?”

  For a moment, he didn’t move, and though I was discouraged, I was determined not to be ignored.

  “Icarus …”

  Squaring his shoulders, he stood, and faced me. “You ready to go back to the hotel?” he asked, his tone flat, slightly distracted.

  “Go back to the hotel?” Confused, shocked, I stared at him, trying to see past the lifelessness in his gaze, searching for some hint of his true feelings, which I knew he was suppressing. Why did he seem to be closing himself off from me?