No Virgin Island

by C. Michele Dorsey

  “Can we go to Henry’s and regroup?” she asked in a deliberately calm voice. She was not used to anything but an uberconfident Neil Perry and wasn’t sure he wanted anything more to do with her and Henry. Sabrina realized she desperately wanted him to help her, and because she did not convey a woman in jeopardy as well as Deirdre Leonard, she might just have to ask him not to bail on her.

  “Sure, Sabrina. Whatever you want,” he said, pulling out of the driveway past the Bennett/Eagan home. Sabrina waved to Evan Banks as he leaned over a thick hibiscus hedge with a pair of pruning shears.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Wait. Stop. Please,” Sabrina said.

  Neil applied the brake and looked over at her. His expression was so grim, Sabrina hesitated. But what she had to do would only take a moment. If she wanted to have friends, Sabrina knew she had to work at being one.

  “I just need to check on Lyla. She called me last night upset about the murder.”

  “Whatever you say, Salty,” Neil said, putting the jeep in reverse and pulling into the Banks’ driveway next to their navy jeep.

  “Do you want to come in with me?” she asked. Neil got out and came around to her side.

  Evan was so intent on trimming the hibiscus hedge to perfection that he seemed oblivious to them. Sabrina had observed him tending to it on many occasions when she was out at Villa Mascarpone. She wondered if it made him feel accomplished, doing something physical when his mental acuity was diminishing.

  Neil followed Sabrina in through the elaborate black wrought-iron gate, which divided the hedge into two sections. She knocked on the shiny coral door.

  Sabrina wasn’t prepared for the Lyla who opened the door. Lyla was what some people call “put together.” Her short silvery hair always seemed combed into a feathery style. She frequently wore khaki shorts or skirts with crisp white cotton blouses. Lyla and Evan were both tall and lean, a handsome couple. No matter where you ran into them, they looked like they had just stepped out of an L.L. Bean catalog.

  The Lyla who greeted them, unkempt, barefoot, and wrapped in a wrinkled blue paisley sarong, surprised Sabrina and made her feel embarrassed for both of them that she had decided to drop in and check on her unannounced.

  “Lyla, I’m sorry. I should have called. We just finished cleaning up Villa Mascarpone and I thought I would check and see how you’re doing.”

  “Oh, of course, dear. I know I look frightful, but please, please come in,” Lyla said, putting her hands through her hair and straightening her sarong all at once.

  Neil extended his hand to her.

  “Mrs. Banks, I’m Neil Perry. I’m sorry we didn’t meet properly yesterday under those unfortunate circumstances. I’m happy to meet you now.” Neil gave Lyla a big smile. Sabrina appreciated what Neil was doing to put Lyla at ease.

  Looking beyond Neil’s handsome face, Sabrina realized that Lyla wasn’t the only disheveled thing at the Banks’ house. Sabrina had been to Lyla’s house at least a dozen times since the couple moved from New York. Lyla’s house was always as put together as she was. The open floor plan was inviting and casual. You could sit at the kitchen island sipping coffee and see the pool to your right. It was surrounded by a small tropical garden filled with bottlebrush trees; bougainvillea in shades of peach, fuchsia, and pink; Plumbago; and lipstick plants, all meticulously cared for. If you looked to the left, you could see the Great Room, as Lyla called it. The room was filled with wicker chairs and sofas with deep cushions covered in warm tropical prints and loads of throw pillows in case you wanted to take a nap instead of looking out through a wall of French doors that overlooked Fish Bay with St. Thomas in the distance. There were two bedrooms at the back of the home. Lyla had told Sabrina a one-floor home made sense at their age.

  Today, the house looked like a burglary had taken place. There were cushions tossed here and there. Magazines and books Sabrina had seen stacked with almost mechanical precision were strewn all over the room. Sabrina could see into the kitchen that doors and cabinets were open everywhere.

  “Lyla, what’s happened? What’s wrong?” Sabrina asked, knowing it had to be awful.

  Lyla motioned for Neil and Sabrina to come into the kitchen. She pointed to the chairs at the island, the only clear place for anyone to sit from what Sabrina could see.

  “He’s lost the gun,” she said very softly. “You remember, the gun I told you about last night on the phone. It’s a Colt Forty-Five. We had it in the safe, but when I went to get it, it wasn’t there.”

  “Oh, god, Lyla, I’m sorry. But it has to be . . .” Sabrina looked around and realized Lyla had already come to the same conclusion. It had to be somewhere.

  “Did you ask your husband if he put it somewhere, Lyla? I know he has some issues with his memory, but he must remember some things,” Neil said gently.

  “Of course. The good news is he remembered taking it out of the safe. ‘A lot of good it would do us there, dear, if someone were to break in,’ he told me. He was sure it was in the top drawer of his nightstand until he saw it wasn’t. All he could say is, ‘Don’t worry, dear, it will turn up somewhere.’ It will turn up somewhere. Right, just after there’s been a murder across the way.” Lyla was struggling not to cry, Sabrina could see.

  “Do you think someone might have stolen it, Mrs. Banks?” Neil asked.

  “Please, call me Lyla, Neil. I don’t know if someone could have taken it. I try to stay one step ahead of Evan, really, I do. But his Alzheimer’s is so fickle. Some days, he is just the old Evan, like this morning when he got up before me and made the coffee. But other days . . . I have to be careful not to upset him and remain calm, even if I am not. The disease is just so cruel to the victim and even more unfair to the people who love them. Damn Evan, anyway. Why couldn’t he just have gotten a mild case of prostate cancer like most men his age?”

  “Lyla, would you like Neil and me to look around? A second and third set of eyes? We’ll only look inside so Evan won’t see us.” Sabrina looked over at Neil, who gave her a discreet nod.

  “Would you? That way, at least I’ll know it’s not these aging eyes missing it. Do you know what a Colt Forty-Five looks like? Oh, that’s silly. It doesn’t matter even if you don’t. It’s the only gun we have in house,” Lyla said.

  A half hour later, no gun had been found, but the Banks’ home had been restored to its typical order.

  “Tell you what, Lyla. If you can get Evan out of the house tomorrow for a little while, I’ll come back and search the shed and the yard,” Neil said.

  “Oh, thank you, I’d really appreciate that. Evan volunteers tomorrow at the park department while I help out with the Friends of the Library. We’re gone almost the whole day on Tuesdays and Thursdays. There’s a spare key under the rock below the birdbath.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to pack up and move over to one of our vacant houses for a day or two?” Sabrina asked Lyla.

  “No, thank you for offering, but it would just throw Evan off his game and make him more confused. Familiar surroundings and routine are two essential elements I have to maintain. You are such a wonderful friend to offer and to come here to check on us, Sabrina,” Lyla said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.

  Sabrina shocked herself more than Lyla by throwing her arms around the older woman and giving her a hug.

  Chapter Nineteen

  If only all Ten Villa clients were as easy as the Gunnings, Henry thought, after leaving them at St. John Car Rental to pick up their vehicle. They had arrived from Wisconsin for their second stay at Hibiscus Hill, thankful to escape the brutal weather back home. They were grateful to Henry for his efforts, but they did not need an escort to their vacation villa.

  Since he was already in Cruz Bay, he decided to run into St. John Spice, a shop filled with spices, coffees, and delectable smells of the island, which overlooked Cruz Bay and the ferry dock. He needed to pick up some coffee, which he noticed he was nearly out of when making Sabrina’s in the mornin
g. He climbed up the stone stairs to the second floor and nearly knocked Mara Bennett over when he pulled the door open. Mara was leaning over inspecting a dozen different kinds of cinnamon.

  “Whoa, fancy meeting you here,” he said. “What are you going to with that cinnamon—besides make your house smell terrific?” Henry knew Mara was one of the best bakers on the island. She had told him that the first time she met Liam, he had been filling his pockets with her spritz cookies at her Christmas open house. Henry couldn’t blame the kid.

  “Kelly and I are having a girls’ night tonight, since Liam is staying in St. Thomas with friends. I’m making her my grilled French toast stuffed with cheddar cheese with fresh cinnamon and a sprinkle of nutmeg. She hated the idea of it when I first gave it to her, but once she took a bite, it became her favorite. She’ll be on the next ferry,” Mara said, looking at her watch.

  Henry didn’t bother to ask where Rory was or why he wasn’t included.

  “How about you? What brings you here?” Mara asked.

  “Out of coffee. Neil Perry, Sabrina, and I are meeting at my house to discuss, ah, the situation,” Henry said, feeling uncomfortable about not just the “situation” but the doubt it had cast on his relationship with Sabrina.

  “How’s she holding up? She seemed pretty sure the cops were going to think she was involved in what happened to that guy.”

  “Well, they’ve already gotten a search warrant and searched her cottage and made her go in to the station for an interview, so I think she has reason to be concerned,” Henry said.

  “I can appreciate Sabrina’s concern, given her history, Henry. But this isn’t anything like what happened on Nantucket.”

  They had walked over to the cashier, who was standing at a counter with a window behind it open to the beach at the rear. Above the counter, a medium-size flat screen showed what was going on at the beach just next to the dock. This was the view on the St. John Spice web cam, which had over twenty million views.

  Mara pointed to the window and then looked up at the identical view on the screen.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God,” she said.

  Henry looked out the window where he could see a young couple, sitting on the sand, shoulder to shoulder, staring off in the direction of the setting sun. The wind brushed the girl’s soft blonde curls. The young man took a swig from a bottle of beer. Then the girl turned to do the same. They bent in and kissed, gently, almost innocently. But not quite so innocently, since Henry knew the girl was Kelly and the boy was Seth Larson.

  “What do I do?” Mara asked Henry.

  “This,” Henry said to the clerk, pushing the power button off on the web cam next to the monitor. “Leave it off for the next ten minutes, please.”

  Before she could reply, he caught the sight of a man pacing in long, strong strides from Bar None on the left toward Kelly and Seth.

  “Oh my God,” Mara said, leaving her purchases with the confused clerk. Rory Eagan was headed toward the unsuspecting couple, and Mara and Henry both knew he meant business.

  Mara flew down the stone staircase, which lead from St. John Spice to the walkway to the beach just feet away. Henry spilled down the stairs on her heels.

  They arrived at the scene to find Seth standing, facing Rory. Kelly stood diminutively behind Seth. Henry glanced at the toppled brown bottle lying on the sand next to a green one, absurdly pleased to find that Kelly had been drinking a root beer while Seth seemed to favor Heineken.

  Henry walked over, saying nothing, and stepped between Seth and Rory.

  “I told you, you little lowlife, stay away from my daughter,” Rory said to Seth over Henry’s shoulder. He turned to face Henry, pointing his finger less than three inches from Henry’s nose. “And you, you goddamn fairy, stay away from me and my family.”

  Henry remained silent, not moving an inch. He’d heard this before, countless times. He was impervious to Rory Eagan’s ignorance.

  “Rory, calm down. Henry is my friend. He’s only here to help,” Mara pleaded.

  “Calm down, Mr. Eagan. I was just sitting on a public beach, having a conversation,” Seth said.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. You’re a pedophile, taking advantage of a young girl. I warned you to stay away from my daughter,” Rory said.

  “Daddy, stop. Please.” Kelly stepped forward.

  “She’s right, Rory. Knock it off,” Mara said.

  “We were just talking, Mara,” Seth said, turning to her.

  “I saw, Seth. I saw. You’d better be on your way,” Mara said, her eyes never leaving her husband. Henry knew she didn’t trust what Rory might do next. He was clearly buzzed, his face ruddy and eyes red.

  “Go, Seth,” Kelly said in almost a whisper.

  “Come on, Kelly,” Mara said, taking her stepdaughter by the arm, turning back to Rory. “You better go sober up and calm down before you come anywhere near home, Rory. I mean it.”

  “I’ll wait with him while you ladies get to your car,” Henry said, watching Mara and Kelly head toward St. John Car Rental, where Mara had parked.

  “You people don’t belong on this island, Henry. You and your partner,” Rory hissed, but he didn’t try to follow his wife and daughter.

  Henry said nothing. Rory Eagan couldn’t rile him. He had heard worse.

  “I’ve told the cops everything I know. You’d better tell Sabrina, they’re on to her. She won’t get away with it this time.” The sneer on Rory Eagan’s handsome face made Henry wonder what he might be capable of.

  Chapter Twenty

  Once in the jeep, Kelly broke down and sobbed.

  “I hate him,” she said.

  Mara didn’t comment, afraid she might agree.

  “I hate this island. I want to go home,” Kelly continued. Mara had heard this before. Kelly had been complaining more frequently as she got older that there was nothing to do, no kids her age, no real life for a teen in St. John. “I want to go home” was a comment Kelly had been making when she was upset since Mara had met her.

  Mara knew coming into the lives of a couple of kids who had lost their mother to a horrible car accident wouldn’t be easy, so she signed up for what had turned out to be a decade of therapy with a woman on St. John who seemed to give pretty good advice. When Mara had asked her why Kelly kept saying she wanted to go home, Dr. Bell had explained she believed that Kelly was missing whatever life she had with her mother before she died, which made sense to Mara.

  “Honey, you are home.”

  “I hate it here. I hate you,” Kelly said, her nose running at a pace that rivaled her eyes.

  Mara handed her a tissue before starting the jeep and pulling out of the parking lot.

  “Stop it. I hate you. You’re not my real mother,” Kelly said, wiping her nose with her forearm, throwing the tissue back over to Mara.

  They had been here before, but it still hurt. No matter how many skinned knees she bandaged, how many J.Crew catalogs she pored over with Kelly, how many essays she helped her write, Mara knew she would never—could never—replace the mother Kelly had lost. Inherent in her fierce love for Kelly and Liam was the cruel knowledge that it would never be enough. She feared Kelly wouldn’t be able to have a healthy relationship with men after witnessing Rory’s mistreatment of her. And Liam—Mara was pretty sure Liam was gay and could appreciate how much he must dread the day of reckoning when he revealed that to his father. Mara drew a deep breath and tackled the problem at hand.

  “Kelly, I know I am not your real mother, honey. I get that there must be times when you miss her terribly and I’m sorry about that,” Mara said, fighting back her own tears.

  “Yeah? Well, she’s dead. I know that. That’s why I hate her, too. I hate you all, but especially Daddy. I wish he was dead, not her.” Kelly slammed her fist on the armrest between them as Mara drove by what just yesterday had been the scene of a crime and now seemed serene compared to the tailspin erupting in her own car.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Neil
and Sabrina rode from the Banks’ home in silence. Whatever annoyance Neil had expressed toward her and Henry before the Leonards arrived at Villa Mascarpone seemed to have been dissipated by Lyla’s frantic desperation.

  They turned on to Gifft Hill, climbing toward Henry’s condo complex, when Henry came up from behind on the scooter and passed them. By the time they reached the gate, he had it unlocked, ready for their entrance.

  Girlfriend greeted them at the door with such enthusiasm that Sabrina couldn’t help but be energized. She bent down to feel the dog rush into her arms, her warm breath filling her ears. She closed her eyes as Girlfriend did what Sabrina had learned dogs did best: made it all go away.

  She stood up and found Henry and Neil each seated in a white leather chair, opposite each other. Neither looked as if Girlfriend’s magic had worked for them.

  “Let me make some you something to eat,” Sabrina said, liking the idea of having something to do in a room by herself.

  “Knock yourself out, Salty. But after you’ve fortified us with some home cooking, we need to get down to business,” Neil said, sinking more deeply into the chair.

  “I’m not sure what you’re going to be able to do with yogurt,” Henry said. He had his legs stretched out before him and his eyes closed. “I tried to buy coffee when I was in town, but even that turned into a disaster. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Sabrina remembered yogurt was about all she had seen in the refrigerator that morning, but when she peeked inside, she found eggs, a chunk of cheddar cheese, and some Kerrygold Irish Butter in the dairy compartment. Sabrina loved that on a tiny island in the Caribbean, it was easier to find butter from Ireland than from Wisconsin. She opened the freezer and wasn’t disappointed. Henry had the usual stash of bread most islanders keep frozen so it wouldn’t mold in a day. On the shelf below was some frozen broccoli. Bingo, they were in business.