No Virgin Island

by C. Michele Dorsey

  “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.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Henry and Sabrina left Bar None with no time to talk about the mind-boggling new developments in the case. They had three houses emptying, two of which had new occupants arriving on the afternoon ferry. Sabrina had no idea where Tanya was, so enlisting her help wasn’t an option. It was just the two of them once again.

  Henry drove them in his neighbor’s car to the Ten Villas van he had parked up by the cemetery. They got into the van and were off to Casa Bougainvillea, a smaller home in nearby Chocolate Hole.

  It was a charming two-bedroom home, one of only two they had without pools. The Falveys, the couple who had stayed there, were repeat guests. Henry and Sabrina hoped the house would be clean, and they were right.

  The Falveys had left the house spotless. The refrigerator wiped clean, beds stripped, laundry ready to go in the washer room, floors vacuumed, dishwasher empty. In the freezer was half a bottle of vodka, which Sabrina immediately put in her cleaning bag while Henry grabbed the chocolates left in the fridge.

  Sabrina took one bathroom and Henry the other. Even though the rooms didn’t need to be done, they at least needed to say they had done something. After the bathrooms were done, they took clean linens and went to the bedrooms to make the beds.

  Henry had been uncharacteristically quiet, but Sabrina said nothing, thinking he needed time to absorb all the details that were emerging regarding the case. He broke his silence as they turned the king-size sheets in different directions to find where the top was.

  “David called me last night,” he said, as if he were telling her to turn the bottom sheet one more time.

  Sabrina stopped and dropped her corner.

  “No,” she said.

  “He did,” Henry said, finally looking at her.

  “Why? What did he say?”

  “That he’d seen what was happening here. That he was worried about me. That he loves me.”

  “What did you do?” she asked, not being able to read Henry’s blank expression.

  “I hung up on him,”

  “And?”

  “And nothing,” Henry said. “I’m just sharing.”

  “Are you okay?” Sabrina asked as they lifted the top sheet above the bed and let it float down to the mattress like a kite landing.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know,” Henry said.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not yet. I need to process it,” Henry said. “Process” was one of the words Henry used when he tried explaining to her why she would benefit from having a therapist. Sabrina couldn’t justify paying a stranger to listen to her troubles when she had a friend who would do it for free.

  “How was the swim with Neil?”

  Sabrina knew he wanted to know more than how warm the water was.

  “Fine,” she said.

  They pulled the coverlet up and began putting pillows into their cases after Henry sprayed lavender mist on them.

  “Henry,” she said, not knowing how to begin the conversation she knew would turn into a confession.

  He looked over at her and said nothing, but Sabrina knew he was waiting for more.

  “Something happened at Villa Mascarpone that I need to talk about,” she said.

  “Jesus, you didn’t kill whatever-his-name-is, did you?” Henry had turned pale on her.

  “No, I had sex with him,” she said.

  “That’s all? Thank God.” Henry sprayed the lavender mist into the air.

  “You don’t think that’s a big deal?” she asked.

  Henry flopped down onto the bed they had just finished making. She collapsed next to him.

  “Do you?”

  “Well, if he hadn’t gotten murdered, probably not,” Sabrina said.

  “Tell me about it. I mean, how you ended up having sex with him. You know, whose idea it was. Not exactly what happened, unless you feel the need to reveal the actual details. Then I’ll listen,” Henry said and she had to laugh.

  “He had run out of propane. When I brought out the replacement tank, he stood out on the back deck while I hooked it up.”

  Henry only needed the Reader’s Digest version of the story, not the details about a connection.

  “We chatted a little. I found him attractive. He must have found me passable. He was alone on an island. I hadn’t been with a man since . . .” Her throat caught. It was true. She hadn’t had sex since Ben.

  “Well, that sounds natural enough. And sweetie, you are more than passable.”

  “Do you think I need to tell the police about the propane? About the sex?” Sabrina asked, feeling better just having put the question out there rather than having the weight of it sitting on her chest, suffocating her.

  “No, Sabrina. Having sex with a man who happened to die a couple of days later has nothing to do with his murder. There is no reason to tell the police and there is no reason Neil ever has to know. You’re worried about that, too, aren’t you?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, admitting it to herself for the first time. She liked Neil Perry. He was good looking, fun, and she was beginning to trust him, something Sabrina had thought she would never say about a man again.

  Henry leaped up off the bed. “Great. You are alive and well, and maybe a little sex with a stranger was just the jump-start you needed.”

  “And what about you, Henry?”

  “We’ll just have to wait and see about that one, honey.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Sabrina tackled the third house on her own, sending Henry to meet and greet guests at the dock. That she preferred toilet bowls to people said something about her, she knew, but she enjoyed the qu
iet up on Mamey Peak where Last Call was located. Guests wouldn’t be arriving until the next day, so she had taken her time, even enjoying a glass of ice water on the deck before she gathered her supplies to leave.

  She thought she heard something outside, but the sliders were closed because it was drizzling. She figured it was a roaming goat or donkey, because she didn’t hear an engine. Henry had called to say the guests had all arrived and had been delivered to their respective villas. Maybe life was getting back to normal.

  Henry also had told her he was picking up Liam and Kelly for Mara because she had a midafternoon appointment. Sabrina hoped she hadn’t complicated Mara’s life too much by insisting she tell Janquar about the keys, but it was important information and maybe even a test of their budding friendship.

  The rain had finally stopped, but the deck was still slippery, so Sabrina was cautious when she stepped outside the house to pack up the car. She loved how routine and mundane the afternoon had felt. She wanted to celebrate, toast the beauty of an ordinary life. There might even be a good sunset tonight.

  Sabrina walked by the pool and opened the gate to the driveway. Suddenly, she was blinded once again by lights she knew came from a high-powered television camera. Instinctively, she put her forearm across her eyes and stepped back toward the pool.

  A figure silhouetted by the haze came toward her. A woman.

  “Sabrina, Sabrina Salter. We have you live on camera and want to know, what do you think about being a person of interest in the death of Carter Johnson, a.k.a. Joel Levin? Are you worried you might be facing a murder trial for the second time in just a few years? Do you want to talk on camera and set the record straight about whether you have any involvement in the death of a guest at one of your villas?”

  I, Sabrina, am not afraid. I, Sabrina, am fearless.

  Ruth’s words deafened the voice of the same reporter who had been on the beach the night before, when she and Girlfriend had emerged from their swim. Sabrina took a deep breath and smiled, stepping back once again toward the pool.

  “Sure, I’ll make a statement, if you promise to quote me accurately.”

  Now Sabrina could see the reporter and a cameraman behind her. They had probably arrived when she was vacuuming, which was why she hadn’t heard them. Henry had warned her they would be all over the island looking for her. The Ten Villas website showed the location of all the villas. There was even a map with directions, for God’s sake.

  Sabrina put one foot forward and turned her body toward it, lifting her chin for the camera, just as she had learned to as a weather anchor. She felt ridiculous posing in flip-flops and shorts, but this would be an impromptu appearance. People love them.

  The nameless reporter was decked out in silk pantsuit and sandals with heels. Her makeup seemed to be melting in the steamy humidity.

  “Are you done primping for the camera?” the reporter asked, approaching Sabrina.

  “Is it rolling?” Sabrina asked.

  “Yes, it is. Now let’s get down to business, Ms. Salter. Do you expect the American public to buy—”

  Sabrina reached down, grabbed the cuff of one of the reporter’s pant legs, tugged fast, making the woman lose her balance and fall backward into the pool. She made a large splash and began flailing and choking on water. Her assistant rushed to help her, diving in after her, because Sabrina realized the silly woman could not even swim. Sabrina grabbed the opportunity to dump the camera and mikes in the pool.

  Pulling a shoeless, drenched reporter from the pool, her associate, equally as wet but at least able to swim, told Sabrina she would pay for this.

  “Oh, really? Pay for what?” Sabrina asked, pointing to the camera at the bottom of the pool. “For what happened when you trespassed?”

  In five minutes, they were gone, and Sabrina locked up the house. She decided to call Neil and tell him what a good time she’d just had and to warn him that someone might be saying some vicious untruths about her.

  She punched in his number. Sabrina was ready to put Neil on speed dial, a kind of commitment for her, when she heard his voice and knew something was awfully wrong.

  “Hey Salty, I can’t talk right now. I’ve got a situation. Can I catch you later?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sabrina met Mara in the parking lot of the Elaine I. Sprauve Library. Henry had the van, so they drove in Henry’s neighbor’s borrowed vehicle directly to the police station a short distance away.

  “I feel really bad I did this, Sabrina. This guilt reminds me of being in parochial school,” Mara said.

  Sabrina laughed.

  Inside the police station, the desk sergeant ushered them into Janquar’s office.

  “Okay, Mara, what’s on your mind? I’m kind of busy here,” Janquar said, puffy circles under his eyes, his lids drooping, begging for sleep. He didn’t ask her to sit, which Sabrina didn’t take as a good sign. Then he seemed to notice she was standing next to Sabrina.

  “Why are you here, Ms. Salter?” Janquar asked, sounding perplexed and annoyed. Very annoyed.

  “I asked her to come, Lee.”

  “I can’t talk to her without her lawyer,” Janquar said.

  “No, Detective Janquar. I don’t need my lawyer for this.”

  “Look, Lee, I felt I should come and tell you something we didn’t mention when you were at the house last night. I should have, but, well . . .”

  Janquar rested his hands on his desk. “Mara, we’ve known each other a long time. What’s on your mind?”

  Mara plunged in, telling Janquar about the key and her husband’s occasional use of Villa Mascarpone, stressing that neither Sabrina nor Henry had known about it until today. She told him how she would clean the villa afterward, so no one at Ten Villas would notice.

  “I know it was wrong, Lee. Rory is difficult, but he is Liam’s and Kelly’s father, and I’ve tried to keep life on an even keel the best I can. I just thought you needed to know this,” she said.

  “I’ll need to talk to Rory again. Do you know where he is?”

  “Sure. He went out right after you left our house last night and wasn’t home when I left this morning. I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s at home, in bed, sleeping it off.”

  “Follow me up there in case he doesn’t hear me knocking, will you?” Janquar said, sighing.

  “I’m driving her,” Sabrina said, really asking for permission from Janquar.

  “Sure, if it’s okay with Mara,” Janquar said.

  “Lee, Sabrina is one of my closest friends on the island. Of course it’s okay.”

  And they were off. During the ride, Mara talked about how life was about to change for all of them, even without a murder. The kids were looking at colleges online. In less than two years, they would be gone, off to build their own lives, make their own mistakes, which she hoped would be new ones, not a repetition of their father’s and hers.

  Sabrina looked in her rearview mirror as she began the final climb up the steep curve to the top of Fish Bay Road. Janquar’s Envoy led the way.

  Sabrina parked in one of the two spots outside Cairn Suantrai, leaving the other for Janquar. She wanted to be able to leave with Mara as quickly as possible after the interview.

  She noticed the rental jeep over at Villa Mascarpone and hoped the Leonards had resolved their issues with the electricity. The Banks’ jeep was gone. Sabrina hoped Lyla and Evan were busy volunteering.

  Leon stepped out of the police van with as much grace as a man his size could. Sabrina offered to remain in the car, but Mara asked that she come with her.

  “Frankly, this is making me more than a little nervous, Sabrina. I don’t like confrontations, particularly with Rory,” Mara said.

  Sabrina watched Mara open the massive front door with a key after disengaging the security alarm with her password, “K-E-L-I.” Everything in this woman’s life was about her kids, Sabrina thought.

  The unlikely threesome entered the huge front hall, which was dark, cool, and q
uiet. A tennis racket and a huge pair of sneakers sat against a wall with hooks for jackets, backpacks, and other accoutrements of adolescence.

  “Rory,” Mara called gently, walking into the kitchen. She felt the coffee pot and shook her head, signaling it hadn’t been used recently.

  “Maybe he’s not home,” Janquar said, after Mara called out three more times. She led them to a passageway to the right of the kitchen and opened a door to a garage where Rory’s car was parked. Janquar leaned over and touched the hood.

  “Cold. Maybe he’s out for a walk.”

  Mara frowned.

  “No, he must be still asleep in his room. We’ve had separate rooms for years. He stays in the guest room, down the hallway where the kids’ rooms are. That’s why I have to make him leave. It’s just too close to the kids when he gets nasty after drinking.”

  They returned to the kitchen, entering the great hall again. Mara led Janquar down another passageway off the left of the hall. They passed a bedroom filled with ruffled pink-and-orange curtains and bedding, clothes piled high on a chair, a closet door open, and shoes spilled out onto the floor. Through a large window, there was a view of St. Thomas that people would pay millions for.

  The next room was also open, more masculine but equally as cluttered and disorganized. Red Sox posters hung on walls, a soccer ball lay on the floor, and a guitar rested against the closed closet.

  The door at the end of the corridor was closed.

  Mara knocked gently at first.

  “Rory? Rory, Lee Janquar is here to talk to us again,” she said. When there was no response, Mara knocked harder, calling his name louder. Finally, she tugged on the doorknob, but it was locked.

  “Here, let me have a try. Could he go out another way?” Janquar whispered.