by Sharon Potts
“It’s a natural impulse, Jeremy. Don’t beat yourself up over trying to do what you believed was the best thing.”
“I guess I’m beating myself up because I failed.”
“How so?”
“I got in over my head. I can’t run my own crime-scene investigation.”
“You’re giving up?”
“Not giving up, but I’m going to let the police do their job while I try to do mine.” Jeremy covered his red knuckles with his other hand. “I’ve been so busy playing sleuth that I’ve neglected my sister.”
“I see.”
“And well, as you said, Elise is my priority. I’m going to try to be a better guardian and keep my focus on doing a responsible job here.”
Bud was staring at something in the distance. “Sometimes I think it’s harder for you kids who come from affluent, supportive parents to make your mark in the world.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t have the natural instincts. You start out having everything, and as long and your mama and daddy are there to back you up, you’ve got it made. But if they’re gone, God help you. You’re like fledglings cast from your nests. You’ll starve or be eaten without your mamas and daddies.”
Jeremy felt a wave of anger. “That’s right. You’re the poster boy for the self-made man. You think you would have been better at coping if your parents had been murdered?”
Bud let out a sharp laugh. “I would have jumped through hoops if someone had shot my daddy.” He sobered suddenly. “I didn’t mean to sound critical of you, Jeremy. I’m sympathetic, if anything. Nothing in your life prepared you for this.”
Jeremy’s throat tightened. Now wasn’t the time to get emotional.
“But you say you’re back on track and I’m glad to hear it. I’ve told you before, but I’ll say it again, if you need me for anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thanks, Bud. Thanks for understanding.”
Jeremy shifted in his chair, ready to leave. What else was there to say? But Bud had made no move to dismiss him, so Jeremy waited. The partner had returned his attention to the chessboard. “I wonder if you could do one thing for me, Jeremy.”
“Sure.”
“What’s your next move?”
Next move? Could Bud read him so well? Then Jeremy realized the partner was talking about the chess game. “You want me to take a move?”
“Would you? I don’t suppose you recognize it, but the board is set just like in the 1972 tournament between Bobby Fischer and Boris Spassky. This was the point when Fischer made the move that determined the outcome of the game and made Fischer the first American world champion.
Jeremy wasn’t sure why he’d begun to sweat. It was just a chess game, just a bunch of ivory pieces. He studied the configuration on the board. Bud was waiting. Why did this feel so significant? Jeremy made his move. He glanced up at Bud, who had an odd look on his face.
“What?” Jeremy said. “Is that what Fischer did?”
Bud shook his head. “No. But it’s the precise move your mama made.”
Chapter 37
Jeremy and Robbie sat in the reception area outside Enrique Castillo’s office. Robbie had arranged the meeting while Jeremy had been back at PCM talking with Bud. This was the first time Jeremy had been to the penthouse office. The floor was a highly polished marble that looked blue or green depending on the light. There were floor-to-ceiling windows with an unobstructed view of the bay, which created the illusion that the reception area flowed right into the expanse of water. This afternoon, with the thick cloud cover, the bay was a deep blue and the effect on the room seemed almost sinister.
Robbie, dressed in a dark suit and white blouse, was turning her emerald ring around and around on her finger.
“I thought you did this client-auditor stuff all the time,” Jeremy said in a low voice.
“This is a little different, wouldn’t you agree?”
“What? Trying to figure out if a murderer’s lurking behind your most prestigious client’s books?”
“You’re awfully cavalier suddenly.”
“I had a satisfying morning with my uncle Dwight.”
“But not so great with Bud.”
“It would have been weird asking questions about Castillo Enterprises. He would have suspected I was up to something.”
“Well, maybe that’s why I’m nervous. You don’t think Mr. Castillo will wonder what’s up?”
“You said it’s not unusual to have an end-of-audit conference with him.”
“He still may find it strange for me to show up at his doorstep with you.”
“I’m sure you’ll make it smooth.”
“Right.” She turned her ring around. Her straight, dark hair had fallen forward across one eye. “So why are you doing it?” Jeremy said. “If you’re worried, why put yourself on the firing line?”
She studied her ring for a few moments. “This may sound corny, but I feel I owe it to Rachel.”
A secretary opened the door into the reception area. “Mr. Castillo will see you now.”
The office of the president and CEO of Castillo Enterprises had windows on two sides and a marble floor. Jeremy almost reeled at the expanse of open space and the optical illusion that continued from the reception area. The desk and conference table were glass and the chairs made of a clear Plexiglas, the effect of which was of waves, or breaks in the otherwise straight lines of the room.
Enrique stepped forward to greet them. He wore a light gray suit and a shirt and tie of almost the same shade. “Robbie, Jeremy, how nice of you to stop by.” He shook their hands, then gestured toward a round glass table close to the window.
“Thank you for agreeing to have this impromptu meeting, Mr. Castillo,” Robbie said. “I wanted to make sure I have all my questions answered before I give the reports to the partners for their final review. I also thought it would be a good experience for Jeremy.”
“Certainly,” Enrique said. “I’m glad to see you so involved with the audit, Jeremy. Your mother would have been very pleased, I’m sure. Has the audit gone well this year, Robbie?”
“Very smoothly, as always.”
“Well then.” Enrique folded his hands on the table. He wore no rings, not even a wedding band. “What can I do for you?”
Robbie opened a leather folder with a legal pad written over with questions. It reminded Jeremy of his mother’s clipboard, the one Elise had scribbled in. He wondered how his sister was doing today after spending the night at their grandfather’s house. She was probably still in school. He’d call her later and tell her what happened with Dwight this morning.
“Just a few questions,” Robbie said. “About the audit.”
“Naturally,” Enrique said.
She took a moment to compose herself. Could Enrique pick up on her nervousness? “First, Mr. Castillo, I’d like to mention that although the revenues from sugar operations and most of the Caribbean hotel businesses remain down, Castillo Enterprises ended the year with a sizeable profit due to the success of the Olympus Grande.”
“Yes, the Grande has been a godsend.”
“Ninety percent occupancy rate throughout most of the year. That’s well above the industry average. It’s pretty amazing given you do no advertising and how inaccessible St. Mary’s is.”
“That’s an excellent observation, but the Grande’s business is so unique, it’s not quite appropriate to evaluate it in terms of what other hotels are doing.”
“Does that explain why its performance is so different from your other Caribbean hotels?”
“The clientele at the Grande is more specialized than most.” Enrique stroked his perfectly trimmed silver beard. Jeremy noted that he was giving a politician’s answer— not quite responding to the question. “Very wealthy individuals, many with private planes or yachts— these are the people who are attracted to the Grande because of its inaccessibility.”
“But how do you attract them without advertising?�
�� Jeremy asked.
Enrique reclined his chair back toward the window. A steely gray screen covered the sky. It had begun to rain. “Ironically,” Enrique said, “glossy ads in Conde Nast and other high-end publications would put off our particular clientele. Our clients think of the Olympus Grande as their own private club. And they’re willing to pay premium prices for that exclusivity.”
Jeremy remembered something in his mother’s office. A stack of luxury hotel directories and his mother’s yellow sticky: Not listed? “Keep it off the radar of the little people,” Jeremy said.
Enrique laughed. “In fact, many of our clients do feel that way. I, personally, am not an elitist, but my vice presidents and the partners from your firm assure me we have a unique product and should try to keep it that way.”
He was so confident, so self-assured. How many times had Enrique made this speech to Wall Street analysts and investors? Tout the Olympus Grande, ignore the underperforming assets.
Robbie chewed on the top of her pen as she looked back at her pad. “Bad hurricane season this year. Did you have much damage?”
Enrique glanced down at his watch— a thin gold one with an oyster face that probably cost thousands. “Again, Robbie, we were fortunate. The Olympus Grande is built like a fortress. It’s able to withstand even the most severe weather conditions.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “I hope I’ve been able to answer your questions satisfactorily.”
“Yes. Thank you so much.” Robbie closed her leather folder. The interview was over, at least as far as Mr. Castillo was concerned.
“I’m delighted to see you doing such a thorough job. Rachel would have been pleased.” He took Robbie’s hand. “She spoke very highly of you, Robbie. Said you were one of the firm’s rising stars.”
Robbie’s cheeks reddened.
He walked them toward the door. “If you have any other questions, don’t hesitate to stop by.”
A series of pictures hanging in the alcove beside the entrance-way caught Jeremy’s eye. Photos of the properties, like the ones that hung in the conference room. One looked particularly familiar, but Jeremy didn’t recognize it from the conference room. Purple cliffs, azure seas, ruins of what looked like a Greek temple. Just like the photo in Jeremy’s mother’s workpaper binder from eighteen years ago. But something was missing. The man in the corner of the photo with his back to the photographer had been cropped out.
“That’s the Olympus,” Jeremy said.
Enrique’s even, calm demeanor gave way to something like surprise or confusion. “It is, in fact,” he said, recovering his composure. “Magnificent view, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Jeremy said. “It certainly is.” But as he walked across the gleaming marble floors through the reception area, he wondered why that particular photo hung on the wall rather than a more recent one of the splendid resort that Castillo Enterprises was so proud of.
Enrique took the photo off the wall and brought it over to his desk. His heart was racing. How could Jeremy have known it was the Olympus? It was as though he’d recognized it.
Funny how you could obscure, obfuscate, even obliterate, and like relentless weeds, truth always found its way out into the light. Enrique rested his head on the back of his chair. How much had her son discerned of the truth?
Eighteen years ago. A business trip. But despite the bad news he expected, Enrique had been filled with anticipation. He and Rachel. Just the two of them. Since they had discovered their love, it had been difficult for them to see each other alone. A clandestine rendezvous in a shabby hotel; a late night in his deserted office. So little to slake his insatiable need for her. There were rumors; people guessed. But he and Rachel had been discreet. They were, after all, still married to others.
That’s why he had been so eager to get to the Olympus with her. Time alone together; a new beginning. Eighteen years ago. It seemed like yesterday. They had flown out to see the ruins of his first effort at showing his father his business savvy. Millions of dollars invested in thatched guest cottages, a casual outdoor restaurant and bar, free-form pool and cabanas, all laid waste by the hurricane that had swept over St. Mary’s.
His father had told him it was impossible to make a go of a resort on a remote island, particularly in the Grenadines. But his father never understood Enrique. Never realized how much pressure was on the son to equal his father’s accomplishments. Everyone admired Carlos Castillo, self-made businessman. A man who had pulled himself up by his bootstraps. And here was Enrique. What could he do to trump his father? He’d excelled at school, attending the most prestigious universities in the world. But what good were academic credentials? He had to show his father that he could take the company he had built and make it even greater.
He studied the photo, remembering the moment. Eighteen years ago. He had been staring out at the sea, already planning the Olympus Grande. He had been unaware of Rachel taking the photo until he turned. She still had the camera up against her eye.
“Sorry,” she said, putting the camera in her bag. “I know it may seem insensitive, but I need to document this for the audit.”
“I understand.” He stepped up to the rise where she was standing. He was feeling optimistic, despite the devastation around them. He saw the hotel as a metaphor for his life. An opportunity to start anew. He had made his decision. His future lay with this woman. “Don’t be discouraged,” he said. “The foundation is still intact. Next time, I’ll do it right.”
“Right?” she said.
“Last time, my father made me cut corners, but I know that perfection can’t be put on a budget. And for you, my darling, I will only build that which is perfect. That which shall last forever.”
“Enrique,” she said.
“I will create a legacy that will sustain the Castillos for generations to come. Greater than anything my father ever dreamed of. A temple that even the gods will envy. A legacy for our children.”
Rachel looked at him— her emerald eyes reflecting the sea and their future. He held her against him and pressed his lips against hers. He could hear the waves breaking, the seagulls screeching.
She pulled away. “I’m sorry, Enrique. I’m so sorry.”
Chapter 38
Elise heard chimes. Church bells. The notes broke through her dream.
Church bells? She shook the sleep from her head. There it was again. Ding-dong.
The doorbell.
Someone was ringing the doorbell. Why didn’t her grandfather answer? Then she remembered. He’d gone to the grocery store.
She sat up on the sofa and adjusted her tee shirt and sweatpants. She touched the three teardrops of her mother’s blood, instantly soothed by her mother’s presence.
Ding-dong.
Maybe it was a delivery or a neighbor. The quilt her grandmother had crocheted fell to the floor as Elise stood to answer the door. Through the peephole, she recognized the polo shirt and khakis of her school’s uniform. A navy blue hooded sweatshirt hung over Carlos’s shoulders like a cape. Elise unlocked both locks. She was surprised by how dark the sky was and the coolness in the air. Wasn’t it still afternoon? Then she heard distant thunder.
“Hey,” Carlos said.
Elise held the door open. “You can come in.”
“Holy shit. I can see why you didn’t go to school today. What happened to your face?”
“My uncle mistook me for a punching bag.”
“Oh man. He hit you? Did you call the cops? What did Jeremy do? He must have gone apeshit.”
“He was pretty angry.” She ran her fingers through her tangled hair and plaited it in a single braid. She’d been so worried last night and most of today. But then Jeremy called and told her he’d taken care of things with Dwight. He sounded almost happy. Their uncle wouldn’t be bothering her anymore. And she wondered, but didn’t ask, what Jeremy had done to Dwight that would make her brother so certain.
Carlos followed her into the darkened living room.
“So what happe
ned? I mean, like why did he hit you?”
“It was just a giant misunderstanding.”
“Are you living here with your grandfather now?”
“I-I don’t know. I’m not sure what I want to do.”
“Right.” He pulled on the loose sleeves of his sweatshirt and hung his head. He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t get it out. Elise had been avoiding him since the night he’d wanted to have sex with her. “Well, I didn’t mean to bother you,” he said finally.
“It’s fine. I’m glad you came.”
“Really?” He straightened up. “Do you want to go for a ride or something?”
Elise glanced around the living room. She’d closed all the drapes, and her grandfather had let her stretch out in here on the sofa.
“We don’t have to talk,” Carlos said. “You know, just hang out.
”How close the room felt suddenly. How much she needed to smell fresh air.
Her grandfather came in with several plastic grocery bags draped over his arms. His forehead and glasses were covered with droplets of water.
“Hi Grandpa. I’m going for a ride with Carlos.”
“Hello, Carlos.”
“Hello, Mr. Lazar.”
Her grandfather placed the bags on the table, took off his glasses, and dried them with the bottom of his shirt. “It just started raining. Be careful.”
“I will.” She kissed his cheek. His sweet, scratchy cheek.
Elise stepped off the front porch of her grandfather’s house. The rain was coming down with force. She opened her arms and turned her face upward. She tried to catch the drops in her mouth. How good the rain felt. How good everything smelled. The damp dirt, the grass, the flowers. Dwight wasn’t going to bother her anymore, and Jeremy sounded almost happy.
“You’re getting soaked,” Carlos said, grabbing her arm. “I’m parked just over there.” He ran and she ran with him. She climbed into the car. The rainwater was streaming down her face and neck. Her tee shirt was soaked through and the teardrops had spread. They felt warm against her skin.