Permanent Sunset (7 page)

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.

“Secondly, if you can identify the second signature above the word, ‘Witness,’ it would be most helpful. As you will see, it is not discernible unless you are already familiar with it. I cannot let you touch it, but Sergeant Detree will walk around the table to show it to each of you,” Hodge continued.

Sabrina watched as Hodge handed the document in its plastic shrine over to Lucy Detree as if she were his handmaiden. She wanted to kick him in the shins and tell him to walk the damn document around the table himself if it was so important.

“I think it’s Elena’s signature, if I remember it correctly. No idea about the scrawl below,” Jack said.

Heather shook her head when Detree put the paper under her nose.

“I wouldn’t know Elena’s signature. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it. And whoever signed below should have been a doctor with that penmanship,” she said.

Paul gestured for Detree to bring the document closer to him, which she did, but only after looking toward Hodge for approval. Sabrina strained to see what was on the paper. She could only see two lines with handwriting above them. It looked like the signature page to a legal document to her.

“That’s Elena’s signature as best I can tell,” he said. He sat back and then leaned forward toward the document a second time.

“But that other one, that really looks more like scribbling to me. I’m afraid I can’t help you with that one.” Paul took his cloth napkin, dabbing at beads of sweat above his mouth.

“Do either of you know Ms. Rodriguez’s signature?” Detree asked Henry and Sabrina, almost as an oversight before she approached Kate.

“No, I wouldn’t remember it if I did,” Sabrina said. People sent her signed rental agreements all the time. She barely paid attention to them. She and Henry were looking into switching their rental agreement forms so they could be “signed” online.

“Ditto,” Henry said.

“How about you, Mrs. Keating? Is that Elena’s signature?” Hodge pressed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything signed personally by Elena, Detective. She sent her thank you notes for her bridal shower gifts by e-mail. She was more inclined to text message us,” Kate said.

“How about the second one, ma’am?” Detree pressed.

“Well, what do you know? I know that signature as well as my own. I’ve read the document it was on countless times over the years.”

“You do?” Hodge jumped in, clearly excited by Kate’s revelation.

“How so, dear?” Jack asked.

“It’s Anneka’s signature, Jack. The one she finally used to autograph the divorce agreement we fought so hard to have her sign.”

Encouraged by the identification of both signatures, Detective Hodge and Sergeant Detree left as quickly as they had arrived. When pressed by Henry about when they might be able to retrieve some of the Keatings’ personal belongings, Hodge was noncommittal.

“Crime doesn’t conform to a timeline, Mr. Whitman,” Hodge said as Henry shut the door behind them.

Sabrina suggested that everyone change into the outfits they had taken from lost and found and give her their own outfits to have laundered. Only Paul and Sean had had their cell phones with them when the police had steered them away from the beach after Elena’s body had been recovered. Henry left Paul a spare charger so they could recharge their phones and stay in touch.

With Sean still sleeping, Sabrina and Henry said goodnight to the remainder of the group, who they left speculating over whether the signatures they had been asked to identify had been on the last page of the prenup.

“Dear God, will this day ever end?” Sabrina said as she got into the passenger seat of the van.

“Not yet. Neil wants us to come to Bar None to talk through some of what’s happened,” Henry said.

“What has happened, Henry?” Sabrina asked.

“A major debacle that is all on me, that’s what’s happened,” Henry said without hesitation.

“Oh come on, now. You can’t take the blame for Elena getting killed.”

“No, but I set the stage for Ten Villas to be part of this train wreck. I was so sure it would be good for us. Talk about blind ambition.” Sabrina noticed how he slowed the van as they drove along the curve on Centerline Road where Larry had died. Was it just last night?

“Then there’s this,” Henry said, handing Sabrina a crumpled piece of paper. She clicked the flashlight app on her phone and read the message from David.

“When did you get this?”

“When I dropped Gavin off at the Westin, he noticed it under the windshield. Jerk.”

“Who? David or Gavin?” Sabrina asked.

“Both.” Henry laughed.

“Why didn’t David just call or text you? Why so mysterious?”

“I blocked his number after he called a couple of months ago when he heard about the murder at Villa Mascarpone. He was so ‘concerned’ about me, but not concerned
enough to leave his wife,” Henry said as they entered the near empty streets of Cruz Bay.

“What are you going to do?” Sabrina asked, thinking David’s timing couldn’t have been worse if he was hoping to rekindle his relationship with Henry. She could see how guilty Henry was feeling about insisting they take on Villa Nirvana. He probably wouldn’t be receptive to taking new risks in an old relationship that had almost taken him down.

David’s betrayal of Henry somehow seemed worse than Ben’s infidelity to Sabrina. Ben was just a pig taking another woman to bed, albeit their bed. But David had lied when asked by the airlines if he was being sexually harassed by Henry, or at least he hadn’t been firm in denying such. Henry took the fall for “inappropriate and unprofessional behavior toward his superior,” that being his pilot, David. David, who had been his lover for more than a year and who had romped and played with him while on layovers throughout the Caribbean, was all of a sudden concerned about hurting his wife, and, more importantly, losing his big fat airline pension. Henry had gotten away with his pension and a settlement from a discrimination claim he lodged against the airlines for sexual harassment by his superior. Allied Air had settled in exchange for a pledge of confidentiality. Excoriated by the experience, Henry gladly pledged his silence.

David had repented, calling and writing to Henry many times, Sabrina knew. Henry never accepted David’s
apologies. “None of it means anything if he’s still with his wife,” he told Sabrina. She couldn’t disagree, but her heart broke for him each time the wound was reopened.

“Will you go see him?” Sabrina asked as they pulled into an empty parking space near Bar None, the availability of which was a sign of just how late it was.

“I don’t know,” Henry said grimly.

A bartender Sabrina didn’t recognize was wiping down the bar where a couple of late stragglers were sitting, nursing their drinks. Before she could ask for Neil, he came up behind her, placing his hand at the base of her spine.

“Hey Salty, Henry. What can I get you? You guys have had quite the day.” Neil motioned for Mark to come take orders after introducing him to Henry and Sabrina.

Sabrina opted for a lemon drop, having suffered through almost an entire day without a single lemon. Henry ordered a double Johnny Walker Blue on the rocks, a sign that he was channeling his very serious father, Sabrina knew from experience.

They took their drinks into a corner booth that had been converted into an office of sorts for Neil, who dropped rattan shades for privacy.

“Are you guys hungry? I can have Mark throw on a couple of burgers,” Neil offered.

“God no, we just ingested the entire wedding feast up at Bella Vista,” Henry said, taking a sip of his scotch.

“How’s it going up there? Is Sean beginning to grasp what’s happened?”

“Yes. At sunset, when he should have been getting married, he lost it. I think it finally hit him that Elena was gone forever,” Sabrina said.

“Tough. Cassie hit that point last night at the clinic when they finally cleaned Larry up enough to let her see him to say good-bye,” Neil said.

Sabrina could see how difficult that must have been for Neil, who seemed to cope with life’s challenges by coming up with ways to beat them. Larry and Elena’s deaths were challenges that no one could beat.

“We did learn some information that might be useful,” Sabrina said, wanting to inject an iota of optimism into the conversation.

“Good, because I learned some information that I think you ought to be concerned about,” Neil said.

Henry looked up. Sabrina sensed his concern, which heightened her own.

“What’s that?” Henry asked.

“When I got tossed from Nirvana by that asshole Hodge, I decided to give Lee a call and find out what’s with Hodge,” Neil said.

Lee was Leon Janquar, the police detective Sabrina had come to cordial terms with and had hoped would be dispatched to Villa Nirvana when she called. Neil and Lee enjoyed a mutual respect and camaraderie.

“And?” Sabrina asked, knowing what was coming wasn’t good.

“This is strictly on the QT. Lee stuck out his neck sharing this with me. It seems Detective Hodge is a pretty ambitious guy and is taking advantage of Lee being out for a month for knee surgery. Hodge has been under fire after an investigation into police misconduct in the Virgin Islands. It seems the men under Hodge have a propensity for violence,” Neil said, taking a moment to holler over to Mark to bring him a Guinness.

“He’s pretty nasty, even to Lucy Detree,” Henry noted. Sabrina was grateful she wasn’t the only one who’d witnessed how Hodge treated Lucy earlier in the evening. After her experience in Nantucket when the police had bullied her before she had hired an attorney, Sabrina could never tell if she was overreacting to cops. But she had seen a public service announcement on local television recently that gave detailed instructions about how to file a complaint against a Virgin Island police officer for misconduct, so she knew the department was in trouble.

Neil took a swig out of the bottle of Guinness, his favorite, which Sabrina kept stocked in her refrigerator for their relaxing nights on her porch.

“Well, apparently he has a hair across his ass about Ten Villas and especially you, Salty. He didn’t like it that you managed to turn the murder out at Villa Mascarpone around and got a certificate of heroism from the department. And he thinks you got away with murder on Nantucket.”

Sabrina treasured her certificate, which had been personally given to her by Lee Janquar. She bit back an unladylike comment and kept listening while Neil continued with the bad news.

“There’s no way he can pin Elena’s death on Sabrina,” Henry said with conviction.

“No, that’s not his angle. He’s going to go after your Ten Villa’s real estate broker’s license. He’s saying you don’t know how to protect the public and that you place them in jeopardy by using poor judgment. Two murders at your villas in three months is his proof. He’s also going to enlist the press in his attack, including that barracuda Faith Chase,” Neil said.

“That is just so unfair!” Sabrina realized as she said it how ridiculous that sounded. When had anything in recent years been anything but unfair?

“We better set this story straight quickly then,” Henry said.

“Yes, the sooner the better. You need to show that Elena’s death has nothing to do with the villa’s management and everything to do with whoever was motivated to kill her and why,” Neil agreed. “The story starts with Elena. What do we know about her?”

Sabrina shared with Henry and Neil what she’d learned about Elena’s background, and Henry reported on his ride with Gavin.

“Good work, Salty. I’ll make a couple of calls about Elena in the morning. I know a couple of lawyers up in
the Boston area who should be able to help with the Harvard and Babson connections,” Neil said.

“Maybe someone should check out her history in San Juan at the
caserio
. I could try to go over tomorrow.”

“Not without playing into Hodge’s hand, Henry. You were told not to go off island, remember?” Neil asked. “I could go, but I’d need to fly. I’ve got two bartenders out right now. A boat would take too long. I’d wait until Monday to be sure government offices were open,” Neil said.

“You won’t get in trouble for doing this, Neil?” Sabrina asked. She remembered Hodge’s foreboding words about practicing law without a license.

“Hell no, Salty. I’ve got every right to go to San Juan and look information up. But thanks for watching my back. This would be a lot easier if Larry were still around. We could hop over in his seaplane and be back in a couple of hours,” Neil sighed, taking the last draw of his beer.

Sabrina toyed with the lemon slice now sitting at the bottom of her empty glass.

“Would Cassie be willing to rent the seaplane?” she asked, looking over at Henry.

“Sure, but who’s going to fly it? No one on the island that I know has a pilot’s license,” Neil said.

“Unfortunately, someone I know does.” Henry raised his glass in a mock toast.