Rose
Before I reach the door, my cell phone rings from the confines of my purse which I've thrown on the back of the sofa. Unlike young folks, I refuse to carry my phone in any of my pockets. Garments never fall correctly with items shoved in the pockets. I tell my boys this constantly, but they never learn.
“Rae, would you please handle the door while I see who’s calling?"
"I'm on it."
By the time my phone rings for the third time, I've got my hand on it and quickly check the screen before it goes to voice mail. George Hopper, our longtime friend and co-owner of the Grande.
How very fascinating.
Could he possibly know I'm visiting the island? Without a doubt, word travels fast in Hollywood, but my sons and housekeeper are the only ones aware of this trip. I’m not sure Phillip or Jeremy would tell George. Maybe if they ran into him and he inquired, but since this was such a last-minute excursion, the timing is suspect. That leaves my housekeeper, and she knows that she would, without question, be fired if she shared my personal business. And with what I pay her, she wouldn’t risk it.
I slide my finger across the screen. "George, darling, how are you?"
"Hello, Rose."
His greeting holds a direct, edgy tone to it that pokes at my already compromised nerves. George, even in his sixties, is still the ultimate charmer and a man skilled at hiding a foul mood. A glad-hander to his core, he's known for wooing women, babies, and even men.
Behind me, Rae and the bellman exchange pleasantries. The combination of George’s call and an audience prompts me to head to the master bedroom in search of privacy.
“Why, George,” I say as I close the door. “You sound…off."
I do a quick survey of the room. King bed, two dressers, television, an upholstered armchair and ottoman, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the ocean. I wander to the chair and ease into it, crossing my legs.
“I've just received a disturbing call, Rose. Very disturbing."
Uh-oh.
He knows. Somehow, instinctively, I sense it. We’ve been friends for years, but we don’t discuss our personal or business issues. Perhaps with Simon, he did, but George and I have never gone there. Nor do I desire to. "I'm so sorry," I say, feigning ignorance. "What's wrong?"
“I know you're on the island. Please, don’t deny it.”
I have no need to hide it. "Why on earth would I deny it?"
For a moment, there’s a pause large enough to hold an elephant. As confident as he sounded in his statement, I’m not sure he expected me to actually admit my whereabouts.
“You're investigating?”
I roll my eyes at the condescending tone. As if I'm some vapid female who will fall to his feet and beg forgiveness for whatever has displeased him. He should know better. "Watch your tone, George."
My statement is met with another long silence. Good. Let him think about it. I unfold my legs and prop my feet on the ottoman as I stare at the blue-green sea and the sun dancing on the surface. A sense of calm eases my shoulders down, leaving me in awe that all these years later, after what I endured here, La Paradisio still gives me respite.
"I apologize." He lets out a soft huff. "We're barely a minute in and I’m apologizing. I'm concerned for you, Rose. Opening up all these old wounds and rattling God-knows-whose cages."
"Well, I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine."
"Is getting arrested your definition of fine?"
Now I’m the quiet one. My mouth may not be moving, but my mind is blazing with questions. How did he know? Who told him? Why?
One thing I know for sure is that my sons are off the hook. Even if they’d run into George somewhere and told him about my visit to the island, they’d never—ever—share that I’d been detained by the police. "Oh, George. Please. Calm yourself. It's not as if they threw us in a jail cell. It was a conversation with the police chief. We were out of there in an hour."
“Rose, you must be careful. And who is this reporter all of a sudden?"
Whoever his pipeline is, they’re thorough. “You have all sorts of information today."
"I owned a property on that island. I still have many friends there. Including the police superintendent.”
Ernesto Guerrero. That pain in the keister. "He told you? Obviously, confidentiality is not practiced here. I don't know why that surprises me. He was disgustingly condescending."
"Can you blame him?"
"I most certainly can. We were looking at the building. That’s all.”
George laughs. “You were doing more than that and you know it.”
Eh, he has me there. I tilt my head one way, then the other as I watch a wave build and build and—crash—water rolls to the shore. For whatever reason, George is worked up. My choices are to A) shut him down completely and tell him to mind his own business or B) tell him about Rae and attempt to draw information from him.
The decision, considering my silence on this matter for thirty years, is remarkably easy.
“She's a reporter,” I say. “From North Dakota. God bless that girl, she's been calling me for over a month for an interview. When she showed up at the house the other day, I spoke to her briefly. She wants to do a story on the Grande. An anniversary piece. George, she's quite passionate about this project. Frankly, you may want to speak to her yourself."
"That's not happening. Unlike you, I have no desire to revisit it. For years I've had to deal with…with…you know.”
Investigation aside, George's pain, like mine, has more than likely been buried under the rubble of that building. I lost a few friends. He lost so much more. Friends, customers, employees. All those people, under his roof.
That, I simply cannot imagine, and my breath hitches. What am I doing? He’s a friend. Someone Simon and I shared years of our lives with.
"All right," I say. "I understand you not wanting to speak with her. In turn, hopefully, you’ll give me the same consideration. We both lost people we cared about that day."
“Well, obviously. I hope you know I’ll always be a friend to you, Rose. Always. But you have to agree this is…surprising. All these years, you've refused—fanatically—to discuss the Grande and now you want to talk to some hack from the middle of nowhere who managed to blow up her career before it even got started?"
My goodness, he’s been a busy man. He may have done his research on Rae, but I won’t have him insulting a young woman he’s never met.
"George, I’m sorry to tell you your information is flawed. Rae is smart, ambitious, and rather fearless."
"She wrecked a town."
A man would say that. How is it that the woman is to blame when the man broke the law? Some things never change. “She did not ruin the town. Charlie Carter did. I can't believe you're defending that man."
"I'm not defending him. I don't even know that son of a bitch. I'm just saying you hardly know this girl."
"I know enough. Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine."
Tension pulls at the base of my skull. I don't need this from him. Who does he think he is, questioning me? I've spoken to my sons, the two people whose opinions matter most, and although Jeremy had concerns, he wished me well on this journey.
I shake my head and watch another wave break. After this, I'm taking Rae for a walk on that beach. The ocean air used to always settle me. Hopefully it still will.
“George,” I say, struggling to keep the softness in my voice and avoid turning this into a full-blown argument. “I appreciate your concern. I truly do, but I'm committed to this. It's something I have to do."
“I don’t need to remind you, of all people, that this case has never been solved. The arsonist might still be on the island. That's my concern, Rose. You are quite literally playing with fire."
I rest my head back. He has a point. A very good one that I hadn’t given full consideration. If the arsonist, having murdered all those innocents, still lived on the island, how would he—or she—take to our snooping around?
Probably, not well. But…justice. For all the lives lost.
For Gayle.
My gaze on the sea, I place my feet on the floor and stand. “I can make a difference, George. And since Simon died, I haven't been able to do that. "
"Rose—"
“Thank you for your concern. But on this we’ll have to agree to disagree. Maybe I am playing with fire, but after all these years, someone has to."