Sabrina and Henry left Neil with Sean, who was pulling up a copy of the draft of the prenup he had on his phone so Neil could review it. She hoped Detective Hodge didn’t make another surprise visit to Bella Vista, but she couldn’t save Neil from himself any more than he could do the same for her, much as he tried.
Henry hadn’t been wild about approaching David to fly Neil to San Juan the following morning. But he eventually accepted that unless Elena’s murder was solved, Ten Villas would continue to be under scrutiny and possibly subject to a trumped-up charge of negligence. Without a real estate broker’s license, Ten Villas was out of business.
“You don’t think you should call him first?” Sabrina asked. She’d offered to drive to Gibney Beach, knowing Henry was a wreck. She couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t seen David for a long time. Now he was forced to meet him face-to-face and ask for a favor at the same time.
“No. I want him to be as uncomfortable as I am,” Henry said. “And that’s pretty damn uncomfortable.”
“I’m sorry,” Sabrina didn’t know how to comfort him. It was not lost on her that Henry was dressed far less colorfully than usual. Instead of a tropical print shirt or his beloved New England madras shorts, he was wearing khaki shorts and a plain white T-shirt.
“It’s not your fault. Remember, I’m the idiot who forced Villa Nirvana on you.”
“It seems like such a silly name now for the villa. Nirvana. ‘Stillness, after the extinction of desire.’ Hardly,” Sabrina said, trying to distract Henry from his guilt.
“What? Oh, you’re talking Nirvana as in Buddhism. That’s not what it’s named after.”
“I thought it was supposed to be a new age spiritual retreat with a business twist. That’s what Elena told me when we met with the chef.”
“Hell, no. Sean told me he named it after Kurt Cobain’s band,” Henry said.
That sounded to Sabrina more like the Sean that Neil had told Sabrina he’d represented in LA—fun-loving, ambitious, a little reckless, and a bit of a womanizer. It seemed to Sabrina that Elena had almost cast a spell over Sean, transforming or perhaps reforming him into a serious, although still ambitious, paragon of virtue. How had she done that? Sabrina wondered. How can one human being influence another so profoundly? She just couldn’t get a handle on Elena. And she’d never been able to get under the skin of another human being like that. At least, not that she knew of.
They arrived at the imposing black wrought-iron gates, which were closed but not locked. The gates said “Oppenheimer Beach,” but many people referred to it as Gibney. The beach below the steep driveway, which lay beyond the gates, was named for the two families who had settled there. No matter which name you called it, it was Sabrina’s favorite bit of coastline, the spot where she and Girlfriend swam to each night from the next beach, Hawksnest.
Early beach goers took the four parking spaces located right outside the gates, but since she and Henry were actually guests of one of the people renting a Gibney villa, they used the private driveway that ran down to the cottages.
They parked to the right of a rental jeep with the name of a St. Thomas car rental company on it. Sabrina and Henry always recommended that their villa guests stick to car rental agencies located on St. John to avoid the need to take the car ferry and also to avoid the complications that could occur if the vehicle needed repairs.
“Jerk. He doesn’t even know where to rent a jeep from.” Henry slid out of the Ten Villas van.
“Well, how would he if someone didn’t tell him?” Sabrina asked. She thought that Henry should maybe go a little easy on David, especially since they were there to ask him for a big favor.
They walked up the driveway past the “Garden Cottage” and the “Orchid House,” which separated it from the “Beach Cottage” where David was staying. David had opted for one of the few accommodations on island where you could roll out of bed and land directly on white sand, within a few steps of warm turquoise water. Sabrina had always thought it was the perfect spot for a honeymoon, not that she was ever going to get another one. She and Ben had spent theirs in Detroit during the playoffs one year when the Red Sox had managed to exceed everyone’s expectations in Boston and Ben had been covering the game.
Henry stopped in his tracks and pointed toward a chaise on the beach where a man in a Boston Red Sox cap, swim trunks, and sunglasses sat reading a very thick book. They would be approaching David from the rear, surprising him. Sabrina would take her cues from Henry. Even though they were there to ask for help protecting their business, Henry deserved the courtesy of choosing how.
“Good morning, David,” Henry called out, reminding Sabrina a little of Robin Williams’s titular greeting in Good Morning, Vietnam.
David swung his feet quickly off the chaise and stood up, dropping The Goldfinch onto the sand. Sabrina bent over to pick it up, grateful for a few seconds of relief when her eyes did not have to bear witness to this awkward moment.
“Henry, and this must be—”
“Sabrina Salter, David. So nice to finally meet you.” Sabrina used her best manners, the ones Henry exemplified, as she handed David the book and then her hand, which David shook. She was surprised to see that David was completely bald, which made his deep-green eyes pop. He was taller than she was, making him much taller than Henry, whom she towered over.
“Please, come up on the porch. Can I get you coffee, maybe a beer, or is it too early?” David asked, clearly rattled by their surprise appearance. Sabrina felt a little sorry for him, but then remembered what a prick he’d been to Henry.
“Never too early for a beer on an island, right, Sabrina?” Henry said.
“The breakfast of champions.” Sabrina followed Henry as David led them through the white-picket gate and up the stairs to the front porch, gesturing toward chairs for them to sit in.
“I’d love a cold water. I have a pretty gruesome day at work ahead and think I’d better leave alcohol out of it, at least until it’s over,” Sabrina said.
“I’ve heard about the death of the bride. It’s all over the news.” David glanced over at Henry.
“Shit.” Sabrina sunk into an Adirondack chair.
“What are they saying?” Henry slumped into the chair next to Sabrina.
“That she drowned the night before her wedding to a big-shot businessman and that they don’t know if it’s suicide or an accident.” David cleared his throat and edged toward the kitchen. “Let me grab those waters.”
“Henry, we need to ask David fast if he’ll help. Before this gets worse and the media finds out that Elena was actually murdered,” Sabrina said quietly, leaning over toward Henry so David wouldn’t hear.
“I get it.”
David returned with three bottles of water and three glasses.
“You can skip the glasses. We really can’t stay long. As much as it’s killing me, I’m really here to ask a favor, David.” Henry paused, Sabrina assumed, waiting to see how David was reacting to his abrupt revelation.
“Okay, what can I do for you?” David asked evenly, handing them each a bottle of water, then sitting on a stool opposite the Adirondack chairs.
Sabrina decided to jump in at this point, since David seemed willing to listen and Henry had already done the hard part. She quickly summarized what had taken place the day and night before and how they’d come to realize it was impossible to make sense of Elena’s murder without knowing more about her history, which involved growing up in San Juan.
“Neil Perry, who used to practice law in California, is willing to go and dig up whatever facts he can from local legal records, but the only way to get to San Juan and back fast is to fly. Of course, you know there’s no airport on St. John. The commercial flights out of St. Thomas wouldn’t give him enough time in Puerto Rico before having to return to his business here. He would’ve asked the one guy on St. John who has his own seaplane to fly him over, but he was killed in a car accident the same night Elena died. No connection, just an unfortunate coincidence, but what we’re left with is—” Sabrina stopped to catch her breath, realizing just how ridiculous and pitiful at the same time the whole story was sounding. Henry must have sensed this and came to her rescue.
“What we’re left with, David, is a seaplane without a pilot. And what Sabrina is so kindly omitting from the story is that on top of all of everything else, this is all my fault. I was bullheaded about adding this over-the-top villa to our cadre of rental homes, refusing to listen to the very good reasons she was against it. Now the local police want to use Elena’s murder at one of our villas, after another death a few months ago also connected to our business, as mounting evidence that we are incapable, negligent at protecting the public, and should not have a real estate license allowing us to rent to the public. They want to shut us down.”
Sabrina was shocked that Henry had been willing to fall on his sword for her in front of David, an act that must feel humiliating. It was far greater than any apology he might ever offer her. She watched as Henry and David locked eyes with one another without exchanging words.
“You want me to fly Neil Perry to San Juan. When?” David asked, turning to Sabrina.
“First thing tomorrow. Will you do it?”
“Of course. I will do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes,” David said, but this time he was talking to Henry.