Sabrina and Henry did what they did best in difficult times. They divided the labor and offered one another words of encouragement.
“It wasn’t your job to investigate the necklace,” Henry said when Sabrina expressed concern that she’d angered Lucy Detree. He was in charge of ordering liquor and having it delivered in order to restock the bar at Villa Nirvana. Henry would also check to be sure the rest of the staff had been attending to the needs of the guests staying in other villas. Sabrina, for one, would be so happy to return to their regular clientele. She wondered what the Keatings would decide to do with Villa Nirvana once the investigation was done. She hoped Henry would reconsider their management of it, but this wasn’t the time for that discussion. For now, Sabrina would focus on putting the house back in order. Linens, floors, dishes. Easy tasks, compared to fixing human errors.
Sabrina drove out to Villa Nirvana, through the open, unattended gate, and out to the house. Two jeeps from St. John Car Rental were parked by the front stairs, which she suspected were Gavin’s and Paul’s. Sabrina drove over to the parking spots by the service entrance near the kitchen to park. She noticed the trash bags she’d filled the day before and placed by the cabana shower stalls had been picked up. All that was left to do after the aborted wedding reception and the mess left by the police was to dissemble the chairs and tables. She would change the linens on the unmade beds and then leave the villa to Paul and Gavin.
She let herself into the kitchen, noticing there were new dirty plates in the sink. She didn’t mind if they were Paul’s, but couldn’t help being irked if they were Gavin’s. Sabrina placed the dishes in the dishwasher and went out to the great room to inspect what needed to be done.
She found Gavin sitting on a couch, his tie loosened, his shoes slipped off.
“Hello,” she said, passing through toward the pool area.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, clearly startled by Sabrina’s appearance.
“My job. I’m cleaning up the new dirty dishes in the sink. I’m having liquor delivered at your ‘request.’ I’m stripping the beds of the people who are no longer staying here and remaking them. Shall I do yours and Lisa’s?” Sabrina asked, emphasizing Lisa’s name.
“No, I’m moving up into the Master Suite. You can redo that one,” Gavin said.
“Elena’s room? You’re moving into that?”
“I am, and I don’t need any comments from someone who beat the system after killing her husband and can’t even run a housekeeping business right,” Gavin said.
Sabrina didn’t even try to suppress her rage.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that. You are a rude, crude, narcissistic bore who just happened to be born into a life of privilege. You have a beautiful wife whom you abuse, three darling daughters you pay no attention to, and a loving, supportive extended family whom you have betrayed.” Sabrina realized she was yelling but didn’t care.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I am the glue that keeps this family business going. Do you think we would even be in this villa right now if it weren’t for me and my vision for the company? Do you think my father or Paul would ever have dreamed of building anything other than parking garages? Do you think my half brother has enough brains to think like that? Instead of being grateful, they all complain. The only one who got it—”
“Was Elena,” Sabrina said. She turned on her heels and walked up to the pool area and began dismantling the tables, which she stacked where they could be easily removed—on their sides, leaning against a stone pillar nearest the cabana at the edge of the pool. She collapsed the folding chairs, resting them against the tables. Then she rolled all the containers of gardenias, which were on wheels, into one area, next to the tables and chairs. She had created a minifortress of wedding props. It felt good to do physical work after her outburst. All the bits and pieces she’d learned about Elena’s life and death, the dynamics of the Keating family, and even the politics of the police department churned in her head like a washing machine on the spin cycle.
“I’m sorry. He had no business talking to you like that.” Paul Blanchard stood next to the pool dressed in slacks and a polo shirt.
“You heard?” Sabrina was more worried about what she had said that might be more insulting to Paul than anything Gavin had said to her.
“Jack and I won’t always be around to make things right. I worry about what will happen to this family then,” Paul said, but Sabrina didn’t think he was really talking to her. She heard footsteps and hoped it was Henry bringing the booze. But no, it was Gavin in his swim trunks, arriving to enjoy the pool. He had a copy of Men’s Health in one hand and eye goggles in the other.
“You can make up the room while I’m at the pool. Where are the towels?” Gavin asked.
Sabrina walked over to the cabana to the left of the pool and opened the door where a stack of fluffy blue-and-white-striped towels sat neatly folded on a shelf.
“Here,” she said, walking away and letting him fetch his own towel. If she knew how, she would short-sheet his bed.