11

The next hour consisted of the Paradise tour, as Murphy dubbed it. The property included several buildings, all nestled around a picturesque cove with some of the clearest ocean water Finney had ever seen. He had spent most of his adult life sailing the waters around Tidewater, Virginia, so the ocean was nothing new. But comparing the Atlantic at Virginia Beach to this body of water was like comparing his dingy Norfolk courtroom to the US Supreme Court.

This was the ocean as God had originally colored it—translucent green, a color Finney had seen only on postcards. The sand along the half-mile stretch of beach was pure white, with loungers and a large Hobie Cat sailboat calling Finney’s name. Two double-seated WaveRunners and a surf kayak sat next to the Hobie.

“There’s a Hobie Cat, if you like to sail, as well as snorkeling gear and a kayak,” Murphy said, pointing toward the shed at the end of the beach. “The snorkeling fins, masks, and life jackets are inside the shed. The kayak paddle is right next to the kayak. For safety reasons, please stay inside this large cove if you sail or kayak. The WaveRunners are reserved for our security guards.”

The Swami groaned about not being able to use the WaveRunners, but the tour continued. A sidewalk and a manicured lawn connected the beach area to the main building, which contained two floors of condo units—about forty in all, by Finney’s estimation. Each contestant would have his or her own condo. Pink and yellow flowers in full bloom bordered the path. The whole island was lush, its rolling volcanic hills covered in dark-green vegetation. This little resort was the only sign of civilization as far as Finney could see.

He had expected more primitive accommodations, the kind you see on Survivor. But this stuff was all first-class—more like a converted five-star resort.

“Is this some kind of vacation property?” Finney asked.

“Like Tammy said, it’s paradise,” Murphy replied. “And that’s about all we can tell you.”

A small but stately restaurant—the Paradise View—was built on a rocky ledge that overlooked the cove. “This is the mess hall,” Murphy quipped. The sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the ocean side, and Finney could only imagine how nice this place would be at sunset in a few hours, with white linen covering the tables and the chandelier providing dim interior light.

The only place that didn’t have a view was a large ballroom in the main building that the producers had converted into a library. It now had a large conference table in the middle, a few comfortable chairs and reading lamps spread around, and rows upon rows of bookshelves. Fittingly enough, it smelled musty. “We’ve collected nearly five thousand books on the major world religions,” Murphy said proudly. “Even a few authored by the folks in this room.”

Finney wondered if they had his book. He had mentioned it during his first full-blown interview when McCormack and a film crew came to Norfolk to see how well the judge performed on camera.

The centerpiece of the resort was a large stone-and-masonry building with a Spanish-tile roof and two impressive archways on the front porch. The interior smelled like freshly cut lumber and varnish. Finney guessed that, a few weeks ago, the building might have been some kind of chapel. For the next two weeks, it would serve as the Paradise Courthouse.

“Dinner will be waiting for each of you in your condos,” Murphy instructed. “Our camera crews will, of course, be following you, so feel free to engage in any type of religious ceremonies that might be appropriate before or after you eat. We will need you back at the courthouse in two hours.” He reached into his backpack and returned everyone’s watches.

“We have reset your watches so that we’re all on Paradise Island time,” he explained. “You need to be back here at 9:00 p.m. sharp. Tammy will be explaining the rules, and you will be getting your first assignment on camera. So dress appropriately.”

On the way to his condo, Finney fell in step beside Dr. Kline. She looked like she was born for island life—her sunglasses smacked of island cool, and she had piled her blonde hair on top of her head, exposing her perfectly tanned neck. Finney, on the other hand, was already sweating. “Where do you think we are, Doctor?” he asked, not loud enough for the others to hear.

“I don’t know. We were blindfolded, remember?”

Two weeks of this, Finney thought. “Yeah, but you must have a guess. I’ll tell you what.” Finney made a show of glancing around. They were a few steps ahead of the others. Dr. Kline hadn’t seemed to notice that Ando had a hard time keeping up. The cameramen were carrying their cameras at their sides. “You tell me what you think, and I’ll give you my guess.”

Dr. Kline sighed. “All right. Based on the white sand beaches, palm trees, sea grape trees, cacti, agave, and coral reefs as well as the direction of the trade winds, the range for a Gulfstream G450 with a full fuel tank, and the oleanders and royal poincianas growing along this path—I’d say we’re somewhere in the eastern South Pacific. Probably near the Galápagos chain.”

The Galápagos. Charles Darwin. Evolution. Just the kind of melodramatic location the producers might choose.

Just then an iguana darted across their path, startling Finney. “Not to mention the iguanas,” Dr. Kline said. “Native to that band of islands as well.”

They walked on a few steps in silence. What Dr. Kline said made sense, except for the style of the architecture. Somehow it seemed out of character for a Pacific island.

“And your guess, Judge Finney?”

“I was going to say we were on an island too,” Finney said. It was important to keep the poor country lawyer routine going as long as possible. “Somewhere in the middle of an ocean—most probably the Atlantic or Pacific.” He glanced at Kline out of the corner of his eye. It was possible that somewhere under those large-framed sunglasses the pretty eyes were smiling, but he doubted it. “But I’ll tell you one thing: it’s way too hot for paradise.”