What Happens in Paradise(25)

We laughed. I said, “I’d put you in my section but you’ll probably be more comfortable at the bar.”

He said, “Bar is fine but I’ll miss you bringing me my conch fritters.”

I said, “If you think I’m going to let someone else bring you your conch fritters, you’re crazy.”

He gave me a look then that was so long and deep, my legs grew weak and my face grew hot and never in my life had I been more aware that I was a human being—powerful and fallible.





Part Two





Lawyers, Guns,

and Money





Irene




She drives Cash and Winnie to the airport in Cedar Rapids. From Cedar Rapids, they will fly to Chicago, and from Chicago to St. Thomas. Irene is tempted to tell Cash that she received her own job offer on St. John but he’s so excited about getting back down there that Irene decides not to steal his thunder or distract from his anticipation.

Besides, she isn’t at all sure Huck was serious.

Still, it was nice to hear his voice.

Cash’s departure turns out to be the impetus Irene needs to get things done. On the way home from Cedar Rapids, she calls Ed Sorley.

“Oh, Irene,” he says. “You must have read my mind. I just dug up a photocopy of the check that Russ gave me when we closed on the Church Street house. Turns out, it was a cashier’s check drawn on a bank called SGMT in the Cayman Islands.”

“The Cayman Islands?” Irene says. “Not the Virgin Islands?”

“The Cayman Islands,” Ed says. “I double-checked that myself.”

“But it cleared, right?” Irene says. “We did actually pay for the house?”

“Yes, yes,” Ed says. “I’ll try to see if maybe this SGMT has a phone number or a website, but even if it does, it might be difficult to track down. It’s a cashier’s check, which is almost like Russ showed up at the bank with six hundred grand in cash…but that’s obviously impossible.”

Is it, though? Irene wonders.

“He might have an account at this bank,” Ed says. “I’ll try to figure it out.”

“Thank you, Ed,” Irene says.

She hangs up and calls Paulette Vickers. Paulette is out of the office—is Paulette ever in the office? Irene wonders—and so Irene leaves a voicemail.

“Paulette, it’s Irene Steele,” she says. “I need a copy of Russ’s death certificate. I can’t do anything without it. My attorney said that until it’s issued, Russ is technically still alive.” Irene gives a weak laugh and flashes back to her dream about the chickens. “So if you would please send me a certified copy, I would greatly appreciate it. That’s apparently what I need. You have my address and if there’s a fee, I’m happy to send a check, or maybe you can take it out of your operating account for the villa.” Irene pauses. “Thank you, Paulette. If this is an issue, please call me back.”

Irene hangs up and thinks, Please don’t call me back. Just send the death certificate. Paulette’s husband, Douglas Vickers, was the one who identified Russ’s body and delivered his ashes to Irene. He’s her only hope of getting this documentation.

She feels a small sense of accomplishment—really small, because she has learned nothing except that Russ apparently had a relationship with a bank in the Cayman Islands. Irene doesn’t have the foggiest idea where the Cayman Islands are. If she were to visit, would she find that Russ also has a mistress and child there? She laughs at the absurdity of the thought—and yet, it’s not out of the question!

The road home from the airport brings Irene perilously close to the offices of the magazine Heartland Home and Style, her place of employment. Irene hasn’t been to work in three weeks. She has two voicemails from Mavis Key on her cell phone; in the second of these, Mavis announced that she “did a little detective work” and learned that Milly had passed away—which, Mavis assumed, was the reason for Irene’s “extended absence.” Mavis offered her condolences, then asked if Irene would prefer the magazine to send flowers or donate to a particular cause.

Irene had ignored the message. She didn’t want to think about work.

But she can’t ignore it forever. Impulsively, Irene turns into the parking lot of the magazine and pulls into her spot. Already the signage has been changed to read EXECUTIVE EDITOR. She cuts the engine and checks her appearance in the rearview. Her hair is braided, her bangs long but not ratty. She’s not wearing any makeup but she still has a little bit of color on her nose and across her cheeks from the sun in St. John.

In she goes.

The first person she sees is the magazine’s receptionist, Jayne. Jayne decorates the reception desk herself using the magazine’s small slush fund; she follows the lead of all the major retailers and really gets a jump on things. Now that Christmas and New Year’s are behind them, Jayne has her area decked out for Valentine’s Day. There’s an arrangement of red and white carnations on the desk and, next to that, an enormous bowl of candy hearts.

“Irene!” Jayne shrieks. She leaps out of her chair and comes running to give Irene a maternal embrace; Jayne has five children, seventeen grandchildren, a pillowy bosom, and soft downy cheeks.

Irene allows herself to be swallowed up in Jayne’s arms and soon the rest of the staff—bored or easily distracted, even though they should be hard at work on the April issue—come trooping out, all filled with joy (or maybe just relief) at Irene’s unexpected return.