Free No Virgin Island by C. Michele Dorsey

Twelve
    Henry had just placed the frosted martini glass with three olives on the kitchen island in front of Sabrina when her cell phone rang.
    “If that’s Ms. Angela Hissy Missy calling to bitch about how we let a guest get murdered in her villa, don’t answer,” Henry said, pouring himself a glass of Pinot Grigio.
    “No, it’s Lyla Banks.” Sabrina picked up the phone and answered. “Hi, Lyla.”
    “Sabrina, is that you? I’m always so surprised when someone knows it’s me on the line. I forget about caller ID, even though it’s my favorite modern innovation. How are you, dear? I wanted to make sure you are all right after the shock you had today.”
    Sabrina was touched by Lyla’s concern. She felt her eyes begin to sting with tears. Here she was, a woman who had cried only a handful of times in her entire life, and in one day, she had come close to crying about a half-dozen times.
    “I’m okay, Lyla. Really, I am. I’m at Henry’s right now because the police and the media are swarming all over my cottage.”
    “Well, they must have imported some new police recruits because Villa Mascarpone is still crawling with cops. They have so many garish Klieg lights over there that Evan wasn’t comfortable taking our nightly skinny-dip in the pool after dinner. It’s really rather creepy,” Lyla said.
    Sabrina had to admit, skinny-dipping wasn’t something she imagined as part of the Banks’ daily routine, but she liked the idea. “Oh, Lyla, I should have thought to call and offer one of our empty villas for you and Evan. Tree Frog is available and close enough to Cruz Bay to make you feel a little more comfortable,” Sabrina said, looking at Henry for approval. Henry nodded. They both knew how anything out of the Banks’ ordinary routine threw Evan completely off, including bright lights flooding their side yard where the pool was located behind a hedge of Hibiscus.
    “Oh, no, we’re fine here, Sabrina, but thank you. It’s just, well, you’ve seen how Evan is when something unexpected happens. And this was definitely unexpected. Do you know, when we lived in New York, we bought a gun, just in case someone broke into our apartment while we were there? We didn’t care if we weren’t home and they helped themselves to our stuff, but Evan said we shouldn’t risk our own safety. We both took firearm training andhave gun permits. Never had to use the gun in all those years, and yet now that we decide to retire to safety in St. John, we have a murder across the way. It’s mind boggling,” Lyla said.
    “Oh, Lyla, I am sorry. They’ll have this all sorted out soon, I’m sure. Do you feel safe out there? Do you still have the gun?” Sabrina asked. Henry’s eyebrows arched upward at the word “gun.”
    “Yes, yes, we brought it with us. It’s locked in the safe. Neither of us felt we needed it out. Do you think I should take it out and place in my nightstand? You know, just in case?”
    Really? Put a gun in a nightstand next to your bed, just in case? Sabrina didn’t think she was the person to answer that question.
    “Lyla, you have to do whatever makes you and Evan feel safe and secure,” she said, taking a sip of the smooth slippery martini before it got warm. Henry made the best martinis in the world and she deserved this one.
    “I know, I know. I’m just rattled by how much this seems to be affecting Evan. I persuaded him to tuck in early with the new John Grisham book I snagged today while volunteering at the library. Evan loves Grisham’s books, though he doesn’t remember them very well anymore.’”
    “Lyla, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” Sabrina asked, knowing how difficult it was for Lyla to watch her husband of forty-odd years slipping away from her. It was such a cruel illness, for both the victim and his loved ones.Lyla had explained to her one day that Alzheimer’s disease resulted in what was called “ambiguous loss,” which meant that the person who had the