“Did he tell you it’s off?”
“While I’m in a hospital bed? No, he’ll wait.”
“What about his mother? Would he have told her?”
“Uh-uh. If he had, the only reason she’d come to the hospital is to spit on me. Mrs. Jonquil’s French, not Swiss, and a serious Catholic. The woman wouldn’t be here if she knew.”
“Were there files attached to the e-mail?”
She moved her eyes. No.
“How was it worded?”
“What I just told you. He wants the rest of the money.”
“Can you remember specifics?”
“I should, I read the damn thing a dozen times before I trashed it. It was kinda like the first one, the way he tried to be clever. It went, ‘Some vacation memories are priceless, so your vacation video is a bargain. Either pay the rest of the money, or…’ No, that’s not right.” She thought for a moment. “No, he said, ‘Pay the balance or you’ll be sinning with your new boyfriends on the Internet-’ It went like that.”
I said, “Sinning. That’s a strange way to put it.”
“Yeah, he’s nasty clever. Called me a slut-that was in the subject line. And he said ‘porn sites,’ not Internet. But he didn’t attach any more video files.”
Like before-it wasn’t just about the money. The blackmailer got a charge out of humiliating victims.
“Is there a chance Michael or his pals can retrieve the earlier files if they go hunting through your computers?”
“No. We trashed everything. Then I found a special software that we all used to make sure it stays gone.”
“That includes his latest e-mail?”
She nodded.
“What about the other girls?”
“They got rid of it while we were still talking on the phone. But poor Corey, she didn’t know that Vance had already snooped.”
I said, “In that case, Michael doesn’t really know anything.”
“Of course he does… or soon will. He’ll find out the girls and I are being blackmailed about something bad enough we already paid a chunk of the quarter million. That and whatever else Vance slapped out of Corey before she OD’d. He’ll know about the video. There’s no getting around it.”
I looked into her eyes for a long second before saying, “Video? I don’t know what you’re talking about. What video?”
Shay stared back, her expression blank. Huh?
I said it again, deadpan. "What video?”
She continued to stare. “You’re serious.”
“Very.”
She tried to sit, but I placed my hands on her shoulders until she was lying back.
“But they’ll know.”
“They don’t know anything. Michael and his fraternity pals never saw what’s on that cassette. Neither did you. Neither did your bridesmaids. I have it. No one’s going to get it. So, as of now, it doesn’t exist.”
“But Vance read the e-mail-”
“An e-mail doesn’t prove anything. Some freak in the Caribbean is hounding you about a film he doesn’t have, and about a night that never happened.”
The girl took a deep breath and settled back, thinking about it. “My God, I’d give anything if it was true. But… but how do I explain why we paid all that money? Michael can check my bank-” She stopped, her voice turning inward. Her expression changed. “Wait… we have separate accounts. Same with Beryl, Liz, and their guys. We all chipped in, so we didn’t have to dig into our wedding accounts. They can’t check. But what about Vance and Corey-”
“Vance is a loser and liar. They had a fight last night. I’m sure it wasn’t their first. He’s jealous, pathological, so he made up a bunch of crap as an excuse for hitting his wife. You got involved after hearing Corey’s phone message.”
“Doc… I don’t know. Will it work?”
I leaned and kissed the same bare space on her temple. “Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it’ll buy us some time-as long as nothing else happened on Saint Arc. Something worse.”
“What the hell could be worse?”
“You tell me. An accident? If someone got hurt, and the camera caught it?”
“No. What we did was bad enough.”
I looked at her, letting her know this was serious. “Is that the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Then that’s the way we’ll play it. There is no video. Got it? The party, the swimming pool, the three locals, it never happened. Keep telling yourself that. I’ll send Beryl and Liz in so you can tell them-”
“No,” she interrupted, already ahead of me, “it’s better if I call their cell phones. If the three of us are in here alone, the guys will think we cooked up a story.”
I smiled. "Okay. Call them. Then go to sleep. Spend the next few days getting healthy.”
“But what happens next Friday? It’s the night of our rehearsal dinner. If we don’t pay the money-”
“Friday’s a week away. A lot can happen in seven days.” I turned, my hand on the edge of the privacy screen. “Maybe I’ll fly down to Saint Lucia, take the ferry to Saint Arc, and try to reason with the guy.”
“Try to… reason with him?” Shay said the words slowly, testing them for euphemism.
“Why not? The island has a reef system… and there’s a species of sea jelly I’m interested in. It’s rare-a dark blue medusa, so dark it’s black. I can do research.”
“Research.” Her tone was the same.
“I’ll need help on this end. We can stay in touch by e-mail. And someone has to look after the lab-Ransom’s going to Seattle with Tomlinson. He’s teaching at a retreat.”
“Just like that, you’re ready to go.”
“Why not? It’s not like you to quit. Remember the night we saved your chocolate Lab?”
The reaction was instant. She smiled, and I had her attention again.
“He was such a sweetie. Davey Dog. Daddy’s pit bulls got him, but we pulled him through. I see what you’re saying. He never gave up.”
“That’s better. You’re a tough woman, sister. Smart. The poor bastard on Saint Arc has no idea who he’s dealing with.”
The smile broadened. Then it faded as her eyes began to tear. She found a tissue and used it, studying me. “My dear, sweet mysterious biologist. I wish to hell now I hadn’t asked Bill Woodward to give.. .” Her voice caught. “… to give the doctors hell if they don’t take good care of Corey. I should’ve put you in charge.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “If he mentions it at the wedding, I’ll pretend not to know.”
Beryl Woodward was in the parking lot arguing with her fiance when I walked outside into the sodium glare of security lights.
I didn’t make the association right away. I’d been awake for twenty-four hours. I hadn’t worked out or gone for a run, and my swim with the whales wasn’t exactly therapeutic. Birds were testing darkness with an experimental twittering that inflamed nerve endings in the back of my brain. But because her silhouette was unmistakably female, the woman registered on an instinctual level that never tires. Unconsciously, I noted height, hair, heft of bosom as I walked.
It was a coincidence my old Chevy pickup was parked a few cars away from where Beryl and her fiance stood. They were nose to nose, voices hypercharged but so low I was on them before sentence fragments revealed what was going on.
“… October wedding? Why the hell should I? You go off for a girl’s weekend, then I find out…”
“… you believe Vance? You accuse me?”
“Something happened on that island, goddamn it…”
“… hold it! You get caught making out with one of my best girlfriends. But now I’m the one who can’t…”
“You have changed! You’ve been acting so freaking weird…”
“… I had fun! That’s a big change, I agree.”
By the time I realized it was Beryl, she’d recognized me, so it was too late to do a polite about-face. But I slowed my pace and made a show of concentrating mightily on something in my hand. Truck keys. I had nothing else. When their voices went silent, I filled the silence by whistling a tune that didn’t resemble the Buffett song playing in my head.