What Happens in Paradise - Elin Hilderbrand Page 0,58
it’s the nice guys who are the worst criminals,” Rooney says. “Because they’re the ones you’d least suspect of anything.”
Irene stands up. “I’m feeling a little worn out,” she says, and everyone takes the hint.
Monday afternoon, Irene’s ferry pulls in among the powerboats and catamarans moored in Cruz Bay, and Irene scans the crescent of white sand that’s home to a string of open-air restaurants backed by palm trees. She feels like she can breathe again. It’s bizarre that the place her husband conducted his wild and massive deception has become her refuge. Irene doesn’t want to overthink this and she doesn’t want to fight it. She’s now experiencing the emotions one should feel upon arriving on St. John: anticipation and joy.
Both of her boys are here, and her grandson. It feels like an embarrassment of riches, all of them choosing to be together this time, choosing to be in the paradise Russ unwittingly brought them to.
Cash had texted Irene the night before to let her know that today was his first day as a crew member aboard Treasure Island. He thought he’d be back in time to pick Irene up, but if not, he’d send Baker. However, when Irene steps off the ferry and grabs her luggage—two rolling suitcases that contain sundresses, sandals, plenty of bathing suits, and some old fishing shirts that she used to wear out on Clark Lake—she doesn’t see either Cash or Baker, and she’s annoyed. Have they forgotten her?
“Irene!”
Irene looks around. Huck is in the parking lot, standing in front of his truck. Irene can’t believe the feeling that overcomes her. She ducks her head so he can’t see her smiling.
Get a grip! she thinks. It’s just Huck. “Oh, hi,” she says. She grabs her luggage and starts rolling it over to his truck. “Are you here for me?”
“Baker took Floyd to the Gifft Hill School and Maia wanted to show them around,” Huck says. “So that left me free to pick you up.”
Things are really happening, then—Cash started a job, Floyd will go to school. Irene opens the passenger door to Huck’s truck.
“Wait a minute,” Huck says. He strides over and puts his hands on her shoulders and looks her in the eye. “It’s good to see you, Angler Cupcake. I’m glad you’re back.”
On the way to Russ’s villa, Irene thinks it best to fill Huck in on what’s been happening.
She says, “I’ve had a visit from the FBI.”
Huck says, “I’m afraid that might have been my fault. I had a call from an agent down here right after you left to let me know that they’d opened an investigation into the crash—”
“Yes,” Irene says. “The boys and I received calls as well—”
“And then I contacted Agent Vasco myself last week to let her know that…well, we found money in Rosie’s room.”
Irene gazes out the window, trying to focus on the views. The vista of the neighboring islands across the turquoise water is nothing short of spectacular. Less than a month ago, Irene made the same drive but she saw nothing, noticed nothing.
Money. “How much?”
“A lot.”
“How much, Huck?”
“A hundred and twenty-five grand.”
A hundred and twenty-five grand. A hot, nauseating panic rises in Irene’s chest. “In cash, you mean?”
“Yes, in cash. Bricks of it.”
“And they took it?”
“They took it,” Huck says. He lights a cigarette and blows the smoke out his window. “And I heard they paid a visit to Welcome to Paradise Real Estate.”
“Dear God,” Irene says. “Paulette?”
“She left the island. Her husband and her son too.”
“She left the island?” Irene says. “I called and left a message asking for a certified copy of the death certificate and she never returned my call, but then, voilà, a copy came in the mail.”
“Well, that’s good,” Huck says. “Right?”
“I thought Russ was still alive somewhere,” Irene says. “I had these dreams where he was so…vivid, so present, so whole. He was there, three-dimensionally, in my mind. And when I’d wake up, I’d think, He made it out of that helicopter and Croft plucked him out of the sea and whisked him away.” Irene is mortified when her voice breaks. “I thought he was just hiding somewhere. I thought I’d see him again.”
Huck takes Irene’s hand. Irene looks down to see their fingers intertwined, her hand slender and wrinkled and white, his large and wrinkled and brown.
“The FBI didn’t find anything in Iowa,” Irene says. “Did they find anything in your house, other than the money?