What Happens in Paradise

by Elin Hilderbrand

  I am Brigid. I know Russ is married and still I am involved with him. Deeply involved.

  Russ showed up a few days ago—hurricane season is now officially over and the island is gearing up for the holidays—and I told him about Ayers breaking up with Mick because she had caught him cheating. Russ nodded distractedly.

  I said, “These aren’t fictional characters from a book I’m reading or a show I’m watching, Russ. These are my friends. You don’t know them because you can’t meet anyone in my life, but they’re real to me, they’re important to me.”

  “I know, Rosie,” he said. “I’ve been hearing about them for years. They’re real to me too.”

  “I want an engagement ring,” I blurted out. “By the new year. Otherwise I’m done for good. Maia just turned twelve. She’s a young woman, Russ. She’s been very accepting of our arrangement, but someday soon she’s going to start asking the hard questions.”

  “I know,” he said. “And believe me, I want to give you an engagement ring. Things are tough at work right now…”

  Tough at work. That old chestnut.

  “I’m thinking about quitting,” he said. “I love my income, but if I left, I’d have a shot at getting my integrity back. The things we’re doing…they aren’t right, Rosie.”

  “Don’t tell me!” I said. I have this notion that if I don’t know any particulars, I’ll be safe. I have almost a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in my bottom drawer. It’s a lot, but is it enough to live on for the rest of my life? I thought about Maia going to high school—I want to be able to send her to Antilles on St. Thomas—and then to college in the States. Russ must have savings, right? If not, we could sell the villa and move someplace smaller. We don’t need nine bedrooms; we never have guests. Seven of the bedrooms have never even been slept in.

  Russ said, “If I quit, things will change. For the worse, initially, and then for the better.”

  “Quit,” I said.

  November 19, 2018

  My hand is shaking as I write this. I’m thinking about calling the police, but the police here on St. John won’t be able to do anything. I need to call the FBI. But if I do that, I might get Russ in trouble.

  I was waiting tables at La Tapa tonight when Tilda told me there was a one-top, a man, who had asked for me specifically. This was the downside of being mentioned by name so frequently on TripAdvisor. Complete strangers pretended they knew me.

  “He’s ridiculously hot,” Tilda said. “In a Clooney-meets-Satan kind of way.”

  That description should have tipped me off but it was a busy night and I didn’t have time to think. I approached the table and noted only that Tilda’s description was accurate; the guy was attractive but scary-looking. Sharply dressed, too sharp for the Virgin Islands.

  “Hello,” I said. “Welcome to La Tapa.” I handed him a menu and the wine list. “Can I get you started with sparkling, still, or tap water?”

  He looked up. “Hello, Rosie,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Do I know you?”

  In the split second before he spoke, it clicked: Todd Croft.

  “Todd Croft,” he said.

  I wanted to scream. I did a quick survey of the restaurant. Who could help me? Skip was behind the bar. There was no way he could handle this. Ayers could, maybe. Or Tilda.

  Or me. I could handle this.

  “What are you doing here?” I said.

  “How old is your daughter now?” he asked. “Twelve?”

  The mention of Maia made me bend down and get in his face. “Get out of here,” I whispered. “This is my island. Mine, not yours. If your intention was to come in here and threaten me or threaten my family, I would think again. I know people.”

  He seemed amused by that. “Do you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I do.” I was thinking of Oscar. If I took twenty or thirty thousand dollars from the drawer, could I get Oscar to board Bluebeard in the middle of the night and shoot Todd Croft, or at least scare him to death?

  I half feared Todd would try to hire him. They were both pirates.

  “Russ is finished with you,” I said.

  “He’s not, though,” Todd said. He pushed back from the table and stood. “That’s what I came to tell you. Russ isn’t finished with me. He doesn’t seem to see it that way, however, so I need you to talk some sense into him.” He gave me a tight smile. “There’s big money in it for you if you’re persuasive.”

  “If you want a burger,” I said, in a voice loud enough to draw attention from nearby tables, “you should try the Tap and Still across the street. Thanks for stopping in.”

  With that, I snapped up his menu, corralled Ayers from table 11, and dragged her into the kitchen to do a shot of beer.

  “Who was that?” she asked. “He was hot.”

  I longed to tell Ayers the truth. She’s my best friend and she doesn’t know the first thing about me. By choosing to be with Russ, I’m hiding from everyone else.

  “Some creeper,” I said. “I sent him packing.”

  December 31, 2018

  Russ came back the day after Christmas with a leather and black pearl choker for me—not an engagement ring. I gave him a framed photograph of me and him in the hammock that I had taken with Maia’s selfie stick. He was happy with his present. I was less happy with mine, which he could tell.

  “I have until the new year, January first,” he said. “Right? That was the ultimatum?”

  I didn’t like the word ultimatum or the fact that I had issued one, but I nodded.

  I’d told him about Todd Croft coming to La Tapa, and Russ had assured me that everything was going to be all right. He’d had a confidential talk with Stephen Johnson, Todd’s partner, and he’d told Russ that he would smooth things over with Todd. There was no reason Russ couldn’t make a seamless exit as long as he signed a confidentiality agreement and a noncompete.

  This came as a relief to me, and it made sense. Stephen was an attorney.

  “Let’s celebrate New Year’s Eve at the villa,” Russ said. “And then go over to Anegada on the first. Stephen has offered to take us by helicopter.”

  “I’ve always wanted to ride in a helicopter,” I admitted. “Should we take Maia?”

  He kissed my nose. “Next time,” he said. “This trip is just for us.”

  Just for us; I liked the way that sounded. He would extract himself from Ascension with the help of coolheaded, legal-minded Stephen Johnson, and we would go to Anegada to stay in the pristine white clapboard cottage—where, maybe, oh please, a diamond ring would be waiting for me.

  When I went home to pack, I heard Maia and Joanie giggling in Maia’s room. I tapped on the door.

  They were sprawled across Maia’s bed, both on their phones, which I didn’t love, but what I did love was the evidence of their bath-bomb business strewn about—the Epsom salts, the food coloring, the citric acid, the tropical fragrances.

  I chatted with the girls for a minute—they were starting to have crushes on boys—and then I gave Maia a squeeze and a kiss and wished her a happy New Year.

  “I love you, Mama,” she said.

  I left the room but then I peeked back in. I wanted very badly to tell Maia the truth: I was going to Anegada with Russ because he planned to propose! We were going to be a real family!

  But instead, I simply caught her eye and mouthed, I love you.

  And I closed the door.

  Irene

  Irene watches Huck’s back as he leaves. What is she doing? She’s asking for more time because she’s scared. She has never felt so drawn to a man in her life and it’s terrifying; she doesn’t like the sensation of losing control.

  But what did Russ’s accident teach her? What is the number-one thing?

  She’s alive.

  She, Irene Hagen Steele, has today and God knows how many days after. Why not spend those days falling headlong in love with Captain Sam Powers?

  “Hey, Huck?” she says.

  But he h
as disappeared down the stairs.

  She shakes her head. Go to bed, Irene, she thinks. You can talk to Huck in the morning.

  Yes, that’s a smart idea—but even as she decides this, she’s walking toward the villa stairs, envisioning kissing Huck through the open window of his truck.

  And then she sees a flash of light. Headlights, more than one pair, are coming up the hill.

  “Huck?” she calls out.

  The headlights get closer, and before Irene can process what’s happening, four black SUVs pull into the driveway.

  What must be ten people climb out of the cars and start up the steps. Irene’s instinct is to back up all the way to the far railing of the deck.

  The first person to arrive at the top is a woman, red-haired, attractive. She flashes her badge and a piece of paper that could be a shopping list for all Irene can tell; she’d need her glasses to read it.

  “Hello?” Irene says. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Agent Vasco, and as of right now, this villa, one Lovers Lane, is the property of the United States government.” She looks at Irene, not unkindly. “Mrs. Steele?”

  Irene nods.

  “Your husband, Russell Steele, bought this property as well as the property at thirty Church Street, Iowa City, Iowa, with illegally acquired funds. We’ve arrested Todd Croft and charged him with one hundred and seventeen counts of fraud, money-laundering, and tax evasion for a total of over three point five billion dollars. He named your husband, Russell Steele, as a coconspirator, and he has documentation to prove it. I’m afraid we have to seize both properties.”

  “Wait,” Irene says. “You’re taking this house?”

  “This house, yes,” Agent Vasco says. “And there are federal agents at your home in Iowa City right now.”

  “But that’s my home,” Irene says. “I invested six years restoring it. I live there.”

  “You may pack one suitcase of personal effects,” Agent Vasco says. “But I’m afraid you have to vacate the property.”

  “But my boys,” Irene says. “My grandson.” Irene can’t think. Baker and Floyd are in Houston, but they’re on their way back. Cash is asleep upstairs.

  “I’m sorry,” Agent Vasco says. “I’m afraid I’ll have to oversee your packing.”

  “But I’ve done nothing wrong,” Irene says. “I met with Agent Beckett in Iowa City. I was very forthcoming. I told him everything I knew. I helped him.”

  “I wish it were different,” Agent Vasco says. “But it’s not. This is no longer your property, I’m afraid.”

  For one suspended moment, Irene mentally leaves the scene. She’s back on the unnamed beach, naked. She hears Russ say, The storm is coming. It will be a bad storm. Destructive.

  This is the storm. It’s here. The villa. Her home in Iowa City. What is she going to do? Where is she going to go?

  “Huck?” she cries out.

  She sees him running up the villa stairs toward her.

  “I’m here, AC,” he says. “I’m here.”

  Acknowledgments

  Every year for the past eight years, I have been lucky enough to spend five weeks on the island of St. John in the U.S. Virgin Islands. While I consider it a home away from home, it is not my main residence, nor do I own property there. It is for this reason that I am so grateful to and humbled by the people of St. John, all of whom have been so kind, welcoming, helpful, and supportive.

  I have to start by thanking my St. John family: Julie and Matt Lasota and their wonderful children. I’d also like to thank Beth and Jim Heskett for giving me “a room of my own” at the St. John Guest Suites for four idyllic years.

  Shout-outs to those people who assisted with my research by either talking to me or providing me with valuable experiences. In no particular order: Karen Oscar Coffelt and head of school Liz Morrison from the Antilles School; Captain Stephen and Kelly Quinn of Singing Dog Sailing; Bridgett and Jimmy Key of Palm Tree Charters; Heather and the whole staff on Pizza Pi (the pizza boat!); Matt Atkinson, who was literally my first friend on St. John in 2012; Peter Bettinger; Chester of Chester’s Getaway; Colleen from Pizzabar in Paradise; John Dickson from the Pink Papaya; Jorie Roberts; Sarah Swan; Richard from Lime Inn—thank you for saving Maxx’s life (story for another day); Jerry and Tish O’Connell from the Soggy Dollar (and you too, Leon!); and huge, enormous thanks to Alex Ewald for the wonder that is La Tapa.

  Last and most important, thank you to my partner in crime, Timothy Field. Here’s to many, many more days of being the last people left on Oppy.

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  About the Author

  Elin Hilderbrand is the mother of three 3-sport athletes, an aspiring fashionista, a dedicated jogger, a world explorer, an enthusiastic foodie, and a grateful three-year breast cancer survivor. She spends part of every winter writing on St. John. What Happens in Paradise is her twenty-fourth novel.

  Also by Elin Hilderbrand

  The Beach Club

  Nantucket Nights

  Summer People

  The Blue Bistro

  The Love Season

  Barefoot

  A Summer Affair

  The Castaways

  The Island

  Silver Girl

  Summerland

  Beautiful Day

  The Matchmaker

  Winter Street

  The Rumor

  Winter Stroll

  Here’s to Us

  Winter Storms

  The Identicals

  Winter Solstice

  The Perfect Couple

  Winter in Paradise

  Summer of ’69