Make Her Pay

Bria

“Well, for one thing, I didn’t ‘end’ up here; I’m leaving as soon as this job for Mrs. B is over. I was about to leave when I heard about it. But to answer your question, I’ve been traveling around Europe for a year, after a miserable divorce from a cheating… Never mind, it’s a cliché. I’ve been here in Corvo for about two months, ’cause I think it’s one of the prettiest places I’ve ever seen. I was just about to head off to Spain when I heard about Ana, and figured I could scare up some cash working for this lady who apparently never made her own bed in her life.”

“Wow, it sounds like a fun adventure.”

Gabby laughed, fluffing the comforter into place. “I had to get out of Indiana, that’s for sure. When my husband left I was all weepy and miserable, with nothing but half of the cash from selling our split level. Then, one of my friends gave me this book about a lady who went and lived in Italy and India, trying to find herself after a divorce. I thought, why not? I’m fifty and I’ve never been east of Pittsburgh. So here I am.”

Bria

“How ’bout you? Is that research project the only thing that brings you to our lovely rock in the ocean?”

“Yes.”

“How is Mrs. B involved?”

“Her genealogy is involved, and I was hoping to have access to her library. She said there’s one in the house.”

“I don’t know if I’d exactly call it a library, but there is a room with some books.”

“How did Mrs. B end up here?” With a nurse, no less.

“There are a lot of rumors about that, but I’ve become friendly with a cousin of a friend of the man who was Ana’s fiancé…” She laughed at how that sounded. “Trust me, you live here long enough and you know everyone. Anyway, evidently her husband is some big-time Wall Street guy whose family has owned this property forever. She apparently tried to kill herself more than once, so he sent her here.”

“Like, he shipped her off and exiled her? Without offering psychiatric help or counseling?”

Gabby held out her hands in a “who knows?” gesture. “They’re off-the-charts rich and he’s got a big-time reputation. Maybe she preferred this to an institution.”

“She doesn’t strike me as that whacko.”

“She’s whacko enough to have tried to kill herself a couple of times since she got here.”

“Whoa.” What was this place, Suicide Island? “How?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I heard Ana was really good with her. That’s why it’s such a shame…”

Bria

“It’s tricky, but Sousa’s has a computer and they can get satellite Internet. That’s the one and only restaurant in town, and I’m living in one of two rooms above it. It’s spotty, but it’s your only chance without taking a ferry to a bigger island. Terceira has all that.”

Bria

“Oh, honey, I wouldn’t go into town today. It’s Ana’s funeral and the place is completely shut down.”

“Oh, okay.” Bria

“That’s just it.” Gabby snapped the pillowcases tight and smoothed them as she followed Bria

Bria

“No. But why else would someone climb up to that thing? She sure didn’t go up to work the machinery.”

“Does Mrs. Bettencourt know what happened to her? Maybe it was an accident.”

“She said the girl spent the day crying. And her mother did pass, but well over a year ago.”

“Oh. Grief can make people do very strange things,” Bria

Guilt twisted in her again. “Are you sure I can’t get into the restaurant today? I really want to send my sister a message.”

“Tell you what, I’ll send your message for you. What’s her e-mail?”

“That would be wonderful.” Bria

“Aramis?”

She wrote the name on the paper. “Yeah. Just let her know I’m safe and that I’ll be in touch with her as soon as I can. And tell her I love her.”

Gabby took the paper and nodded. “Happy to help you.”

When she left, Bria

She closed her eyes and said a little prayer for the girl, then got dressed to go meet with eccentric, if nutso, Solange Bettencourt.

It would take a while for Con Xenakis to find her here. Safe in that knowledge, and in the fact that she could get the scepter to her safe-deposit box in just a few hours, Lizzie walked through the minuscule rooms that Dad had called his workplace. Less than a thousand square feet, the five-room beach house had survived numerous hurricanes. At his office door, she almost laughed. Hurricanes outside and in.

Bria

Inhaling the whisper of Old Spice that lingered in the air, she stepped into the office, imagined him turning in the old desk chair and beckoning to her: Lizzie Lou, look at you.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Yeah, look at me, Dad. Duped by a hot guy. You’d be so proud.”

She dropped into his chair and clicked on the computer, praying Bria

She clicked on the Internet browser bar, getting a list of the last sites visited. She recognized most of them, but not the top site-something about genealogy. Out of curiosity she clicked on it, and scrolled down the home page to a flashing link.

Welcome back, MDare, you have private e-mail waiting in the forum. Please read.

She hesitated for a minute, her finger over the mouse. Should she go there? Did this person not know that her father had died?

Possibly not. A treasure forum would know. But genealogy? She clicked on the link.

MDare-I have the information you are seeking for Carlos Bettencourt, circa 1860. Please respond by private e-mail [email protected] /* */.

She was tempted to just let it go, but that wasn’t right.

She hit reply and typed, Thank you for contacting MDare. I’m his daughter and am sorry to inform you that he has passed away. Can you forward the information to me at the following e-mail address? She added her own e-mail and tapped Send, then opened up the program for her own mail-which did not include a message from her sister.

She wrote another note, pleading with Bria

From [email protected] /* */ Wow, that was fast.

I’ve already given the information to your sister when I met her in Lisbon. I believe she’s going straight to the source in Corvo now. Maria Rossos Della Buonofuentes.