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“Any news about what happened to Diana Harden?” I asked.
“If you have any questions or concerns, you can speak with the resort manager.”
“Is that where we’re going now?”
“We’re going to the security office. There’s nothing to be concerned about. Mr. Garmon, our head of security, simply needs your statement.”
“What about the police?”
“We’re cooperating fully with St. John police, of course,” Kalise said.
“Then why aren’t the police taking my statement?”
She glanced at me as if it was an odd question. “St. Claire is a private island. Gino Garmonisour police.”
That surprised me, and I expected more of an explanation, but Kalise remained silent as she led me to the security building south of the main lodge. It was set back from the otherstructures, partly hidden behind flowering bushes and bamboo fencing. Kalise badged in at the door, and it opened.
A security officer smiled at us. He was dressed in khakis and the standard St. Claire polo withSecurityunder the logo instead of his name. “Thanks, Kalise. I’ll take her from here.”
Kalise nodded to me and left.
The officer led me past several small offices to a conference room at the end of the wide hall.
Gino Garmon, the security chief, was just as hot as I remembered from the beach: dark Italian looks, firm, muscular body. But he was still an ass, I reminded myself. He sat at the table with a man in a summer-weight light gray suit with a pale pink tie. Tristan, who had helped Trina in the gift shop with the rude Sherry Morrison. The Tristan who, according to staff gossip last night, was sleeping with Kalise.
Gino glanced at me without smiling. Tristan rose, smiled, and extended his hand. “Ms. Crawford, thank you for coming in so promptly. I’m Tristan Dubois, the manager of St. Claire.” He had perfect posture and a slight French accent.
I couldn’t picture it. The tall, dark, stately Kalise with the shorter, pale, wiry Tristan who lived on an island but didn’t look like he spent a minute in the sun. Not to mention he had a receding hairline and funeral home demeanor.
Maybe I wasn’t being fair, judging books—or people—by their covers. And Tristan had a warm, pleasant smile that would have put me at ease if Gino hadn’t been glaring at me.
“Of course,” I said belatedly. “Anything I can do to help.”
Tristan said, “You’ve met Gino Garmon, our head of security. We just have a few questions, but you are of course not a suspect in Ms. Harden’s death.”
That comment surprised me, that he felt like he had to say it out loud. I hadn’t even been here when she disappeared.
“I thought the police would be here.”
“St. Claire is a private island,” Gino said. “Iam the police.”
I really didn’t like this guy. His tone and body language screamed intimidation. I steeled my spine, willed myself not tobe cowed by him. I found myself playing with the ends of my hair, twirling the waves into tight curls. A nervous habit. I forced myself to stop by clasping my hands on the table in front of me.
Tristan said in a more conciliatory tone, “We areof courseworking closely with the St. John Police Department. They have retrieved the body and are performing the autopsy, and they are leading the investigation on St. John. But you don’t need to worry about any of that. We simply need a timeline for the record. May I bring you something to drink? Water? Iced tea? Something alcoholic perhaps?”
Was he trying to throw me for a loop? I tried to picture being interrogated by the police in New York City and being offered a glass of wine. It almost made me laugh.
“No, thank you,” I said. “Maybe water?”
Tristan walked over to a mini-fridge and retrieved a bottled water, put it in front of me, then took his seat again, giving me an encouraging smile. Maybe Kalise liked him because he was a genuinely nice guy.
Gino said, “What happened last night? How did you come upon the body? Where were you, what did you hear, what did you see?”
All humor disappeared, and I was immediately self-conscious about last night. What exactly did I say? What had Jason said? I assumed they spoke to Jason, but what if they hadn’t yet?
Why are you even worried about it? Just tell the truth.
“I heard Mrs. Kent scream,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t know it was her at the time. But I heard a scream and ran toward it.”