§ § § -- April 16, 1994

Toria Elliott, running on the adrenaline of outraged anger, walked all the way from the luau to the hotel and entered the lobby without breaking stride. At the front desk she confronted the sleepy, startled clerk with, "I need to know what Aaron Weld's room number is."

The clerk peered at her in confusion. "Do you know him?"

"Yes, he's an old schoolmate of mine," Toria said, "and I want to talk to him."

The clerk nodded and referred to her computer, checking the names of every guest in the hotel before looking up at Toria with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, ma'am, there's no one here by that name."

Toria stared at the girl in disbelief. "But he came for the reunion, and I overheard some classmates of mine mention him. He has to be here!"

The clerk's smile went sympathetic. "Maybe he's in one of the bungalows or the B&B," she offered. "You could try there."

"The B&B?" Toria repeated in surprise. "Where's that?"

The clerk gave her quick directions, and she thanked the girl and left the hotel. Aaron Weld was going to answer for what he'd done sooner or later, and she intended to make sure that happened. She was too single-minded in her purpose to consider anything else.

By the time the luau had finally wound down, Samantha and Darryl were both too tired to contemplate anything other than getting some sleep. Samantha peered around for her sister, but couldn't see her anywhere. Darryl watched for a moment before teasing, "Hey, I brought you here—I take you home."

She grinned at him. "I just wanted to be sure Toria wasn't overdoing it. Maybe she already went back to our bungalow. You know, this has been a really super evening."

Darryl smiled. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Although, you know, it doesn't have to be over yet…unless you're too worn out to consider prolonging it."

Samantha hesitated, swept her gaze across the crowd in one final fruitless attempt to locate Toria, then shrugged and smiled back at him. "You know, it's been a long time since I saw the Milky Way. Maybe it'll be dark enough on the beach someplace to see it."

"What about the lagoon?" Darryl offered.

"Lead on," she said, and they studied each other for a long moment before smiling at the same moment and wheeling themselves away from the noisy party.

Fortunately the lagoon was deserted at this late hour, and Samantha was enchanted by the reflection of stars on the dark, still water. "What a perfect spot! You know, I really can't get over this island. There's no place on earth more beautiful than this."

"Guess that's what keeps Mr. Roarke in business," Darryl joked and maneuvered his chair to a stop as close to Samantha's as he could get it. "So, can you see the Milky Way?"

Samantha tilted her head back and peered at the clear sky far above, searching the glittering constellations and finding herself picking out one after another, naming them with a speed and knowledge that impressed Darryl. "Wow, you really know your stars!"

"I remember when I was a kid, I wanted to become an astronomer," Samantha said dreamily, gazing into outer space. "Instead, somehow I wound up being a bank executive. I'm not sure how I went from the stars to the earth. There's nothing more grounded than banking, let me tell you. I really needed this break to remind me that there's more to life than monetary transactions."

Darryl laughed. "That's probably the first time I've ever heard anyone express gratitude for being confined to a wheelchair. You talk like you have to go back to that life."

Samantha caught her breath and forgot the stars, staring at Darryl for a moment. "Do you ever wish you could go back to your old life?" she asked hesitantly, trying to deflect his attention away from its dangerously close focus on her true status.

Darryl settled back and considered this. "Well, once in a while," he said, "I find myself thinking it'd be nice to be able to ride a bike, or just take a walk around the city. But I've known most of my life that this time was coming, so when it came I guess I was about as prepared as I could ever be." He leaned forward and peered at her. "It sounds to me like you haven't quite reconciled yourself yet. I don't want to pry, but tell me…just how did you end up in that chair?"

She drew in a long breath and turned away then, staring without seeing at the reflected stars in the lagoon. "It's a long story, and you're probably going to hate me after I finish telling you," she finally murmured in resignation.

Darryl folded her hand in his. "Samantha Elliott, I don't think there's any way on this earth I could hate you," he assured her, turning her face toward him and softly kissing her. It began as a sort of introductory kiss, uncertain at first; but some spark flared into abrupt life between them and within seconds it had grown heated enough to make them both forget their abandoned conversation.

§ § § -- April 17, 1994

"I don't get it, Sammie," Toria said in frustration, pacing the main room of the bungalow while Samantha, placidly eating breakfast, watched her. "I know Aaron Weld has to be on this island, but he's not at the hotel and he isn't registered at the bed-and-breakfast inn either. I wonder if Mr. Roarke and Leslie would tell me what bungalow he's in."

Samantha eyed Toria curiously. "Aren't you taking this vendetta thing a little far?"

Toria stopped pacing and gave her a hard stare. "Is my memory faulty or something? I mean, I did tell you what I heard last night, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," her sister replied, spooning salsa over her scrambled eggs. "But Toria, you yourself said you heard only part of what your old friends said."

Toria shook her head. "So?"

"So you don't know the whole story. For all you know, Aaron Weld isn't on the island at all, and that could be because he was arrested for drunk driving, death resulting, and is serving time."

"Well, I'd prefer to find out for myself," Toria said tightly. Something occurred to her then and she peered at Samantha. "Sammie…where were you last night? You came in awfully late, you know."

Samantha glanced serenely up from her breakfast. "Did I?"

"Yes," Toria said, going to the table and leaning over till her face was inches from Samantha's. "Don't tell me you had a hot date."

Samantha met Toria's gaze, and then a slow grin bloomed unexpectedly across her features. "As a matter of fact, I did. If you'd hung around here instead of tearing off to the luau for that dancing you wanted to do so badly, you'd have met him. His name's Darryl Kellett and he's from Chicago. Retired stockbroker, really nice guy."

"Retired stockbroker?" echoed Toria. "Sammie, how old is this guy?"

Samantha burst out laughing. "Roughly my age, Toria, so don't get all excited. He made some excellent investments and was able to retire early. Here's the kicker. He's in a wheelchair too—muscular dystrophy." Her features turned pensive.

Toria read her expression. "Oh no. Sammie, you haven't told him that wheelchair's really mine, have you?"

Samantha shook her head. "No, and I'm terrified to. I think he really feels we have something fundamental in common because of this thing. When he finds out I can walk, there's no telling what it'll do to whatever's developing between us."

Toria sighed, amused. "I must admit, I never thought a romance could be destroyed because somebody wasn't in a wheelchair. Look, I might not know much of anything about love, but I gotta tell you this at least. If he bases his feelings for you on whether you're in a wheelchair or on your own two feet, then he's not worth the worry."

"I know that," said Samantha glumly, "but tell it to my heart."

Toria smiled and patted her sister's shoulder. "Well, if it's right, it'll work out. I'm going over to see Mr. Roarke. Need anything before I go?"

Samantha shook her head. "No, but thanks. Y'know, sis, this weekend's been such an eye-opener. I wish there were a way to make it last longer."

A shadow crossed Toria's face and she gave a wistful nod. "Me too." She cleared her throat more thoroughly than she needed to and jogged toward the door. "Well, I'm off."

Aware that her period of mobility was numbered in hours, she alternated between walking, jogging and running all the way to the main house. She found Roarke and Leslie in the study, he going over figures and she gathering together a stack of letters for answering. They both looked up when she stuck her head through the doorway and around the corner, smiling greetings. "Good morning, Miss Elliott," said Roarke.

"Good morning, Mr. Roarke, Leslie," Toria replied. "Can you spare a few minutes?"

"Of course," Roarke said. "Please come in." Toria did so and settled into one of the chairs in front of the desk; Leslie started across the room with the letters, but Toria sat up.

"I wish you'd stay too," she said. "I think I might need an extra point of view here."

"Oh," said Leslie, surprised. "Well, let me put these over near the computer, and then we can all talk."

"Have you been enjoying your fantasy, Miss Elliott?" questioned Roarke warmly.

She grinned. "Mr. Roarke, it's been amazing. I've been trying to do everything I possibly can before…" Her features clouded over again and she sighed. "Well, before I have to confine myself to a permanently seated position again. The luau last night was something else again. I had so much fun dancing…the food tasted wonderful and everything was so exotic and exciting. What a smashing time I had." Her smile was wistful.

Roarke smiled too, genuinely pleased. "I am very glad to know you enjoyed yourself." Leslie returned and sat in the other chair, and he closed his ledger and devoted full attention to Toria. "What was it you wished to discuss?"

She drew in a breath and got a determined look about her. "Mr. Roarke, I need to know where Aaron Weld is staying."

Roarke looked blank. "Aaron Weld?"

Leslie broke in, "You didn't find him at the hotel?"

"No," said Toria and shook her head.

Roarke glanced back and forth between his daughter and their guest. "Forgive me, but perhaps you would grant me the favor of telling me who Aaron Weld is."

"He was a former classmate of mine in high school," Toria said. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Roarke…" She hesitated, took a deep breath and shifted in her chair so that she could include Leslie in the conversation. "You both know that I lost the use of my legs in a car accident right after graduation. Well, while I was dancing last night, I overheard my former friends from school." She repeated the comments she had heard. "Then Josh Dinwiddie said, 'Too bad Aaron's not here to see'—and that's how I found out who was driving the car that hit us that night. You see, Bill Wallis was driving, Lacey was next to him and I was on the passenger side. Anne and Josh were in the backseat with Mark Hailey, who was my boyfriend back then. When the other car hit us, there were injuries besides mine, though I got the worst of it. But I was lucky enough to live through it. Mark died." Roarke's expression turned sympathetic and Leslie winced on Toria's behalf. "Now, thanks to Josh, I know who crippled me and killed Mark. Aaron Weld got away with manslaughter and drunk driving, and I want him to pay for it. I want to be sure he gets what's coming to him. That's why I'm here: I want to know where he's staying."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other with comprehension; then Roarke turned to Toria and said gently, "I'm terribly sorry, Miss Elliott, but there is no guest here by the name of Aaron Weld."

Toria stared at him. "But…that doesn't make sense. He's got to be here!"

"It's possible that he couldn't face what he'd done and decided not to come," Leslie offered, "or else he might in fact be serving time."

"That's what Sammie said," Toria said, "but drunk driving doesn't carry that large a punishment, unfortunately, manslaughter or no. You're really sure Aaron isn't here?"

"I am quite certain," Roarke said, regarding her thoughtfully. "Miss Elliott, from what you have told us, it appears you heard only the last few moments of the conversation you described. I strongly suspect you don't have the full story from Mr. Weld's side, and it's my advice that you touch base with your friends and ask them what they know."

Toria considered this. "You have a point, Mr. Roarke. I deliberately fell out of touch with them after the accident. Well, when I do find out, Aaron's getting what he deserves."

Roarke leaned forward slightly. "Miss Elliott, there may be far more to the situation than you are willing to see. Do you know for a fact that Mr. Weld was driving drunk? Do you know for a fact that he was driving at all?" He took in her stunned look. "While I can understand and even appreciate your anger over the events that took place that night, I feel obligated to advise you that in the end, it is not your prerogative to bring down justice. It isn't your place to decide who is to be punished and how."

Toria stared at him. "But he got away with—"

"Murder?" Roarke interjected, his voice sharpening a notch. "Perhaps so, Miss Elliott, but you are letting your own bitterness color your feelings. And as I said, you don't have the full story. At the very least, speak with your companions and find out what they know. As to what Mr. Weld's fate should be, however, that isn't your decision to make."

Toria looked betrayed; after a moment she appealed to Leslie. "What would you do?"

Leslie, caught off guard by the sudden question, bought herself a moment or two with a deep breath. Tossing an apologetic glance in Roarke's direction, she admitted, "I expect I'd have had a reaction very similar to yours. On the other hand, it's only right that you find out everything, as Father said. I know I'd want all the facts before I jumped off the deep end." She saw Toria's pained grimace and added kindly, "Look at it this way. It's better you find out all you possibly can before you wade into what could turn out to be some very deep water. If Aaron Weld really is guilty of driving while intoxicated, at least you'll have all the available facts. It sounds to me as if that'd be a lot more information than you have right now, and you wouldn't have much of a case based on that."

Toria mulled over Leslie's words while she and Roarke watched quietly, then looked up and smiled slightly. "You're both right. I guess I'm too close to the situation to see it very clearly. Thank you both for your input."

"You're very welcome, Miss Elliott," Roarke said, the warmth back in his voice.

At that point the door opened again and Gabi Wickham Josephson, whom Toria hadn't seen since their meeting at the pool the day before, came inside, stopping short when she saw Toria. "Oh. Sorry, Mr. Roarke, I didn't realize you were busy."

"Oh, don't worry, I was just leaving," said Toria, getting up. She stopped for a moment and studied Gabi. "Um…is it urgent, whatever you have to talk to Mr. Roarke about? I, uh, thought we could talk."

Gabi returned her gaze warily. "Well, I guess it's not an emergency. Actually, Mr. Roarke, I just wanted to know if it's possible for Dean and me to extend our stay. We heard a room's opening up in the bed-and-breakfast, and we were hoping to get it. We wanted to stay there originally, but it was booked."

Roarke smiled. "Let me check with its proprietress and I'll let you know. You and your husband are in the hotel, correct?"

Gabi nodded. "That's right, room 304. Thanks, Mr. Roarke. If I'm not in, Dean's there and you can speak with him."

"Very well, Mrs. Josephson." Roarke nodded. "Enjoy the morning, ladies."

Gabi and Toria both thanked him and left the house, Gabi back on her guard and Toria feeling very sheepish. "Well," Toria murmured, "it sounds like you and Dean are having a whale of a time here."

"We are," said Gabi. "Dean was due some extra vacation, and…well, we just decided we wanted to stay longer." She slanted a leery glance at Toria. "How's Sam?"

"Fine," Toria said, hesitating and then stopping in the lane. "Oh God, Gabi, I feel like a real heel. I should've told you all this yesterday, and I've been regretting it ever since then. I just wasn't sure you'd believe me, that's all."

Gabi's eyebrows knit in perplexity. "Believe you? You're losing me, Toria. Maybe we should find a place to sit down—this sounds serious."

"It is," Toria said. "I'm heading for the hotel to talk to Anne Carleton anyway. Let me explain it to you on the way there."