“So someone else might have it?”
“They’d have returned it in that case, surely?”
“One would think.”
“Unless ... it’s a wild stab, but when the guides asked Jaz what she was always writing in her book, she intimated the diary contained erotica—too hot for them to handle, she said.” Rachel gave an apologetic shrug. “That was Jaz. A tease. All about sex. Maybe one of the guys tried to sneak a peek and was too embarrassed to return it once the heat was on after her disappearance.”
Angie mentally filed this away as she set the photo of the diamond ring on the table. “Did Jasmine mention where she got this ring?”
Rachel pulled the photo closer. “No. She wouldn’t tell us. We asked, but she came across like it was some ‘big secret.’”
“Do you know if Jasmine had a significant other in her life? If she was perhaps engaged to this person?”
“No. Again. Big secret.”
“Why was it a secret, do you think?”
Rachel gave a derisive snort. “Hell knows. Maybe this mystery man wasn’t real. Maybe Jasmine bought the ring herself and was playing her own game with us all. Maybe she was pathologically needy. Maybe she even believed in her own fake engagement. Didn’t stop her flirting with the guides, though.”
“She was capable of believing in her own fantasies?”
“Jasmine was like that. She was a bit ... odd.”
“Yet you invited her on the trip.”
Rachel’s lips curved into a wry smile. “Back in ’94, the TV showSurvivorwas still just a gleam in Mark Burnett’s eye, but the concept was at play in my idea forWomen in the Stream. I wanted conflict, some edge to my women forced into close proximity and away from civilization. My hope was to see the trip participants working through their conflict on film. If they’d clashed and burned, it would have made even better television.”
“The documentary never aired in the end?”
“Nope. Jasmine’s father, Rahoul Gulati, threatened to sue if it ever saw the light of day. In the end the sponsors pulled the plug, and I just stuck all the unedited tapes into storage.”
“You still have the uncut footage?”
“Stashed it all in boxes in our basement. The tapes are still there, buried at the back somewhere.”
“Any chance I can view the footage?”
“It’s in old VHS format. And there’s a whole bunch of tapes.”
“I’d like to see the footage if possible.”
“Technically it belongs to the sponsors, but it can’t hurt if you don’t intend to use any of it. You’d need a VHS system to view the footage, or you’d have to get it all digitized.”
“That I can do.”
Rachel regarded Angie, a look of distrust entering her features. “Am I missing something here? All this trouble just to give Jilly Monaghan a picture of Jasmine’s last days? Because watching all those unedited tapes is going to take you a long time.”
“Justice Monaghan is paying me well for my time.”
Rachel moistened her lips and nodded slowly. Again, that wry smile. “I see. One wonders who is indulging whom.” She came to her feet. “They call her Jukebox Jill, do you know that?”
“No.”
“And do you know why? Because when her memory suddenly gives up on her, she breaks out in song to deflect attention from her illness. She can sing just about every request you might think to make, like a real live human jukebox. Her memory of the lyrics is genius, but it’s a pure diversion tactic. It spooks people, makes them forget what they were talking to her about.”
“She’s a damn fine singer.”
“Right. I’ll get Doug to fetch the boxes of tapes out of the crawl space.” Rachel checked her watch. “But you’ll have to excuse me. I have a Skype meeting I need to prepare for.” She opened the sliding door into the living room and stood waiting for Angie.
