Foul Play

Twenty-Eight

Shep and Phil dined before the saloon’s fireplace, which took the chill off the night.

“This is a delightful way to spend the evening,” Phil said.

“And you are a delightful person to spend it with,” Shep said.

She laughed. “Shep, how long has it been since you spent an evening alone with a woman?”

“Longer than I’d care to think about,” Shep replied. “How long since you’ve had... pardon me, dined alone with a man?”

“Your first choice of words would have been appropriate,” she replied. “Almost as long as your, ah, abstinence.”

“Perhaps we can do something about that after dinner,” Shep said.

“I’ll think about that,” Phil said.

Captain Tim appeared in the saloon with their dessert. “Please let me know when you’d like to go back ashore,” he said to Phil. “No rush at all.”

“I’d like to go back by midnight,” Phil said, then turned to Shep. “I’m in the middle of a painting that I’ve promised to a client, and I’d like to finish it tomorrow.”

“Of course. It’s only eight o’clock; we have plenty of time. Shall we have coffee and brandy in the owner’s cabin?” Shep asked.

“What a good idea.”

Shep gave the steward instructions, and they finished dessert.

The captain came into the saloon. “Your coffee and cognac are waiting in the owner’s cabin,” he said.

“Any further sign of our visitors?”

“They went past us into the inner harbor, and we haven’t seen them since, so I assume they’re at anchor there.”

“What sort of boat was it?”

“A Hinckley motor yacht, a 43, I should think.”

“Did you get her name?”

“No, but a crew caught sight of her hailing port: Wilmington, Delaware.”

Shep nodded. “Thank you, Tim. We’ll call when we’re ready to go ashore.”

“Ah, Mr. Troutman, the owners think it would be better if you remain aboard the tender. A crewman will take Ms. Grant ashore and see her to her door.”

Shep started to object, but Phil interrupted. “It’s all right, Shep. I’ll be in good hands.”

“Oh, all right. This security business is beginning to get boring.”

After dessert, they made their way down to the owner’s suite, where they found a silver coffee service and a bottle of cognac with two crystal snifters sitting on a mahogany cart at bedside.

“Oh, how beautiful!” Phil enthused. “Is there a head?”

“One for each of us,” Shep said, pointing. “That’s yours.”

She excused herself, and when she came back fifteen minutes later she was wearing a terry robe. She tossed another on the bed. “I believe this is for you,” she said, and busied herself pouring coffee and brandy while he undressed and got into the robe. They drank their coffee sitting up in bed, and then she took away the cups.

“The service is pretty good around here,” Shep said.

“And we’re only getting started,” she said, shedding her robe and tugging at his.

They kissed, and it turned into a long one. Soon, they had finished their cognac and were naked in bed. From there, things improved — from good to better.

They were asleep in each other’s arms when there was a rap on the cabin door.

“Yes?” Shep called out.

“Sir, it’s a quarter to twelve. The tender is ready whenever Ms. Grant is.”

“She’ll be there shortly,” Shep said, starting to get dressed.

“You’re not coming ashore, are you?” Phil asked.

“I’ll accompany you to the town dock, and the crewman can escort you from there.”

“Whatever you’d like,” she said.

“I’d like to take you home with me,” he said. “It’s not far.”

“Next time.”

They shoved off from the boarding ladder a few minutes later and headed into Woods Hole. Shep noticed that there was a Winchester lever-action rifle mounted next to the steering station.

“What’s that for?” Shep asked the crewman.

“Pirates,” the young man said.

“Do you encounter them often?”

“Well, a boat just followed us out of the inner harbor and is holding back in our wake.”

Shep looked back. There was no moon, and it was a cloudy night. He could see nothing.

The crewman hopped out and secured the lines. “I’ll be back in ten minutes,” he said.

Shep kissed Phil good night and sent her ashore. He collapsed into a chair and pondered for a few minutes what an unexpectedly good evening he had had. Then he sat bolt upright. He heard something that sounded very much like a pistol shot ashore.

Shep grabbed the Winchester, checked to be sure it was loaded, and leapt off the boat onto the dock. He hit the boards running, just as he heard a woman scream and a man shout something.

He remembered from his street map where Phil’s house was, and he could see a sign over the door at the end of the street that read: grant. As he ran another shot rang out, and the sign shattered and fell in pieces.

Shep looked up. He could have sworn that the shot came from above him. He caught sight of a man leaping from one roof to the next, a gun in his hand. Shep leaned against a brick wall and took aim as the man stood still and looked around.

Shep’s first shot spun the man around, then he disappeared below the building’s parapet. Shep ran up the street and found Phil and the crewman huddled in the entry to a shop across the street from hers.

“Back to the boat,” he said. “Both of you go ahead, and I’ll follow with the rifle.” They ran back toward the town dock, while Shep walked back a few yards searching the rooftops for any sign of the shooter. Satisfied that they weren’t being followed, he turned and followed them back toward the dock. The engine was running when he leapt aboard.

Back to Breeze,” he said to the crewman. “Phil, are you all right?”

“I don’t have any holes in me, if that’s what you mean,” she said.

“That’s what I mean. You’ll be staying with me tonight.”