Foul Play

Twenty-Nine

For the next two hours they were besieged by half a dozen motorboats and their occupants — various members of the coast guard and two or three police forces. Finally, a uniformed cop with stars on his collar brought them a bloody handkerchief in a plastic bag.

“This is good news,” the cop said, holding it up. “It proves you’re not crazy. There was a man up there on the roof, but he took the rest of his blood supply with him, and he could be anywhere, asea or ashore, at this point. We’ll send it off for a DNA match.”

The captain saw the visitors all off the yacht, then came to Shep. “I know you’re tired, but I think our best move is to get you to your dock, now, in the middle of the night. The wounded guy is not feeling well, and somebody has to take care of him, and the police have to speak to everyone aboard the Hinckley, so we have a window to escape.”

Shep looked at Phil, who nodded. “Right, let’s go,” she said.

They left Hadley Harbor quietly, at idle speed, then, in deeper water, were headed home at twenty-five knots, with a crew stationed at the radar, watching out for stray boats.

Less than an hour later, they were walking up Shep’s dock toward the house, where no light burned.

“Nobody home,” Phil said.

“My dad is there,” Shep replied.

“I thought he was dead?”

“Not really. We just want the world to think so. Me, too, for that matter.”

They came to the back porch, and as Shep was tapping in the security code, a flashlight suddenly played over then.

“State your name and business,” a deep voice said, over the sound of a shotgun being racked.

“I’m Shepherd Troutman, and the lady is Ms. Grant, my guest.

“Good evening, Mr. Troutman. Miss. We thought you were sleeping aboard.”

“I’ll tell you about our evening in the morning,” Shep said, “but right now, we’re very tired.”

“Of course, go right in, sir.”

Shep took Phil upstairs to the master suite and showed her to her dressing room and bath. “Would you like a nightshirt to sleep in?”

“I never sleep in anything,” she said.

That turned out to be true, except in his arms.

The following morning they had breakfast in bed. “Do you have a friend in Woods Hole who can get into your house?” Shep asked.

“A woman comes daily to run the shop, while I paint.”

“Why don’t you call her, ask her to pack a bag or two for you and to FedEx them here. You’ll have them tomorrow.”

“Good idea.”

“Tell her to be cautious, not to let anyone have a look at where they’re going.”

“She’s very discreet,” Phil said.

“Use line three on the phone. I have to go talk to the security people.” He went downstairs and found their leader in the kitchen, drinking coffee, and told him of their experience of the previous night.

“You’d better not use the yacht again,” the man said. “If you need water transport, we’ll provide it.”

“Ms. Grant is going to stay for a few days, and she’s asking a friend to FedEx her some clothes.”

“We’ll have a man at the FedEx office to receive them and bring them back by a circuitous route.”

“Excellent.” Shep went to his study and called New York.

“The Barrington Practice,” Joan said.

“It’s Shep Troutman, Joan,” he said. “May I speak to Stone?”

“Of course.”

Stone came on the line. “Good morning. Everything okay?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t so last night.” He related the events as they had occurred. “I suppose I didn’t handle it well. Somebody spotted me.”

“I think you handled it as well as it could be handled,” Stone said. “You got out of there, and they can’t know where you went.”

“Not unless they knew where I came from,” Shep said.

“I would discount that theory. Is it all right if I come up and stay for a night or two?”

“We’d be glad to have you for as long as you like. Bring company, if you so desire. Phyllis Grant turned out well. You’d think she got shot at all the time.”

“Good. Don’t either of you leave the house before I get there. We’ll need to rethink your security.”

“All right. Do you want to be met at the airport?”

“I’ll get myself to the house. Safer.”

“As you wish.”

“I’ll bring Dino, too, if he can shake loose.”

“Sure.” They both hung up.

Stone called Dino.

“Bacchetti.”

“A little kerfuffle north of here,” Stone said.

“How little?”

“Could have been a lot worse, but nobody on our team got hurt. I’m going back up there for a couple of days. You game?”

“Sure. It’s boring here.”

“Pick me up in your car, and your driver can take us to the airport. Bring sporty clothes. We’ll want to blend in.”

“Okay.”

“Two o’clock?”

“Good.” They both hung up.

The Strategic Service Citation M2 set down at mid-afternoon.

“Did you book a rent-a-car?” Dino asked.

“No.”

“Are we hitchhiking?”

Stone pointed to a photograph of two tourists on Vespas.

“Like that.”

“I haven’t been on one of those things since high school,” Dino said.

“You’ve been on a police motorcycle or two,” Stone said. “It’s like roller-skating or sex. You never forget how.”

“I hope you’re right,” Dino said, “for the sake of my bones.”

Their bones made it all right. They stopped at the front gate of the house, took a leak, and tried to look like tourists. Finally, they drove to and around the house and parked in a shed at the rear.

Shep came down the back stairs to meet them. “Sorry, no tourists allowed,” he said.

“Make an exception,” Dino replied.

“Come inside.”