Wild Card

17

The moon was just rising as they left Stone’s dock in the yacht’s big tender, purring along at five knots, so as not to disturb anyone sleeping in the moored boats. They heard a loon emit its haunting song from somewhere. Stone looked around; he had heard many loons in Maine but had rarely ever seen one.

They clambered aboard the darkened yacht, using a crew member’s flashlight to show them the way. The engines were already idling. They went to their assigned cabins as the anchor came up, and by the time they had reassembled in the saloon for coffee and brandy, they were motoring slowly south. Five miles out of Dark Harbor, Captain Todd turned on the lights.

“That was well done,” Rawls said. “The only way they could have seen us depart is if they had been standing on the yacht club dock, watching for us, and it was deserted. There was some drinking going on inside, but nobody outside.”

“Then we can breathe easier,” Stone said.

“We can’t breathe easier until we’re ready for an assault.”

“‘An assault’?” Jamie asked, alarmed.

“Relax, that’s unlikely to happen, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be ready for it.” Rawls and Stone went to a locked cabinet and took down weapons, which they placed strategically around the saloon and deck, one for everybody except Jamie.

“I’d just shoot myself in the foot,” she said, sitting in a corner of the saloon with Stone. “Where are we headed?”

“Nantucket,” Stone replied. “We’ll be there before sunrise, so we won’t be making an entrance that might attract attention, and there’s an airport, should we wish to decamp.”

“Where would we decamp to?” she asked.

“Anywhere but New York. I’ve got houses in L.A. and Key West.”

“How about Santa Fe?” Jamie asked. “I love Santa Fe.”

“I sold my Santa Fe house a couple of years ago — or, rather, traded it with Will and Kate Lee for a house in Georgetown, which I lease for a dollar a year to the government as a residence for the secretary of state.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re tight with Holly Barker.”

“We’re very good friends, and the government didn’t supply her with a suitable residence, so I helped.”

“And I suppose you’re supporting her campaign for president?”

“You suppose correctly.”

“I think I’m a little jealous,” Jamie said.

“When you run for president, I’ll support you,” Stone replied. “Does that help?”

“Oh, loads, thanks. Tell me: What is it like to have that much money?”

“It’s the most fun you can have with your clothes on,” he said. “Or off.”

“But money can’t buy happiness, can it?”

“Scarlett O’Hara once asked that question of Rhett Butler, who replied, ‘Scarlett, generally it can. And when it can’t, it can buy some of the most remarkable substitutes.’”

She laughed. “Such as?”

“Such as the yacht we’re currently cruising on,” he replied.

“Is being very rich much different from being a little rich?”

“Being a little rich means not having to worry about making the mortgage payment every month; being very rich means not having a mortgage.”

“So, if you want something big, like a yacht or an airplane or a house, you just write a check?”

“No, Joan writes a check.”

“Someone once said that behind every great fortune is a great crime.”

“Every penny of my fortune was honestly earned by hard work and wise investment. I didn’t earn it, but somebody did.”

“Who?”

“Thereby hangs a tale,” Stone said.

“I’ve got all night.”

“All right, many years ago I met a girl named Arrington Johnston. We saw each other for a time, lived together for a time, and I bought her a ring. We planned a trip to the island of St. Marks, where I intended to propose. But she was a writer, and at the last moment, the New Yorker asked her to write a profile of a movie star who was in town for a few days. I was waiting at the airport for her, it had begun to snow, and when I got her call, I decided to go on to St. Marks and have her join me in a few days.”

“And did she?”

“She did not. She fell in love with the movie star and married him.”

“That was Vance Calder?”

“It was.”

“Who was murdered some years later, wasn’t he?”

“He was.”

“And wasn’t Arrington a suspect?”

“Briefly. Oh, and I forgot to mention that the night before I left for St. Marks I impregnated her. I didn’t know it at the time, but I could count. It was a boy and, of course, Vance thought it was his.

“After Vance’s death, Arrington moved back east, to a house she had built in Virginia, and she was looking for an apartment in New York. We reconnected, so to speak, and were eventually married.

“A few months later we — Arrington, our son, Peter, and his girlfriend — were at the house in Virginia. The kids and I went riding one morning. While we were out, a former lover of hers — the architect of the house — went into the house and, in a burst of extreme jealousy, killed her with a shotgun.”

“I remember all this. I just didn’t make the connections. But what did that have to do with your wealth?”

“Arrington inherited Vance’s wealth at his death, and he had become very wealthy after a fifty-year career and some spectacular successes in L.A. real estate. He left her everything. And when Arrington died, she left most of it to Peter, in a trust, and the rest to me. Voilà.”

“And today, the boy is the film director, Peter Barrington?”

“He is, and I’m very proud of him.”

Captain Todd came into the saloon. “We’re well out, so I’m increasing our speed to twenty knots,” he said. “Okay with you?”

“That’s fine,” Stone replied.

“We’ll be in Nantucket before dawn, and our usual berth will be waiting for us.”

“Very good, Todd. Also, will you disable our locator beacon?”

“Already done, while we were still at Dark Harbor. Nobody can track us, except in daylight.”

“Good,” Stone said. Todd went back to the bridge.

“I’m getting sleepy,” Jamie said, yawning and stretching for effect. “Have you managed to restore your health?”

“I’ll just lie back and allow you to ravage me.”

“I can handle that,” she said, and they went below.