Dead In The Water

CHAPTER 63

Stone managed a couple of hours' sleep, but he was up at dawn, looking over his new yacht. He went through all the cockpit lockers, making a mental inventory of the gear aboard, then he walked fore and aft, checking the way the lines led and what each was for. He thought that for such a large yacht; she would really be very simple to sail. The mainsail had been repaired, and he hauled it back to the cockpit. It took him the better part of an hour to get it bent on. Then he hauled on the line that rolled the mainsail up into the mast like a giant window shade.

Finally, he unreefed the roller-reefing genoa and hauled it down. Paul and Allison had had problems with the top swivel separating into two pieces, and he wanted to think about repairing it. To his surprise, he found that it had already been repaired, and very elegantly. Someone, in an impressive display of seamanship, had seized it together with fine whipping wire. It looked as though it was better than new. He hauled the sail up, then reefed it around the forestay. Expansive seemed pretty shipshape, he thought.

"Stone!" The cry came from the lawn, and Stone looked up to see Thomas Hardy running toward him. Behind Thomas, traveling more slowly, came Leslie Hewitt, back in his accustomed shorts and T-shirt. Thomas jumped aboard and turned to give Leslie a hand up.

"What's up?" Stone asked. "You both look very excited."

"You tell him, Leslie," Thomas said.

"I've had a call from a friend at Government House. When Allison…when her case was resolved, the yacht, as her bail bond, reverted to her… estate. But my friend says that Sir Winston Sutherland has filed a petition with the Admiralty, which administers maritime affairs, claiming the yacht for the Ministry of Justice, supposedly to defray the costs of Allison's trial. It's just a naked grab of someone else's property, but he can probably bring it off."

Thomas grinned. "I hear you are a boat owner now."

"Well, for a few hours, anyway," Stone said. "Leslie, how much time have I got?"

Leslie looked at his watch. "It's just past ten. Lord, I don't know; Winston could be here with an order any minute."

"Thomas, can you put together a week's provisions for me in a hurry?"

"I'll see to it," Thomas said. He jumped down from the deck and sprinted back toward the Shipwright's Arms.

Stone looked at Leslie Hewitt. "Well, Leslie, I hear that my co-counsel hasn't been absolutely frank with me about the way Allison's case was conducted."

"What? What do you mean? I surely…"

Stone held up a hand. "Don't bother; Allison came to see me last night."

Leslie looked embarrassed, but he managed a grin. "Well, perhaps I wasn't entirely candid with you, Stone, but all's well…"

"That ends well," Stone said. "It did end well, I suppose; you're just lucky I didn't die of a heart attack last night."

"Myself as well," Leslie said. "I was frantic when I couldn't get anyone on the phone at the prime minister's residence or in his office. I was nearly as much in the dark as you, right up until you asked about the disposition of the body, and the policeman gave you that malarkey about cremation. There's no crematorium on St.Marks, so I figured I must have brought it off after all."

"You certainly did, but you aged me ten years in the process."

"Well, I'm glad it came out all right. I got a lovely fee, the prime minister got his, ah, pension fund, and you got a very fine yacht."

"If I can hang on to it," Stone said, laughing. "I'd better get the engine started." He went aft to the cockpit, switched on the ignition, and prayed that the thing would start. The starter ground on for a good ten seconds before the engine caught and ran smoothly. He looked up and saw Thomas running across the lawn again, carrying a cardboard box and followed by an employee carrying a second one.

Stone checked the fuel gauges. Full. He hoped to God the water tanks were full, too.

Thomas and his man ran down the dock and set their boxes aboard, then Thomas ran back down the dock, untied a dinghy with an outboard, pulled it to Expansive, and tied it to the stern. "Come on, I'll give you a hand getting out of the harbor," he called.

Stone embraced Leslie again, then lifted him over the lifelines and set him on the dock. "Good-bye, old fellow!" he called out. "Let go our lines, will you?"

Leslie and Thomas's employee untied the lines and tossed them on board, then gave the big yacht a shove away from the dock. Stone put the engine in reverse and began backing out.

"Look up there," Thomas said, pointing with his chin, "but pretend you don't see."

Sir Winston's elderly Jaguar had pulled into the inn's parking lot, and the minister of justice was striding toward them, a piece of paper in his hand. They could hear a faint shout over the engine.

Stone shoved the gear lever to forward and spun the wheel to port; Expansive accelerated quickly through the smooth water of the harbor. They were about to turn past a point of land when Stone looked back and saw Sir Winston on the dock waving his piece of paper and shouting. He made a show of cupping his hand to his ear and shrugging, indicating an inability to hear, then they were around the point, and the harbor entrance lay ahead. "Thomas, you take the helm, and I'll get some sail up," he called.

Thomas tossed the mooring lines into the cockpit and took the wheel. Stone unreeled the headsail first, and when it was full and drawing, he unwound the big main from the mast. He went aft and switched off the engine, and everything grew quiet, except the fresh breeze in the rigging and the burble of water slipping past the blue hull. He stowed the mooring lines and went below, wrote Thomas a check, then came back on deck.

"I guess that's it," he said, handing Thomas the check.

"You are too generous, Stone," Thomas said, looking at it.

"You've gone to an awful lot of trouble, Thomas, and I'll never forget it. When you come to New York, stay at my house, and we'll do some serious dining and wining."

"That's an offer I can't refuse."

"Are you going to have any problems with Sir Winston?"

Thomas shook his head. "Nah; he's got nothing on me. And even if he did have, I've got enough relatives on this island to turn him out of office."

"I think Leslie has something like that in mind; why don't you talk to him about it?"

"I'll do that."

They were nearly to the mouth of the harbor now. Stone gave Thomas a big hug, then watched as he jumped into the dinghy, untied the painter, and yanked the cord on the outboard. The little engine buzzed to life, and Thomas kept pace with the yacht for another hundred yards. Then, as the smooth water of the harbor the swell of the sea outside, he gave a big wave and little boat back into English Harbour.

Stone watched him go. He reflected for a moment he had not made many friends as good as that one, he bore away around the point and headed for the sea, a lump in his throat. There would be time later sort out charts and courses, but right now, he wanted sail his boat.

That night, sailing north with the autopilot on, Stone fixed himself some supper, opened a bottle of wine, sat down in the cockpit, and began thinking about the events of the past days. There were anomalies in what he had seen and heard, and he wanted to think about them.

He slept in snatches of a few minutes, scanning the horizon often for ships and other yachts and boats. He saw little traffic. The next day, at midmorning, he fired up the satellite phone and got it working. He called his secretary and informed her of his new travel plans, then he called Bob Cantor.

"Hello, Stone; I heard the news on television this morning. I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"There is, Bob. I want you to take a trip up to Ithaca for a couple of days and do a little research for me."

"Sure; what do you need?"

Stone told him in some detail. Finally, he hung up the phone and sat down with his charts. He plotted a course up the leeward side of the islands, then between Hispaniola and Puerto Rico and then to the northwest, leaving the Turks and Caicos and the Bahamas to starboard, and on to Fort Lauderdale. It had not taken him long to figure out that he could not afford to own the yacht; what with dockage, repairs, and insurance, it would break him, unless he sold his house, and he wasn't about to do that.

He sailed on, thinking about what had happened to him and what to do next. He made other calls, the last of them to Sir Winston Sutherland, who was surprised to hear from him, but extremely interested in what he had to say.

By the time he had reached Fort Lauderdale, he had done all he could do. Except wait.