Wild Card Page 7

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  Halfway through their mussels, Stone said, “Bob, Sherry, I’d appreciate it if you would stay inside the house for the next couple of days, until I get a sense of who’s on the island.”

  “This seems like a pretty out-of-the-way place,” Sherry said.

  “It is, but it has a rich assortment of summer residents and visitors, and you never know who you might run into. You should especially avoid the yacht club and the village shops, and even the back porch, until I’ve had a report.”

  “A report from who?” Jamie asked.

  “A friend, Ed Rawls, who lives on the island. Bob and Sherry met him last night for a drink. He’s old-school CIA, and although he’s been retired for some years, he still likes to think of himself as on the job. He makes the rounds, and if there’s anybody on the island he doesn’t know or who doesn’t fit, we’ll hear about it.”

  “That’s handy,” Bob said.

  “It can be,” Stone replied. “Sherry, what’s the name of the caretaker at the Thomas house?”

  “Hurd, and his wife is Heather.”

  “Last name?”

  Sherry stared at the ceiling for a moment. “Parker,” she said finally. “He introduced himself when he met me at the Rockland Airport.”

  “Was there anything about him to make you think he was something other than a caretaker?”

  “No, not really. They both did the chores around the house, and Heather cooked.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Wait a minute,” Sherry said. “Hurd wore a wide, thick belt, the kind that you see around shooting ranges, and there was kind of an indentation on the left side, where a holster might go.”

  “Did you ever see a gun?”

  “No.”

  “Was he right- or left-handed?”

  She thought again. “Right-handed, I think. He wrote my name down when I got there, and he used his right.”

  “So, if it’s a gun belt, he uses a cross-draw.”

  “Yes, if I’m right.”

  “What about Heather? Anything unusual?”

  “She was a fairly husky woman. She didn’t seem fat, just strong. I wouldn’t want to tangle with her.”

  “You know,” Stone said, “I think the rock was a good idea. Do you have a lot of throwing experience?”

  “High-school softball,” Sherry replied. “I played on a Thomas team in Central Park, too.”

  “You seem to have a lot of relevant skills,” Stone said. “I hope you won’t need them again.”

  16

  Everybody scattered around the house after lunch. Bob and Sherry said they needed naps and disappeared upstairs. Stone suspected they were napping together.

  “What should I do with myself?” Jamie asked, settling on the sofa beside him.

  “Work on your autobiography,” Stone suggested.

  “Too much like work.”

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  She placed a hand on the inside of his thigh.

  “Listen, you nearly crippled me last time,” Stone said. “Give me another day to restore my health.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Saved,” she said. He went to the door, came back with Ed Rawls, and introduced him to Jamie.

  “I saw your piece on the Thomases in the Times,” Rawls said to her. “Good job.”

  “Thank you,” Jamie replied. “Stone, I think I’m going to like him.”

  “Don’t worry, the Pulitzer’s yours,” Rawls said. “Stone, there are a couple of people on the island I don’t like the look of.”

  “Where did you see them?” Stone asked.

  “At the village store, eating ice cream.”

  “That sounds pretty innocuous,” Jamie said.

  “They’re not innocuous,” Rawls replied. “The man is six-three, two-forty, mostly muscle. The woman is a little smaller, but she looks like she knows how to handle herself.”

  “Did the man have a bandage on his forehead?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Sherry threw a rock at him yesterday, knocked him out cold.”

  “Good girl.”

  “She took a cab yesterday,” Stone said, “and gave the Lincolnville Ferry as her destination. She got off in Camden instead, but the police would have talked to the driver.”

  “Looks like Sherry’s boss thinks she’s worth the trouble of killing,” Rawls said.

  “Killing?” Jamie asked, appalled.

  “They didn’t hunt her down to spank her,” Rawls replied.

  “Maybe if we leave them alone, they’ll get the next ferry back,” Stone said.

  “Dream on,” Rawls came back. “That Cessna of yours is at the airfield. They could know it from Rockland. They know you’re on the island, and pretty soon they’ll know where.”

  “What’s your advice?” Stone asked.

  “I’d kill ’em and put ’em at the bottom of the bay,” Rawls said, “but I know you’re not going to do that.”

  “They’d just send somebody else,” Stone pointed out.

  “Good point.”

  Jamie spoke up. “I can’t believe you two are standing around talking about killing people.”

  Rawls sat down. “There, is that better?”

  Stone sat down, too. “Are the state police on the island today?”

  “Nope, not until the weekend. If you had a good enough reason, you could call them, and they’d chopper in.”

  “Were the two people packing?”

  “The man was. I don’t know about the woman. Women hide things.”

  “He’s probably got a Maine carry license,” Stone said.

  “Probably. You could wait until they take a shot at you, then kill ’em,” Rawls said. “Trouble is, they might kill you first.”

  “I wouldn’t like that,” Stone said.

  “Neither would I,” Jamie echoed. “Why don’t we just get the hell out of here?”

  “And go where?” Stone asked. “Back to New York? The Thomases have people thick on the ground there. If we have to fight them, I think I’d rather do it here.”

  “Shoot first,” Rawls said. “Think later.”

  “Good advice,” Stone replied.

  “Call the state police,” Jamie said.

  “If I did that, they’d arrest Sherry. The Parkers have reported the van stolen, and after all, she assaulted Hurd with a rock.”

  “She was in fear of her life on both counts,” Jamie said.

  “She’d still spend a couple of days in jail before we could get her released,” Stone pointed out. “She’d be vulnerable inside—there are no rocks.”

  “I can try to scare ’em off,” Rawls said.

  “If you did, they’d come back with reinforcements,” Stone said.

  “Why don’t you just get your ass aboard Breeze and get your party the hell out of here?” Rawls asked. “I’ll cover you while you’re getting aboard.”

  “I like that idea,” Stone said. “They may not know about Breeze.”

  Bob and Sherry came down the stairs, looking rested. “Did I hear we’re decamping?” he asked.

  “Sherry,” Rawls said, “who at the Camden marina could connect you with Breeze?”

  “There was a kid in the dockmaster’s shed who told me where to find her, and there were three or four guys who helped launch her. They were in the big shed, getting out of the rain, when I went looking for Todd.”

  Stone got out his phone. “Let me make a call. I’m a pretty good customer over there.” He dialed the boatyard and asked for the manager, Jim Hughes.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Jim, this is Stone Barrington. How are you?”

  “Not bad,” Jim replied.

  “Yesterday, a young lady boarded B
reeze in the yard.”

  “I heard,” Hughes replied.

  “Who else knows?”

  “Half a dozen people, I guess.”

  “Has anybody inquired about her?”

  “No. My people are tight-lipped about who does what on our yachts. And if somebody was asking questions, I’d hear about it pronto.”

  “Good,” Stone said. “I’d like to keep it quiet.”

  “I’ll speak to the lads.”

  “Get a case of beer out of my storage shed, ice it down, and spread it around at the end of the day.”

  “I’ll do that. They’ll be appreciative.”

  “Thank you, Jim.” Stone hung up. “Okay, that possible leak is sealed.”

  “Are we sailing away?” Bob asked.

  “After dark. We’ll have dinner here, then go before the moon rises. Ed, you want to join us? A few days at sea would do you good.”

  “You could be right,” Rawls said.

  “Throw something in a bag and join us for dinner,” Stone said.

  “How are you fixed for arms aboard?” Rawls asked.

  “Bring your personal weapon. We’ve got a small armory.”

  “See you for dinner,” Rawls said, then left.

  Stone brought Bob and Sherry up to date, then called Captain Todd and gave him his orders.

  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 m
e.”

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

  18

  Stone awoke to the calls of gulls in the harbor. He got out of bed without waking Jamie, showered, shaved, and went up to the saloon. Ed Rawls was there alone, dining on a buffet breakfast. Stone joined him and snagged a passing crew member. “You may as well wake everybody and announce breakfast before it gets cold.”

  “We’ll keep it freshly supplied,” she said, “if you want to let them sleep.”

  “It’s already nine o’clock,” Stone said. “Roust them out.” He helped himself to scrambled eggs, sausages, and a Wolferman’s English muffin, then joined Rawls.

  “What are your plans for the day?” Ed asked.

  “I thought I might catch up on my reading,” Stone said, “or we could take the tender out and do some touring.”

  “Don’t do that until I’ve had a look around the village,” Rawls said.

  “Okay, we’ll save it for after lunch. Is that enough time for you?”

  “Should be.”

  “Maybe I’ll come with you,” Stone said. “If you can wait until I’ve finished breakfast.”

  “I don’t want to be seen with you,” Rawls said.

  “What? Am I such bad company?”

  “If they’re here, they’re looking for you—and they probably have a photograph. They don’t know me.”

  “As always, Ed, you have a point.”

  Rawls stood up and put on a sweatshirt, his sunglasses, and a floppy hat. “There,” he said, “I’m disguised.”

  “See you for lunch at one,” Stone said, and Rawls trotted down the gangplank and walked up the pontoon toward the village.

  Sleepy people began appearing in the saloon—Sherry and Bob, a few minutes later, Jamie. By the time they had each finished their first cup of coffee, they were fully awake and eating with both hands.

  When they had finished, Jamie said, “I think I’ll walk into town and do some window-shopping. Will you join me, Stone?”

  “I’d better stay here with Bob and Sherry,” Stone replied. “Ed has pointed out to me that if anybody’s looking for us, they might have a photo of me.”

  “But not me?”

  “Not yet.” He gave her a credit card. “Get yourself some things. If anybody gives you any grief about the card, have Amex call me.”