An Easy Sail_A Connie Barrera Thriller_The 8th Novel in the Series_Mystery and Adventure in Florida and the Caribbean

by Charles Dougherty

"How'd you know I'd say yes?" Reuben asked, fighting to keep the surprise from his voice.

  "You're a smart man. Only a fool would have said no." There was a click on the line, and Reuben realized the man had disconnected.

  "Wow! This is a much nicer sail than the one we had yesterday," Marcia said, watching as Connie and Paul trimmed the sails. They had just left the English Harbour entrance, finding the twenty-knot easterly trade winds immediately outside.

  Connie grinned, her long, wavy black hair blowing out to her right side as she tweaked the helm. "I told you it would be a great sail to Deshaies."

  "How fast are we going?" Marcia asked.

  Connie glanced at her instruments. "Nine and a half to ten knots."

  "How fast is that in miles per hour?"

  "Something over eleven," Connie said. "Excuse me. Paul?"

  "Yes?"

  "Can you come down hard on the boom vang and flatten the main a bit?"

  Paul put his back into tightening the vang. "How's that, skipper?"

  "Great, thanks. Helm's neutral, now."

  Diamantista II surged ahead, spray flying as her clipper bow cut into the swell. She rose and fell in a smooth rhythm as they left Antigua behind.

  "What's all that mean?" Marcia asked. "I don't speak sailing."

  "We were on the edge of being overpowered. When you have too much sail up for the strength of the wind, the boat gets pushed too hard. She'll only move through the water so fast. Her maximum speed is called hull speed, and it's a function of hydrodynamics. That's around ten knots, for us, but it's not an exact calculation. It depends on a number of things, like how big the waves are, and what point of sail we're on. Yesterday, we were sailing hard on the wind, and she was heeled over at a pretty good angle, remember?"

  "Yes, and the wind was in our faces. It felt like we were going faster, then."

  "It did, but we weren't; we were going a little slower. When she's heeled over like that, the effective waterline is a little longer, so our maximum speed through the water's a little higher. Waterline length is a big factor in hull speed. Longer sailboats are faster than shorter ones, other things being equal."

  "If you say so," Marcia said. "But how did you know she was overpowered? The ride's more comfortable than yesterday."

  "When she's overpowered, she wants to round up. She tries to turn her bow into the wind, to reduce the pressure and bring things back into balance. I was having to fight the helm to keep her on course. But now, she's all balanced. Watch." Connie took her hands off the helm, and the boat continued on her course, the helm rocking from side to side through an arc of a few degrees as the boat moved with the waves.

  "She's steering herself," Marcia said.

  "Right," Connie said. "What I asked Paul to do was to flatten the mainsail, which took a little of the wind's power out of it. Watch what happens if he releases the boom vang, now."

  She nodded at Paul, and he eased the vang. The helm rotated several degrees in a counterclockwise direction, and the boat turned into the wind, causing the sails to flutter.

  "Take the helm and put her back on course, now," Connie said, gesturing to Marcia.

  Marcia grabbed the helm and turned it clockwise, straining against the force that had altered their course. "Wow. I'll say you can feel it."

  "Paul?" Connie said.

  He tightened the vang again, watching as Marcia's tense posture relaxed. "How's that?" he asked.

  "Amazing," she said. "It's like she's alive, almost."

  "Yes," Connie said. "She tells you what she wants, once you learn to listen to her. It's sort of like dancing."

  "This is so cool," Marcia said. "Can I drive?"

  "Sure," Connie said. "Go for it. If you get tired, just let me know, and I'll turn on the autopilot. Or take the helm back. I love to steer her when it's like this."

  "I can see why," Marcia said.

  "If you two are set for a while, I'll go put lunch together," Paul said.

  "We're fine," Connie said. "Get to it, cookie."

  "Yes, ma'am," Paul said, grinning as he headed below deck.

  Connie watched Marcia steering for a minute or two, and then asked, "How was the island tour?"

  "Great," Marcia said. "He's a good guide; he really knows a lot about the island. History, politics, business. It's really interesting. I didn't know Antigua was such a financial center."

  "It's had some ups and downs with that," Connie said.

  "William told me about the Stanford Bank business. That was like a pyramid scheme, from what he said. I remember a little about it. Wasn't that guy from Texas?"

  "I think so," Connie said. "That was a few years ago. It went kind of quiet; I don't know what ever happened with it. Did William say?"

  "Not really. Just that it was a big scandal, and people lost a lot of money. He said there were rumors of money laundering, more recently."

  "Are there?" Connie asked.

  "That's what he said. Drug money, supposedly."

  "That isn't surprising," Connie said.

  "He said a lot of Americans bought CDs from the local banks to avoid income tax. Have you thought about that?"

  "No. The IRS is wise to most of those tricks, by now."

  "That's what he said. But there are people who will help you buy and hold other things here — art, jewelry, uncut diamonds. Know anything about that?"

  "No. Why? Are you interested in hiding money, or something?"

  "I wish," Marcia said. "I'm happy to be able to make ends meet. But there's a market for articles about that kind of thing."

  "I see. I didn't realize William was into that."

  "Oh, I don't think he is, personally. He said he gets asked about it often, though, so he's tried to learn a little about it."

  "Lunch is ready," Paul said, poking his head up through the companionway. "Want to fold out the cockpit table and put the autopilot on? Might as well eat up there."

  "Sure," Connie said. She reached over and pressed a button on the console above the helm. "You can steer more later, if you like."

  "I will," Marcia said. "Can you teach me to sail?"

  "We surely can," Connie said. "We'll start after lunch."

  Guillermo Montalba was thinking about his choice of Reuben Griffin to take over his day-to-day operations in south Florida when the ringing of an encrypted satellite phone interrupted his thoughts. He opened the drawer and took out the phone, which was dedicated to communicating with SpecCorp.

  "Yes?" he answered.

  "You recognize my voice?" the caller asked.

  "Yes," Montalba replied. Delaney's voice was distinctive.

  "You asked me to keep you in the loop on my private operations for a mutual acquaintance. You still interested?"

  "Yes."

  "I got a request from him a couple of hours ago," Delaney said. "He wants us to check up on his fiancée. Do you have any objection to that?"

  Montalba paused for a moment, wondering what prompted O'Toole's request. "Go ahead, but I want to screen your reports. Do you understand?"

  "Yes. No problem, as long as we can reach you quickly. We can't afford to annoy him with delays. You understand that, right?"

  "Of course. By all means, keep him happy. Your ability to provide a satisfactory return on my investment depends on his support."

  "I hoped you'd see it that way," Delaney said.

  "Did he give you a reason for his request?"

  "He's picked up a rumor that the Miami cops were watching her. They haven't seen her around her place for a while. Then a couple of days ago, she was there for a couple of hours. The cops got curious and put out a watch for her car. She left it in a long-term lot at the airport, told him she was gonna be at some writing class at a ski resort in the Rockies."

  "Doesn't he trust her?" Montalba asked.

  Delaney laughed. "Shit, man, a guy like him? He trusts nobody. Besides, he wants to know where the hell she was for the last few weeks. He thought she was at home, you know?"

  "
I see," Montalba said. "Will you be able to find out what he wants to know without ruffling any feathers? She has a high profile. We need to protect him from himself. If the gossip columns picked up on this, it wouldn't be good for any of us."

  "Yeah, tell me about it. We're good. We got some solid contacts with the Miami Police Department to start with. Guys who want to come to work for us, like. Happy to do us a favor on the q.t."

  "Very well," Montalba said. "Go ahead, but don't give him anything until I approve it. Is that clear?"

  "Absolutely," Delaney said. "Anything else you need? I still got some people down in the islands."

  "No, thank you," Montalba said. "That's all quiet for now."

  "Good enough," Delaney said. "I'll be in touch."

  Montalba disconnected the call and put the phone back in the drawer. His thoughts returned to Reuben Griffin, who was planning to arrive in Miami tomorrow to take the reins. He would need to fill Griffin in on a few items, but most of the mundane details were on an encrypted thumb drive, thanks to Graciella.

  The drive was in the package that was waiting for Griffin, along with the keys to the club. Once Griffin had the package, Montalba would give him the password for the thumb drive. Then it was up to Griffin to establish himself as the new boss.

  11

  "She wore herself out, didn't she?" Paul asked, with a smile.

  "It never fails," Connie said. Marcia had exhausted herself steering after lunch and had retired to her cabin for a nap. "Give them a balanced helm on a nice reach with a steady breeze. Who can resist?"

  "Think she's serious about wanting to learn to sail?"

  "Maybe," Connie said. "Or maybe she was just caught up in the moment. I guess we'll find out in a day or two."

  "You okay for a few minutes?"

  "Sure. Why?"

  "I thought I'd check our email," Paul said. "Want a cup of coffee when I come back up?"

  "Sounds good," Connie said. She was sprawled behind the helm, her arms stretched out along the coaming to either side and her feet resting on the helm. Diamantista II was still balanced well, and Connie only needed to apply slight adjustments to the helm to keep her on course. "I'll try to stay awake until you get back."

  "I won't be but a couple of minutes," Paul said, going below.

  Connie snapped back into reality when she heard Paul say, "Here you go, skipper." She hadn't been asleep, but she'd been daydreaming, enjoying the easy sailing, her mind miles away.

  "Where were you?" Paul asked, as she leaned toward him and took the steaming mug of coffee from his outstretched hand.

  "Counting my blessings. You're the first and the best."

  "Glad you think so," he said, bending toward her for a quick kiss. "That makes me a lucky man."

  "You've been so patient with me. I don't say thanks often enough."

  "What put you in this frame of mind?" he asked, sitting on the leeward side of the cockpit, his legs stretched across the footwell.

  "I don't know. I was just thinking about how hard I was on you in our early days, those times when I lost my temper and slapped you over foolish things. You didn't deserve that."

  "Don't go back there, Connie. We're past all that. We both had some adjustments to make. It's part of learning to live with one another."

  "You never lost your temper with me, though."

  "I had my moments; I just held it in. Let it go. It's all good, now."

  "You should have been the captain," she said. "I'm still learning stuff you've long since forgotten."

  "Is this about teaching Marcia to sail? Is that it?"

  She looked into his eyes for several heartbeats. "You're a mind reader. I was just thinking about that, and I wandered off into all the things you've taught me."

  "We're both still learning. "Sailing's like that. You never know all there is to know about it."

  She nodded and took a sip of coffee. "Did you check the email?"

  "Yes. Nothing from Luke and Leon, but William wants us to call him when we have a private moment, as he put it."

  Connie frowned. "That's odd. What do you suppose he wants?"

  Paul shrugged. "I'm guessing it's something to do with Marcia. Otherwise, why the private moment?"

  "Is she asleep?" Connie asked.

  "Snoring away."

  "Let's put the autopilot on and take the phone up on the foredeck, then."

  "Okay." Paul took the satellite phone out of its locker in the steering pedestal. "There's no cell service out here."

  "Right," Connie said, stepping out from behind the helm and leading the way forward, her coffee mug in one hand.

  She and Paul sat on the foredeck, leaning back against the coachroof. He placed the call and held the phone between their heads so they could both hear it with the volume set to a low level.

  "Hello?" William answered.

  "Good afternoon, William. It's Connie and Paul," she said.

  "Good afternoon. You mus' have received my email."

  "Yes. We did. Is something wrong?" Connie asked.

  "I don't know. Mebbe not wrong, but strange, anyway. The lady? Ms. Levine?"

  "Yes," Connie said. "What about her?"

  "She asked many questions."

  "She does that," Paul said. "We think it's because she's gathering information to write her magazine articles. Did she ask you something that worried you?"

  "Mm," William said. "A little bit. I told her about Antigua being an international banking center."

  "She mentioned that," Connie said.

  "Then we talked about all the rich, famous people who have homes here."

  "Okay," Connie said, looking at Paul and shrugging.

  "Then after some little time passed, she come back to the banking and want to know about money laundering. You know, for the drug people down south, like."

  "Uh-huh," Paul said. "She asked Connie about drug dealers, too. What else?"

  "She asked about the tourist business, and the cruise ship trade, and then she come back around to the money t'ing again. She asked do I know if you have some business with those banks that do that."

  "And what did you tell her?" Connie asked.

  "I tell her that I don't know your business, but I am sure you do not have something to do with the drugs or the money laundering, that you are good, honest people, and my friends."

  "Thanks. Did she ask more questions about us after that?" Paul asked.

  "No. After that, just the normal kind of tourist questions. But I t'ink I should tell you this, see. I worry; I t'ink because she is from the States mebbe she is some kind of p'lice, try to make trouble for you."

  "Thank you, William," Paul said. "Thank you for looking out for us."

  "You are my friends. Of course I look out for you. But I know you good people, anyhow. No drug business. She make me some nervous, and angry. You must be cautious with this woman, please. She is no good, I t'ink."

  "Thank you, William. You are a good friend. We will be careful now that we know what you've told us. Maybe she just wants to write stories about crime. Journalists do that, sometimes," Connie said.

  "Mebbe so, mebbe not. But you don't let her get you in trouble, yeah?"

  "We won't, William, thanks," Paul said. "We should go before she comes back on deck. Is there anything else you want to tell us?"

  "No. This is all. I wish you a safe passage south. Be well."

  "And you, too. Good afternoon," Connie said, disconnecting the call.

  "That was strange," she said.

  "Yes. But not inconsistent with the questions she's been asking you."

  "Do you think she's looking to get into the drug business?" Connie asked.

  "I don't know. If she is, she's pretty clumsy about it. If she asks questions like that in the wrong place, she may get herself killed."

  "I tried to get that across to her," Connie said. "It'll be interesting to see if she takes the same approach with Sharktooth."

  Paul grinned. "Yes, won't it. She might get to see
the Voodoo side of his personality."

  "Maybe he'll even take her to meet Uncle Christian," Connie said, with a chuckle.

  "Uncle Christian?"

  "I learned about him from Dani and Sharktooth, the first time I met Sharktooth. Remember that odd character, Pietro, who worked for the men who lost the diamonds I found in the Bahamas? You arrested him, eventually."

  "Yes, I remember him," Paul said. "Back when we first met. The war criminal from eastern Europe."

  "That's right. That's the one," Connie said. "When we captured him, he was wounded, and after Sharktooth questioned him, he took him to Uncle Christian for medical attention. Uncle Christian’s a bush doctor, a relative of Sharktooth’s.”

  "His uncle?" Paul asked.

  "No. Uncle is his first name. I never quite got the relationship. He's a real live Voodoo priest, though, and a healer."

  "A houngan," Paul said. "I remember now. He messed that guy Pietro up so bad that Pietro thought he was a goat. He tried to eat the mattress in his cell once they got him to Miami. I'm not sure Marcia deserves that, just yet."

  "I guess it depends on what kind of questions she asks Sharktooth," Connie said, grinning. "How about another cup of coffee?"

  "Oh, man! This is beautiful," Marcia said, as Diamantista II rounded Pointe du Gros Morne. The sun, low in the western sky, bathed the village of Deshaies in a golden light that imparted an otherworldly glow to the buildings. "I need a shot of this for my article," she said, scrambling below deck and returning with a camera.

  "Deshaies has an interesting history," Paul said. "Columbus watered his ships here in 1493. You can hike up the Deshaies River quite a way. It turns into a mountain stream not too far out of town. This is a great natural harbor — one of the best on the western shore of Guadeloupe, but the terrain to the east is so mountainous that the town was pretty well isolated from the rest of the island. They didn't bring a road all the way into town until 1957."

  "That's why it's retained its character as a little fishing village," Connie added. "It gets a little bit of tourist traffic now, but it's still hard for most casual visitors to the island to get here."

  "Are those restaurants along the waterfront?" Marcia asked, as Connie brought the bow of the boat into the wind.