"I agree; it doesn't make any sense. The break-in was probably just a random thing — nothing to do with us."
"You're probably right, but I can't shake off my sense of foreboding."
Connie pursed her lips. "You think it might be because of your ex?"
"The break-in? I doubt — "
"No, not the break-in. Your general anxiety."
"I hadn't made the connection, but that could do it, I guess. I should call the lawyer; see how they're doing with the financial … "
"Would your ex put somebody up to stealing the files, since you mentioned it?"
"No, that would be way beyond Maddy. I don't think she'd be on the ball enough to organize something like that."
"You sure? You know what they say about a woman scorned." Connie asked.
"She's vindictive and stupid enough, but it doesn't make any sense," Paul said. "Maddy's lawyer would have just subpoenaed the records if they needed them."
"Maddy," Connie said, still watching Sadie. "I don't think I've ever heard you say her name. Is that short for Madeline?"
"I try not to say her name; I don't have fond memories of our time together."
"There must have been some good times. Can't you try to recall those?" A dark look came into his eyes, and she said, "I'm sorry. It doesn't matter to me, Paul. If you don't want to talk about it, I don't mean to pry. But if it would help, I'll always listen."
The anger faded from his countenance. He forced a smile and said, "I know. Thanks. I don't need to burden either one of us with my past mistakes."
They were silent for a minute or two, holding hands as they watched their guest gliding through the clear, blue-tinted water, intent on what she saw below the surface.
"And yes," Paul said. "Maddy is short for Madeline. Madeline Margaret O'Donnell. That was her maiden name. The good times didn't last much beyond the honeymoon. I was married to my job; I shouldn't have expected her to understand what it meant to be the wife of a homicide detective. That's why I hadn't married before, and why I stayed single after."
"I'm glad you were still single when we met. And sorry to bring up unpleasant memories."
"It wasn't an unreasonable thought, but I don't see any percentage for Maddy in this. Still, I do think Sadie's worried that somebody's on her trail."
"Sure you don't want to call Luke and check her out? Just to put your mind at ease?"
Paul took a deep breath and released it in a sigh. "Maybe I'll send him an email. I'm worried that she might overhear a phone conversation, and I don't think it's that urgent. I don't want to upset her. If she was a stripper, she may have some scuzzy guy on her trail, but it can't amount to much."
Chapter 9
The more she thought about it, the more convinced Sadie became that Jonas Pratt was behind the break-in at the charter agent's office. He was capable of that kind of thing, and it was consistent with what she knew of him. He probably had Freddy or some other lowlife actually do it. She couldn't picture him exerting that much effort personally, but the coincidence was too great for her to discount his involvement. Freddy Thompson had been to see Leana, and a few hours later, someone broke into the charter broker's office. That would mean that Jonas knew she was aboard Diamantista II. Would he be able to track her down? She didn't know much about that sort of thing, but Pratt probably did.
Paul had reacted to her interest in the break-in like a cop; she'd sensed his suspicion. Otherwise, she would have asked more questions.
Would there have been some files in the office that would reveal her itinerary? Did Connie and Paul have favorite spots that they encouraged their guests to visit?
Even though Connie had told her the boat was at her disposal, that they would go anywhere she wanted, she reasoned that most guests were like her. They didn't know one island from the next, so they would go where Connie and Paul suggested.
She wished now that she'd taken the brochure Leana had offered her; there might be a list of typical stops in there. If she had a list like that, she'd know the places to avoid. Jonas would no doubt check all the usual destinations. She wanted to talk to them about this, but she was afraid they might decide they didn't want to take the risk of having her aboard if they knew she was on the run.
Jonas could probably guess where they'd go, anyway, she realized. He kept Morning Mist down here in the islands; he would know his way around. The word among the girls was that he sometimes used the yacht for smuggling. She assumed that meant drugs. Drugs were everywhere in Jonas Pratt's world, but she didn't think he used them himself. It hadn't occurred to her until she'd seen the smorgasbord of illegal substances on offer at that party in St. Barth that he might be involved in the drug trade.
She wasn't clear on what Pratt did, exactly, but she knew that he had a source of income besides the two strip clubs in South Beach. They spun off a lot of cash, and he probably didn't report all of it, but skimming from two clubs wouldn't pay for the penthouse in Miami that overlooked Biscayne Bay, nor would that kind of income allow him to charter a motor yacht like Morning Mist, let alone own one. And he had that private plane, as well. He was clearly into something that paid well.
She couldn't imagine what that yacht must cost, with speedboats and jet skis stored below deck and a helicopter on the back. One of the other girls in St. Barth that time had told her that they even had a two-person submarine aboard. Jonas had taken the girl for an underwater sightseeing ride, back when she'd been his main squeeze, before he'd taken up with Sadie.
From what she had heard, her own tenure of almost a year as his favorite was a record. When she had learned that, she had known it was time to get away. She had seen what happened to his former girlfriends. It was when she'd broached the subject of moving out, getting a place of her own now that she was financially able, that he had beaten her.
After he'd punched her several times and knocked her down, he'd had Freddy strip her and tie her face-down on the bed. When he flogged her with the extension cord, she had screamed until she fainted while the two men laughed.
Freddy had taken her to the recording studio the next day, making her promise to call him when they were done. It was scheduled to be a long session, and Leana had spirited her away as soon as Freddy left. She had spent that night at Leana's and flown to St. Martin early the next day.
Looking down at all the gorgeous marine life beneath her now, she did her best to forget, enjoying the otherworldly sensation of being suspended in the clear, warm water. It was like floating in gin. The thought of gin reminded her of Jonas; a glass of cold gin with no ice was never far from his hand.
Her skin crawled at the memory of his touch. She wasn't going back to that, no matter what she had to do. Knowing what she knew about him now, she'd starve to death before she went back to him.
She watched a sea slug on the bottom, ten feet or so below her. It was repulsive, undulating slowly — a filthy blob of scum-sucking protoplasm, just like Jonas Pratt. That ruined it for her; the slug had conjured up another image of him. She took a last look around and turned toward Diamantista II.
****
"What do you think of Nonesuch Bay," Connie asked, sipping from her wineglass. She and Sadie sat in the cockpit as the shadows lengthened. Paul was below, preparing their dinner.
"It's as lovely as you said. It's amazing to see how big the waves are out there in the ocean, when the water's so smooth in here."
"It is, isn't it?" Connie said. "There are several spots in the islands where you can anchor behind reefs like this, with nothing else between you and the open sea. Paul and I really like them."
"Those little reefs are beautiful," Sadie said. "You call them patch reefs?"
"That's right," Connie said, nodding.
"I've never seen water this clear before," Sadie said. "It's like we're in a big swimming pool. And there's so much life down there, so colorful; I had no idea."
"I'm glad that you enjoyed snorkeling; we can show you some other great places for that."
"I can't imagine that any of them would top this," Sadie said, raising the glass to her lips and inhaling. "And this wine is perfect; do you always have such wonderful evenings?"
"More often than not," Connie said. "Are you sure you don't want to stay here tomorrow and see some more of the east coast of Antigua? There's a fine restaurant about ten minutes away by dinghy, hidden back in that cove that you can barely see." She raised her hand, pointing across the bay to the mainland.
"Oh, I think I'd like to move on in the morning," Sadie said, "if that's okay with you."
"It's definitely okay with us; we love to sail, but there's no rush, either. You have a whole month to relax. We can give you a pretty good feel for the different islands in that length of time, without your feeling rushed."
"I'll probably slow down soon, but right now, I just feel the need to keep moving."
"Suit yourself. We're delighted to have you aboard, however you choose to spend your time."
"You said Paul was retired from the Miami Police Department?"
"Yes, just about the time we met."
"I've never had the chance to get to know a former policeman. He seems really nice — gentle and kind. What did he do at the Miami PD?"
"He ran the homicide squad for several years. And you're right, he's the kindest man I've ever met."
"I always thought policemen were a little bit scary," Sadie said.
Connie laughed, and then saw the expression on Sadie's face. "I'm sorry, Sadie. I'm not laughing at you; I'm laughing because I felt the same way."
"Until you met Paul?"
"Mm-hmm. I wouldn't say I looked at cops as my enemies, but I didn't exactly share my secrets with them, either. My experiences with cops weren't usually good."
"What do you mean?"
"Let's just say that I didn't have a middle-class upbringing. Cops were trouble, where I came from."
"Where was that?"
"California. My parents were migrant farm workers; I spent my childhood in labor camps, trying to get enough to eat. Then they were killed in an automobile accident when I was in my early teens, and things got a little rough."
"Oh, that sounds hard. You've come a long way from labor camps. I thought I had a rags-to-riches story, but I've been really lucky. I had a super-privileged childhood. I didn't even know how well-off I had been — everybody I knew was filthy rich. We all hated our parents and bitched about our shitty lives. Then they died, and I found out what a shitty life was really like. But that's behind me, now. At least I hope it's behind me."
"Nobody has a perfect childhood," Connie said. "Learning to put childhood in perspective is part of growing up. People who blame their problems on their background are immature, I think. Life's what you make it, not what somebody else decides for you. Anyway, I avoided cops as best I could for most of my life, and then I met Paul."
"Did you have trouble getting used to that? I mean, did he make you uncomfortable, being a cop?"
"Sometimes, yes. I've had some non-trivial problems with the law off and on. I kind of manipulated him into helping me start the charter business, and when I woke up and realized I was falling for him, I freaked out. But we got over it. He's seen so much of the rotten side of people that nothing surprises him. Even so, he still manages to look for the good in everybody."
"The way he reacted when I asked about the break-in at your charter broker's made me feel like I was guilty of something. I mean, that's my fault, not his. It's weird, the way I reacted to his question about why I wanted to know. I've been trying to figure that out."
"Is there something about him that makes you uncomfortable, Sadie? You can tell me; it's okay. He's made me feel that way enough times."
"No, he's really nice. It's just knowing ... "
"Knowing that he's a cop?"
"Well, yeah, kinda. I think that's it."
"I was once in a business partnership with a medical doctor. We started a diet clinic, but that's not the point of the story. We had a ... well, more than a strictly business relationship, so I got to know a bunch of his colleagues. A couple of them were psychiatrists that we used as consultants in the clinic." Connie paused, collecting her thoughts.
"For a diet clinic? I can see where that makes sense, for certain people, anyway."
"Right," Connie said. "I've never been to a psychiatrist, myself, but I had a funny reaction every time I talked to one of them, like I needed to have my guard up or they could see all the sick things that were going on in my mind."
Sadie laughed. "We all have sick things going on in our minds, don't we?"
"I don't know about everybody else. I have enough trouble with my own thoughts, but I suspect you're right. We all have things about us that we want to hide."
"Yeah! I get it. You think that's why it makes me nervous that Paul's a cop?"
"I don't know. But forget he's a cop; he used to be one, but now, he's just my partner in the charter business, and the love of my life. Don't let what he used to be shape your reaction to him. Trust me, he's harmless."
"Unless I'm a crook?" Sadie smiled.
"Even if you are. He's not a cop anymore, even if he sometimes still has the mannerisms of a homicide detective."
"Dinner's ready," Paul called from below. "Want to eat below? Or in the cockpit?"
"The cockpit, please," Sadie answered, leaning toward the companionway. Turning to Connie, she whispered, "Thanks; you made me feel a lot better. I'm struggling with some things, and it helps to talk with you."
Chapter 10
"And that's the marine weather forecast for today." The woman on the radio net had a pleasant, British-accented voice. "Before we sign off, there's a bit of unpleasant business that the police have asked me to bring up. They're seeking information from anyone who may have seen or heard anything unusual around Jolly Harbour last night. A fellow cruiser named Tom Connolly on Tropic Tramp was beaten severely and left at the dinghy dock in Jolly Harbour sometime early this morning. He's in hospital at St. John's, in critical condition, and hasn't regained consciousness. The police are looking for anyone who might have spent time with Tom last night, as they have no leads. For those who don't recognize his name, Tom Connolly often played the guitar and sang at the waterfront bars. It's believed that he was attacked after his performance in Jolly Harbour last night. Anyone with information should call the harbor patrol on VHF 68. And that's the news from English Harbour Radio. Stay safe out there, and thanks for listening."
Paul switched off the cockpit speaker. They were finishing breakfast, preparing to leave for the short sail to English Harbour.
"That's awful," Sadie said. "Who would hurt somebody like Tom?"
"Random violence is rare in the islands," Connie said. "Most likely it was somebody who knew him and had some grievance."
"He was friends with everybody, though," Sadie said. "After you left us the other night, people kept stopping by to say 'hi' to him. I mean, you know, like they knew him and liked him, not just because they heard him play. They'd ask about his boat projects, or how long he'd been back from Guadeloupe, and what he did down there — that kind of stuff. Like neighbors, kinda. You think somebody robbed him, maybe? He didn't seem to have much, except his guitar and the boat."
"Petty theft is pretty common; locals with very little see someone with a guitar and a boat as rich," Connie said, "but violent robbery is nearly unheard of. People don't attack one another down here the way they do in the States."
"Unless there were drugs involved," Paul said. "There are crazed druggies here just like there are everywhere, but even so, they tend more toward purse snatching, maybe knock somebody down and steal his wallet. Sounds like he was hurt badly. Connie's right; that's rare, unless ... "
"Unless what?" Sadie asked.
"Unless he was mixed up in the drug trade, or — "
"I can't imagine that! I mean, I've been around some of those people ... he just didn't ... "
"Or he was mixed up with some local woman," Paul said.
"Could be a crime of passion — jealous husband kind of thing."
Sadie didn't respond.
After the silence hung for several seconds, Connie asked, "Do you want to change your plans?"
"How do you mean?" Sadie asked, sitting up straight, alarm in her voice.
"If you want to go to the hospital, we could — "
"Oh," Sadie sighed, relaxing. "I thought you meant ... um ... no, I don't think so." She shook her head. "There really wasn't that kind of chemistry ... maybe if he was conscious ... "
After a few seconds, Connie said, "Well if you change your mind, we can arrange something from English Harbour later in the day. You ready to get underway?"
"Sure," Sadie said.
****
"Not yet, boss, but I'm still lookin'," Freddy said, holding the phone away from his ear in anticipation of Pratt's response.
"You stupid bastard!" Pratt screamed. "How fuckin' hard can it be to find one girl on an island that size? You had a damn picture of her. You check out the place in the picture?"
"Yeah, boss. First thing. She was there, all right. The barkeep knew the guy; she sang with him that night the picture was made."
"Sang with him, huh?"
"Yeah. What the man said."
"They know one another?"
"Barkeep didn't think so. He said the guy was in the place regular, like, whenever he passed through Antigua."
"Passed through, huh? One of them damn longhaired sea-gypsy fuckers, I guess. Boat bum, that's about her speed."
"I guess so, boss."
"So what the hell you been doin' since then?"
"I found the guy last night. Tom Connolly. He said he didn't know her. Just heard her singin' one night when he — "
"You talked to him? Personally?"
"Yeah, boss. He didn't know much."
"Or he didn't say much. You push him?"
"Yeah. He woulda told me anything I wanted to hear by the time I was through with him."
Running Under Sail Page 7