Running Under Sail - a Connie Barrera Thriller (Connie Barrera Thrillers Book 5)

by Charles Dougherty

  "Better than a Stingray? How can it be better?"

  "You get pictures with an Instagram."

  "How the hell does that work? Pictures?"

  "Yeah. Somebody said it works usin' FM."

  "FM? Like them old-time radio stations?"

  "FM, like Fuckin' Magic, boss." Freddy laughed.

  "Shit, I reckon." Pratt said "What kinda pictures? Like video?"

  "Naw, just pictures."

  "You got a picture of Sadie with this Instagram thing?"

  "Yeah. She's with some broad named Pam, and a dickhead-lookin' guy. They were sittin' at a table in some restaurant in Jolly Harbour a few hours ago."

  "Get your ass to Antigua, right now, Freddy."

  "I'm workin' on it, boss. Yvonne's checkin' the airlines — "

  "Fuck that shit. Take my plane; get out to the airport right now. I'm gonna hang up and call 'em, get the crew movin'. They can drop you in Antigua and come back here to pick me up. I'll go to St. Barth and get Morning Mist. You stake that little bitch out; don't lose her before I get there, you understand me?"

  "Yeah, boss. I got it."

  "And get me one of them Instagrams, too. I got a bunch of people I'm gonna follow. You really get pictures with it?"

  "Yeah, boss. If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'."

  "You done good work, Freddy. Now go catch that little bitch for me, you hear?"

  "I'm on it, boss."

  Chapter 8

  "Good morning," Connie said. "Did you rest well?"

  She and Paul were finishing their breakfast in the cockpit, lingering over coffee.

  "Pretty well, thanks. It's a beautiful morning," Sadie said, stifling a yawn. "Got any more of that coffee?"

  "Sure," Paul said, turning an unused mug upright and filling it from the carafe on the table. "What can I get you for breakfast?"

  "That fruit plate looks great. I'll just have some of that, and coffee." Sadie sat down across from Connie.

  "Sure I can't cook some eggs for you? Or toast?"

  "No, thanks, Paul. I don't usually eat a big breakfast, especially after a late night."

  "Were you late?" Connie asked, winking at Paul. "We turned in early, I guess."

  "Yeah, a little. Tom and I kinda closed the bar last night. I guess it was almost midnight. Things get quiet early in this part of the world. It's really different; open air places like that. We offered to leave, but they said just to stay as long as we wanted. They cleaned up and went home by around 10 o'clock. Left a bottle of liquor out for us to help ourselves to a nightcap."

  "That's not unusual in a spot like this. Some places, the bars stay open all night, but this is sort of a sleepy spot, except on the weekends, or when there's some kind of event happening," Paul said.

  "What's on your agenda for the day?" Connie asked.

  "I was thinking I'd like to go sailing," Sadie said.

  "You're my kind of gal," Connie said, smiling. "Day sailing? Or did you want to go somewhere?"

  "Tom told me that Antigua's famous for its beaches. A different one for every day of the year. Is that true?"

  "Probably," Paul said. "I don't guess we've ever counted them."

  "He said the North Sound was pretty, and somewhere called Nonesuch Bay, I think it was."

  "He's right," Connie said. "Either one's great. North Sound isn't as attractive to me. There are a lot more excursion boats working in there, bringing the cruise ship visitors on outings. It's got some pretty places, though."

  "And he said I shouldn't miss English Harbour, either. He said Nelson's Dockyard's a National Park, an 18th-century British Naval base."

  "That's right," Paul said. "Named for none other than Admiral Horatio Nelson."

  "I'd like to see a little more of Antigua, and Tom said we should head down to Guadeloupe. I read about this place there called Deshaies, and he said it was worth a visit. Do you know it?"

  "Sure," Connie said. "We know it well."

  "There's supposed to be a great hike up a river around there, somewhere," Sadie said. "I saw pictures in an airline magazine."

  "There sure is," Paul said. "The Deshaies River's beautiful; starts out almost like a mangrove swamp and turns into a mountain stream, all in a day's walk in the shade."

  "I don't know if it's practical; you have to tell me how long the trips are. But I'd like to go to this Nonesuch Bay and English Harbour, and then to Guadeloupe. How long would that take?"

  Connie smiled. "With this nice southerly breeze, we could leave in the next hour and be in Nonesuch Bay for a late lunch. We can anchor behind the fringing reef there and have a clear view out to the east. There's nothing but open ocean, all the way to Africa. There's always a nice breeze, and the reef breaks the swell. That makes it a calm anchorage, even though it's wide open visually. The snorkeling is fantastic on the patch reefs around Green Island, too. It's a great spot to spend a few nights."

  "So we could spend tonight there and then go to English Harbour in the morning?"

  "You bet. That would work well, too. If we want to go to Guadeloupe, we'll have to clear out with Antigua customs before we leave. English Harbour's a good place to do that, and it gives us a pretty easy sail to Deshaies — maybe six hours."

  "Then let's do that," Sadie said.

  "You can use the radio if you want to let Tom know," Paul said.

  Sadie smiled. "I don't think I want to encourage him. He's a nice enough guy, and a great musician, but ... " She shrugged and took a sip of coffee.

  "One of those, huh?" Connie said, raising her eyebrows.

  "Yeah, I guess," Sadie said. "It might have lead somewhere, but we've both got other plans, you know? Might as well just let it fizzle out before somebody gets hurt."

  ****

  By late morning, Diamantista II had cleared Johnson's Point on the southwestern tip of Antigua. Connie and Paul had made it from Jolly Harbour to the point in what they called "two tacks." Sadie wasn't sure about the terminology; she vowed to learn more about sailing. The wind and the sea and the easy motion of the boat were working their magic on her. She wanted to know more about this, to become a part of this whole experience, like Connie and Paul.

  In the brisk southerly wind, they were making about nine knots over the ground, Paul had told her when she asked. There was a moderate, wind-driven chop, which sent spray flying over the bow occasionally. Sadie was enjoying the periodic dousing of warm, salty water as she sat on the foredeck, her back against the front end of the coachroof.

  She had overheard Paul and Connie's conversation before she had gone up into the cockpit for breakfast. There had been a break-in at somebody's office, somebody named Elaine. After a few seconds, she remembered Connie's earlier reference to Elaine, when they had been sailing out of St. Martin a couple of nights ago. Elaine was their charter broker.

  Now she was wondering if the break-in was connected to Freddy Thompson's visit to Leana's office. The timing was right, but how could Pratt have made the connection? Surely, Leana wouldn't have told Thompson about booking the charter. Maybe she was just borrowing trouble, as her mother used to say, but the coincidence was hard to ignore. The thought of her mother made her sad; it seemed so long ago that she'd gotten the news about her parents.

  Only 18 months, she reminded herself, but a lot of things had happened since then, most of them bad. She banished the thought of her parents. Nothing good would come of that. She hoped that someday, she'd be able to remember them without the overwhelming sense of anger. She knew that anger at being abandoned was a typical reaction when a child lost a parent, but Sadie thought her anger was more basic, a reflection of the frustration she'd felt when she discovered how profligate they'd been.

  She still blamed them for forcing her into the arms of Jonas Pratt. At the thought of him, the fine hairs on her arms bristled; she shivered with revulsion.

  Their failure to provide for her future may not have been a conscious choice, but it had driven her to take up with Pratt. She was momentarily overcome by a sense
of shame at the choices she'd made, then she remembered her conversation with Connie.

  What was it that Connie had said? Something about no one thinking less of her for doing what she had to do to survive. She wondered about Connie; she admired women like her, women who were sure of themselves. Connie radiated confidence and happiness, although Sadie sensed that Connie had not always had such a wonderful life. She'd like to know more about her; how had she gotten to be so comfortable with herself?

  Sadie liked Connie and Paul. She was worried that by chartering Diamantista II, she was going to drag them into her soap opera of a life. Should she tell them she was on the run? She shook her head. They might decide to dump her, and then where would she be? She'd take Leana's advice and keep moving.

  ****

  "Yeah, mon. They singin' here las' night," the bartender said, looking at the picture on the screen of the smartphone Freddy held.

  "Where's the girl staying?" Freddy asked.

  "Don' know, mon. She don' never come in here before las' night. Now the other lady, she stay in the villas wit' her husban'. They regular customers. Come in here a couple of times a week when they in Antigua. They — "

  "You think they knew the girl?"

  "No, mon. I don' t'ink so. The girl, she come wit' Tom. The lady, she like the way that girl sing. She get up an' go over to the table an' talk to them. The other mon, he — "

  "What other man?" Freddy asked.

  "The mon and the lady what run the boat, Diamantista, I t'ink it is. They come here all the time, too, when they boat here."

  "What about this other man? You were gonna say something' 'bout him?"

  "Jus' that he make the picture for that lady. He an' his lady, they were sittin' wit' Tom an' the girl."

  "Uh-huh. You know where his boat is? The man who made the picture?"

  "Prob'ly in the marina, mebbe. Or could be anchored outside the channel. I don' know. Mebbe somebody like the dock-master, he know."

  "The dock-master?"

  "Yeah, mon. At the marina. He drive a patrol boat out through the anchorage a couple time ev'y day, see. Make sure the boats don' block the channel."

  "What about this Tom?"

  "What about him?" The bartender looked puzzled.

  "You know him?"

  "Oh, yeah, mon. Tom, he play guitar here mos' ev'y week, 'cept when he don't."

  Freddy shook his head at that. "Every week? So he must live around here, then. Right?"

  "He come; he go, Tom. He live on he boat."

  "You think he knew this girl? Before last night, I mean?"

  The bartender stood up straight, his left hand on the bar, stretching his back. He scratched his chin. "I s'pose mebbe he do. He bring she in here, an' after they sing, he stay wit' she after the other people done lef'. They still here when we close up las' night, sittin' in that corner over there, talkin'."

  "This Tom, do you know if his boat's in the marina?"

  The bartender laughed at that. "No, mon. Rich people keep they boats in the marina. Tom, he jus' a regular mon. Not rich. He keep the boat outside the harbor, anchored off the channel. I know this from the dock-master."

  "You know anything else about his boat?"

  "Hmm," the man scratched his chin again. "Name Tropic Tramp, I t'ink. Small boat. You dry. You need another beer?"

  "No, thanks. I'm good. Is there somewhere I can rent a boat?"

  "Mebbe. I t'ink they's a place in the marina. You ask at the office; they prob'ly can tell you. Or get you a water taxi."

  "Thanks for the company." Freddy left a few banknotes on the bar and left.

  ****

  "Mind if I visit with you two for a while?" Sadie asked, stepping over the cockpit coaming and taking a seat with Connie and Paul.

  "Make yourself at home," Connie said. "Do you want to rinse off the salt? Can I get you a towel, or anything? There's a shower hose right — "

  "No, thanks. I'm fine. I like the way my skin feels when the saltwater dries on it." She smiled. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you talking about a break-in at somebody's office as I was coming up for breakfast. I've been thinking about that, for some reason. Did I hear you say it was your charter broker? Elaine whoever?"

  "Yes," Connie said. "Elaine Moore. And don't worry about eavesdropping; there's not much privacy on a boat this size anyway. Besides, we don't have any secrets, Paul and I."

  "Why?" Paul asked, turning his gaze on her. "Something about Elaine's break-in bother you?"

  "Not really," Sadie said, breaking eye contact, looking down into a corner of the cockpit. "Uh ... I was just thinking about all the crime in Miami Beach. I saw the seamy side of the city, I guess."

  "There is a lot of petty crime there," Paul said. "It's par for the course in a touristy place like South Beach, I suppose."

  "Elaine doesn't work in Miami Beach," Connie said. "Her office is in Ft. Lauderdale."

  "Oh. I don't know why I thought Miami, Miami Beach. Maybe because Leana knew about her. Leana's office is in one of those Art Deco buildings in South Beach, and she's had so many break-ins that she doesn't leave anything there she's not willing to lose."

  They sailed along in silence for a couple of minutes, watching a frigate bird swooping overhead.

  "Has Leana had any recent break-ins?" Paul asked. "Do you know?"

  "I don't think so, but I don't know. I got an email from her the other night. She didn't mention it, but then it's not remarkable, either." Sadie picked at a piece of loose cuticle on her left thumbnail, avoiding Paul's eyes. "Why?"

  Paul shrugged. "Just wondered, since you mentioned it."

  "How did you hook up with her, anyway?" Connie asked. "I've never met a rock star before; I'm curious about how all that works."

  "I'm hardly a rock star," Sadie said, smiling and looking up at Connie.

  "Well to me, you are." Connie smiled back at her. "You're the closest I've come to one, anyway. And that woman at the restaurant sure thought you were; she even asked for your autograph last night. That's the first time I've ever been sitting next to somebody who was autograph-worthy."

  "I still can't get used to that. I'm basically kinda shy; it flusters me when strangers come up to me like that."

  "I thought you handled it well," Paul said. "You didn't look flustered; you came across as pleased but not cocky."

  "Thanks. Leana says I should keep acting grateful; she says it's charming."

  "She's right," Connie said. "It is charming; she must feel lucky to have you as a client."

  "It's the other way around; I'm lucky that she heard me sing that one night and decided she wanted to work with me. It was in that, um ... club that I told you about. She stuck a folded $20 bill in my ... anyway, later on in the dressing room, I was counting my tips. We had to give the owner a cut, see. When I unfolded that bill, I found her business card with a note on the back asking me to call her about an audition." Sadie scrunched her face into a frown of sorts.

  "So that's how you met her?" Connie asked.

  "Yeah. I almost didn't call her. I mean, I got more business cards that way than you can imagine. But hers was the only one from a woman. I went to the library and checked her out online. When I saw that she really did manage musicians, I called her. At first I was worried that she might be a, um ... different kind of talent agent." Taking in the puzzled look on Connie's face, she added, "Some of the girls did porn on the side; I wasn't interested in that."

  "Once I sang a few numbers for her, we shook hands, and before I knew it, I didn't have to dance anymore. She's been great to me. Turns out she's pretty well-known in the business, at least around Miami. Leana Muñoz, her name is."

  "So she books performances for you," Connie said. "She must do some advertising or something, huh?"

  "More like PR," Sadie said. "The only real advertising is handled by the recording company, and even they do more direct marketing than plain old advertising."

  "I'm not sure I know the difference," Connie said. "Does that mea
n she depends on personal contacts?"

  "Mostly. Sorry; I was majoring in marketing before ... " Sadie stared off into the distance.

  "Where'd you go to school?" Paul asked.

  Sadie blinked and turned to face him. "Sorry? I was lost there. What did you ask?"

  "You said you were majoring in marketing; I wondered where you went to college."

  "Oh." She smiled. "The University of Florida."

  "I would have picked you for a music major," Connie said.

  "I would have been, if I'd had my choice. But my parents had other ideas. They wanted me to study something 'useful,' as they put it. So music was a hobby. I was secretly working on a minor in voice, though."

  "Secretly?" Paul asked.

  "They wouldn't have liked it. My dad would have seen it as a waste of time. They had plans for me to join them in the family business, the sooner the better."

  "What business are they in? "Paul asked.

  "They were developers — commercial real estate projects, mostly."

  "So did they ever find out, before you graduated?" Connie asked.

  "No," Sadie said, a quaver in her voice. "No, they didn't. And I didn't ... graduate ... " She sniffed and got to her feet. "Excuse me," she said, going below.

  Paul and Connie traded glances. He shifted his position to sit next to her behind the helm.

  "Sensitive topic, I guess," Connie said.

  "No kidding," Paul said. "I didn't mean to upset her."

  "I don't think it was you. She's keeping something bottled up. She'll either resolve it for herself or talk it out, I think. Just be kind; I think she's a good kid. But she sure seems all alone."

  ****

  "She's definitely hiding something," Paul said. "Did you see the body language when I asked her why she was interested in Elaine's break-in?" He kept an eye on Sadie, who was in the water, snorkeling over a couple of small patch reefs 50 meters from the boat. It was late afternoon; they were anchored in Nonesuch Bay, and this was his first private moment with Connie since Sadie had gotten upset on the sail from Jolly Harbour.

  "No, not really. What did she do?" Connie asked.

  "She blew off my question, but she had a classic tell — broke eye contact, looked down and to the right, textbook stuff."