The man leaned over and knocked on the deck with his knuckles. A woman's head popped out of the opening into the cockpit. She gave the guy a big smile as she climbed up and out. She was a knockout, Buster noted. Tight white T-shirt, short khaki skirt, and man, what legs. He bet Jimmy couldn't leave that one alone. Buster watched with interest as she fluffed her wavy, shoulder length black hair in the breeze like she was drying it; probably just got out of the shower, he thought. She ran her fingers through it, flipping it one way and then the other, while the guy stood there grinning at the show. With her head back and her elbows pointed at the sky, that T-shirt was a real eyeful. Buster caught his breath as she turned and bent over to lock the hatch. He recovered in time to snap a series of shots when she stepped across to the dock, that skirt riding up to show how long those legs really were.
As the couple walked into town, he sent off another email, but only including a shot of her face; he was saving the rest of those pictures. He thought briefly about breaking into the boat, but there were too many people around, and it was sitting right out there in plain view of half the town. Besides, it was clear at this point that Jimmy wasn't aboard; he'd watched the woman lock the boat. Chances of finding anything worthwhile were slim after all those Feds had gone over it last night. He stifled a yawn and took another sip of coffee. Vinnie would be showing up in another hour, and it would be Buster’s turn to sack out for a while.
****
Ralph Giannetti savored a mouthful of the freshly grilled mahi-mahi. He had caught the fish just a few hours earlier, trolling along the near edge of the Gulf Stream just north of the Government Cut channel. He took a sip of the crisp, cold sauvignon blanc as he listened to Mark Murano's report on the Jimmy Dorlan debacle. They were sitting on his patio, looking out across the water on another glorious fall day in Miami.
"Which one of 'em killed the dumb bastard?" he interrupted as Mark began to speculate about where the money was.
"That junkie college girl he took up with. She confessed. The other woman backed her story up."
"Yeah, of course she did. What makes you and Tony so damn sure the two broads didn't find out about the money and off him? They could be gonna split it, once the dust clears."
"I don't think so, Ralph. That wouldn't make sense."
"Makes perfect sense. $125,000 each, and he probably pissed 'em both off in the bargain. But either the women got the money, or the Feds got it. Your boys said they had a regular army searchin' that boat."
"The Feds didn't get it. Our guy in the Carteret County Sheriff's office woulda known."
"So the women got it."
"I don't think ..."
"Yeah, I noticed that. Never mind what you don't think. You get a lawyer to go talk to that junkie? See what she's got to say for herself. And keep an eye on the other one, that Barrera woman."
"We can't grab her and beat it out of her, Ralph; it would ..."
"Did I say anything about grabbin' her? I said keep an eye on her. If we want to grab her, the time would be later; she's probably gonna take that boat back offshore. That would be the time and place, but my money's on the junkie givin' up the game. You get somebody in to talk to her; fix her up, kick her ass, whatever. She'll talk."
"Okay. That's a good suggestion."
"Damn right it is. Now here's my next good suggestion. You get somebody to work checkin' up on this Barrera broad. She came from somewhere; she's got some history. Let's find out who the hell she is before we go jumpin' in her shit, okay?"
"Yes. I'll get right on it."
"Good."
"I'll call you when I ..."
"I'll call you. Meanwhile, college boy, you got a quarter mil of my money, and I ..."
"Relax, Ralph. I'll make it good. I ..."
"Don't tell me to relax. I'm not the one with the stress; you're the one with the problem. The only way you can make it good is with 20 kilos, you understand? Not money -- product, and delivered on time. You got that?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now get outta my house and go make some shit happen."
****
Mark Murano was deep in thought as he sat in the traffic on the MacArthur Causeway. He was headed back to his office in Coconut Grove. As he was passing the turnoff for Watson Island and the Miami Yacht Club, he saw a Coast Guard 40-footer in the ship channel to his left, and that reminded him of the point he'd been about to make when Ralph had cut him off. If the two women had been plotting to kill Jimmy and keep the money, why would they have come back to Beaufort? They would have kept going, wouldn't they? And how did so many Federal agencies get involved in what should have been a simple case of murder? Granted, the murder had taken place on a yacht in international waters, but the reception the yacht received didn't make sense. He picked up his phone and touched a speed dial button. In a few seconds, he had Tony Ferranti on the line.
"Hey, Tony?"
"Yeah, Mark?"
"Your guy in the sheriff's department down there in North Carolina?"
"Yeah, what about her?"
"Her?"
"Yeah, her. You got a problem with that, Murano?"
"No. I just didn't know. Did she say how all the Feds got involved?"
"No. You want me to ask her?"
"Yeah. Something's not making sense about that mess."
"I'll call ya right back."
Five minutes later, as traffic crept across the high bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway, Mark's phone rang.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, Mark. I talked to her. She said the call came from the Coast Guard to begin with. Somebody on some drug task force in Miami called it in. Said somethin' about Greco?"
The name Greco sent a chill down Mark's spine. That was too close to home; no way could that be a coincidence. He suppressed his concern; Tony didn't know about Greco. "Okay, thanks. Good work. You got a lawyer we can trust down there in North Carolina?"
"I can find somebody quick. Why?"
"I want somebody to talk to the junkie girl; see what the hell she's got to say for herself. Somebody's got that damn money, and we got a business to run. You know what I'm sayin', Tony?"
"Yeah. No problem. I'll get somebody in this evening or first thing tomorrow."
"Great. Let me know, okay?"
"You bet. Hey, Mark?"
"What?"
"I got pictures of the gal that owns the boat, and the guy who spent the night with her last night. You want I should send 'em to ya?"
"Yes, please. I'm gonna put an investigator on her soon as I get to the office. Email me those pictures; good thinking."
"Okay. They're on the way. Unless you say different, I'm gonna keep Vinnie and Buster watchin' her. Too much goin' on for them to check out the boat or question her, but I figure, you know, might as well watch. No tellin' what we'll see."
"Yeah, okay. I gotta go. Call me if anything happens."
* * *
Chapter 14
Connie sat on the outdoor balcony of the restaurant that occupied the second floor of the marina building. She had a perfect view of Diamantista as she ate the last of her broiled seafood platter. She took a sip of her wine and leaned back, propping her feet on the chair across the table from her.
Before Paul left to catch his flight, they had called Phillip Davis; he and Sharktooth would be arriving late tomorrow afternoon, so she had some time to rest. That suited her; she was drained from the tension of the last few days. The prospect of sailing with her two friends lifted her spirits somewhat, but as much as she tried to ignore it, she was missing Paul terribly.
She felt her face flush as she remembered the feeling of waking up in his arms this morning; she gave herself a mental slap in the face. She had to get over that. Neither of them had mentioned it, and Paul had given no indication that it was worth a second thought. She told herself that they had both been exhausted and had just fallen asleep.
While that was true, it didn't explain the warm flush she got every time she thought about it. As a distr
action, she forced herself to think about Phillip and Sharktooth. She had met them both while she was sailing on Vengeance with Dani and Liz.
Phillip was in his forties. He had been a business partner of Dani's father; Dani looked up to him as a much older brother. Phillip and his wife, Sandrine, lived in Martinique and hosted Dani and Liz and their charter guests when Vengeance passed that way.
Sharktooth was another partner of J.-P. Berger's; he lived in Dominica and was even more of an enigma than Phillip. Both men had an air of danger about them, yet neither was at all threatening. Sharktooth was married, and she understood from Liz that his wife owned a successful art gallery in Dominica.
She was excited at the prospect of getting to know both men better, realizing that their contacts in the islands could be of great help to her in establishing her business. Connie was a little anxious about what they would expect of her as captain and hostess. Although she was comfortable with the two of them, she worried that they would expect her to cook.
Of course, she had met them at the same time she'd met Paul, so she found herself having come full circle back to Paul. In spite of what he had told her when they had discussed their mutual worries about a romantic relationship, she sensed that Paul was more secure emotionally than she was. His marriage had ended in an ugly divorce a few years ago, but he seemed at ease with that now.
She, on the other hand, was still wary of beginning a new affair. Her one long-term relationship had left her with an overwhelming sense of guilt when it ended with the death of her paramour.
She'd had a ten-year relationship with a married doctor from the time she was 19. His marriage had been of little consequence to Connie, as she had no inclinations that way herself. Initially, she had been impressed by him, but over time, he had become a burden.
His increasing dependence on her had gone beyond their romantic relationship. His failure at the practice of medicine and Connie's entrepreneurial skills had led the two of them into a business partnership. The business had been doing well until his drinking got him in trouble. By then, Connie was fed up with him and wanted out.
As she tried to extricate herself, he was murdered by one of their investors. Connie had escaped to the Bahamas, and only recently had she begun to get over her sense that her departure had led to the doctor's death.
During an extended stay in the Bahamas, she’d literally stumbled into a fortune. She chartered Vengeance to flee from Nassau to the eastern Caribbean and in the process developed a boundless love for sail. She decided to go into the charter business herself.
She and Paul had met when he joined them for a few days on Vengeance; he was a friend of Dani's godfather and was visiting Martinique. She had learned that he was recently retired and was passionate about cooking and sailing, and they had quickly become close friends.
The decision for him to help her start her charter business had seemed obvious, but then there was this matter of Connie feeling all squishy inside when she was around him. She wasn't sure what to do about that, and she wasn't ready to share it with anybody, especially Paul.
****
Kirsten, her manacled wrists chained to the table in the small visitor's room at the Carteret County jail, studied the gray-haired man sitting across from her. The guard had come for her a few minutes ago, telling her that her lawyer was here to see her.
"Ms. Jones, I'm David Clinton. I'm an attorney."
"You from the public defender's office? They said they'd get somebody."
"The cops?"
"Yeah, and that district attorney woman, or whatever she was. She said I didn't have to talk to anybody without my lawyer present."
"And did you?"
"Did I what?"
"Talk to anybody."
"No, of course not. My father's a lawyer; I grew up with the right to remain silent."
"I see. Does he know you're in trouble?"
"He doesn't give a rat's ass about me now. You didn't answer me."
"Sorry. No. I'm not from the public defender's office. Those folks are stretched so thin they'll probably have somebody come running in out of breath just in time for your arraignment in the morning."
"Well, whoever the hell you are, I can't pay you, so what are you doing here?"
"My fee has been taken care of. I'll represent you at the arraignment tomorrow, if you'd like."
"Did my father send you?"
"No, I don't think I know him. Tony Ferranti asked me to help you."
"Tony Ferranti? You mean Tony, Jimmy's boss?"
"That's right."
"Why would he do that? I killed Jimmy, the piece of shit."
"You and Tony seem to agree on that, anyway."
"Jimmy?"
"Yes. Not one of Tony's favorite people, it seems."
Kirsten thought about that for a moment, the silence hanging between them. She studied her bitten down, grubby fingernails, remembering when she used to pay for a weekly manicure. The handcuffs chafed on her swollen wrist. She looked up at Clinton. "So what's going to happen?"
"We'll appear before a judge in the morning, where you'll be formally charged and asked to enter a plea."
"They said premeditated murder, or something like that."
"That's right."
"I killed him; Connie watched me do it, and I already said I did, so I guess that makes me guilty, right?"
"Jimmy was an abusive man, from what I know. He ever beat you?"
"Yeah."
"Were you afraid of him?"
"I was tired of him beating me. Yeah, I was afraid of him."
"Did you kill him so he couldn't beat you again?"
"I see where you're going."
"You had some provocation. I think we can make a case that his death wasn't premeditated murder."
"So I'll get off?"
"I doubt that, but we'll make a case that you aren't a cold-blooded killer. We might plea-bargain this down to manslaughter. You could get a pretty light sentence, compared to the possibility of death or a life sentence."
"I see."
"You have any questions, Kirsten? It's okay if I call you Kirsten?"
"Yeah, sure. That's my name."
"Good. Call me Dave. Now, did you have a question?"
"Yeah. About this Tony."
He nodded his encouragement.
"He's not doing this because he's a nice guy. What does he want?"
"You're a smart young woman, Kirsten. What do you think he wants?"
"Me to keep my mouth shut about the drugs?"
"I'm not sure what you mean, 'about the drugs,' but certainly, he wouldn't want you making his business with Jimmy public."
Kirsten nodded. "I get it."
"Good. There's something else you might be able to help him with."
"What's that?"
"I gather Jimmy was carrying some cash to make a payment of some sort for Tony. Tony would like to know where the money is; he figures Jimmy probably stashed it somewhere on that boat."
Kirsten shook her head. "I don't know about any money. Sorry."
Clinton gazed at her until she looked down at the table. "Well, if you think of anything like that, let me know. Here's my card; my cell phone number is on here. Call me any time, okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah, okay."
"I'll see you in court in the morning; try to get a good night's rest, and think about that money. That seems important to Tony."
****
Paul summoned the waitress to remove the remains of his unappetizing dinner. He was killing time between flights in the Atlanta airport.
"You didn't like it?" she asked as she picked up the plate.
"Not very hungry after all, I guess," he said with a smile.
"Get you some coffee or dessert?"
"Coffee, please."
She looked over her shoulder, balancing the plate. "I'll make you a fresh pot; it'll be just a few minutes. You're not in a rush to catch your flight, are you?"
"No, I have time."
"G
ood. I mean, I could make you some instant if you're in a hurry."
"No, there's no rush. I've got an hour."
She smiled and gave him a big wink. "Too bad I've gotta work, handsome. But the coffee's good, anyway."
Paul chuckled as she sashayed back to the double doors into the kitchen. She wasn't bad looking, but lately, Connie had spoiled him for girl-watching. Ever since he woke up and found her curled on his chest early this morning, he hadn't been able to get her off his mind. He had kept still all night, although he didn't sleep much. He had told himself that she was exhausted and that he didn't want to disturb her much needed rest. Deep down, though, the truth was gnawing at him. He feigned sleep because he liked the way she felt, curled up on his chest like that.
He had studied her face, beautiful in repose, for several minutes at a time in the gray light that was filtering in the portholes. The creamy, porcelain-smooth skin of her cheeks set off by that dark, dark hair took his breath away. He had felt guilty, like he was spying on her. Guilty, too, because he knew his feelings for her had moved beyond mere friendship, and he dared not share them with her. He wasn't willing to risk scaring her off.
She'd been honest with him early on; she wasn't looking for romance. She needed a friend. Beyond that, she needed a cook and a dependable crewman to help her get the business going. Over his objections, she'd insisted that she would split the proceeds with him for each charter that he worked. He had tried to argue that the two things he most liked to do were sailing and cooking, but to no avail. She wanted to keep things on a professional level.
He could tell from the subtle clues in her behavior that she'd been mortified to wake up in his arms. She hadn't mentioned it; he had pretended that he didn't even know it had happened, but he still felt her warmth against his shoulder, even now. She'd die if she knew he faked waking up when she made the espresso. And then there was that business with her hair in the cockpit this morning -- pure torment.
He glanced down and saw that sometime during his reverie the waitress had brought his coffee and a check. He glanced around, looking for her to thank her, but she wasn't in sight. He shook his head, laughing at himself. He was beginning to feel like an awkward teenager where Connie was concerned; he had to get over it. She needed him, but not that way; he had to be man enough to deal with that if he wanted to keep enjoying her company. He finished his coffee and picked up the check as he stood. He had just enough time to walk to his gate before they called his flight.
Love for Sail Page 9