Final Sail (20 page)

“Change of plans,” Earl said. “Captain got a warning about a waterspout last night and dropped anchor off Bimini. We have to go through customs at Alice Town when they open at eight. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to Atlantis this evening.”

“Think we better wake up the girls?” Scotty asked.

“Yap!”
Mitzi said, and all three men winced.

“Beth is here,” Earl said.

Beth was a vision in an indigo linen pantsuit and a heavy Native American squash-blossom necklace. Languidly beautiful, she rolled Mitzi in an aqua stroller and parked it beside her chair. The poodle wore a silver squash-blossom collar studded with dark blue lapis.

Mitzi yapped again and Beth saw her husband frown. She cooed at the little poodle and fed her organic chicken and rice from a Spode bowl.

Rosette, thin and dried as a strip of leather, showed up about seven fifteen in a nautical striped top and linen pants. She played with her oatmeal. Beth squeezed lime juice on a mango and tortured it while she stuffed Mitzi with food to keep her quiet.

Everyone drank gallons of coffee, but nobody was hungry, except Pepper. She arrived at seven thirty, looking outrageously fresh in a white off-the-shoulder top and tight emerald green pants.

Pepper cheerfully attacked three fried eggs, bacon and half a loaf of toast. “I feel really good this morning after barfing my guts out all night,” she said.

Beth and Rosette glared at her but said nothing.

Scotty smiled his approval. “Good, you’re up early,” he said.

“I’m wearing my green outfit so we can go emerald shopping this morning,” Pepper said.

“We’re not shopping this morning,” Scotty said.

Pepper’s face fell and her candy pink lower lip trembled.

“We’ll get your emeralds,” Scotty said, gnawing on his cigar, “but the captain had to anchor in Bimini last night because the storm was so bad. We’ll go through customs here at Alice Town. Because you’ve been a good girl, I’ll buy you a bracelet
and
a necklace.”

Pepper squealed and hugged Scotty. He patted her round bottom. Rosette looked as disgusted as Helen felt. How could a woman stand being treated like a child? she wondered. Maybe the little-girl act was worth a lot of grown-up jewelry.

At seven forty-five, the captain appeared. Earl stood up. “Customs opens at eight. Let’s get moving,” he said. “When do we get to Atlantis, Captain?”

“If we get back to the boat by nine,” Josiah said, “it will take about half an hour to pull up the anchor and start the engines. If we’re lucky, we’ll be in Atlantis by seven thirty tonight.”

“So we can shop for emeralds today!” Pepper said.

“And have dinner at ten at Atlantis,” Beth said. “Mira, will you make reservations at Nobu for us?”

“What the hell’s Nobu?” Scotty asked.

“Nobu Matsuhisa has like the hottest Japanese restaurants in the world,” Pepper said. “We’re lucky Atlantis has one.”

“I don’t want Japanese hash,” he said. “I want real food.”

“You can still get your boring old steak,” Pepper said. “But, please, can’t we go? I was so sick during that awful storm.”

“And you can have steak for lunch, Scotty,” Beth said.

“Time’s a-wasting, people,” Earl said. When he herded his guests down the gangplank, the crew breathed a collective sigh of relief. Fifteen minutes later, Carl led the crew through customs.

On the short walk, Helen straggled behind the others, puzzling over Louise’s behavior and the captain’s question: Why would a lone woman get on a strange charter boat with a purse full of cash? She didn’t believe in blaming the victim, but that seemed like an invitation to rape and murder.

The soft Bahamian air, the warm April sunshine and Alice Town’s tiny yellow, red and aqua buildings were a pleasant distraction. Helen loved the Bahamian voices—light, soft and musical with a hint of clipped British vowels.

At the customs shed, a Bahamian agent gave an official smile. “Welcome to Alice Town, Captain Swingle,” he said.

“Glad to be here,” he said. “I heard the waterspout advisory and found a safe harbor here last night. One of my crew was so shaken by the rough seas she went back on another ship.”

Now the customs agent’s smile vanished. “What is this woman’s name?” he asked.

“Louise Renee Minette, of Fort Lauderdale,” the captain said. “She’s traveling back on a fishing charter operating out of Miami Beach,
Aces High
.”

“I do not remember any woman passenger aboard a charter boat by that name this morning,” the official said. “I will check the records. The charter can legally pick her up and take her back, but that captain has to clear her out of our country. If he did not, we will send customs agents after him.”

Good, Helen thought. We’ll know when Louise gets back to the USA—or if she doesn’t.

“No worries, Captain,” the official said. “She is not your responsibility anymore.”

Josiah Swingle smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

CHAPTER 23

“I
t’s so big,” Pepper squealed. “I forgot how big it is. Especially from this angle.”

Mira was right, Helen thought. You could hear everything on the yacht—whether you wanted to or not. She eavesdropped while she collected empty Baccarat flutes as the yacht cruised into Atlantis.

Sunset stained the channel’s wide pearly water a luscious pink. Helen and Mira had been serving drinks and appetizers for nearly three hours. Beth and Rosette took well-bred sips and nibbles. Pepper attacked the puff pastries and chicken skewers as if she’d been marooned on a Bahamian island.

Scotty had spent the afternoon playing poker and pounding scotch. He was a genial drunk. He called Pepper “my lucky lady” and sat her on his knee. Pepper’s top was smudged with cigar ash, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“As soon as we dock, we’ll go shopping, just the two of us,” he told her. “Aren’t you glad you listened to me and went on the yacht?”

“No. I hurled all night,” Pepper said, and treated him to a delectable pout. “But this is awesome.”

Helen heard Rosette snort. “Awesome,” she muttered to her husband. “Only that brainless nitwit would say ‘awesome.’”

But Atlantis was awesome against the seashell pink sky. The monumental marina with its soaring granite walls and bronze dolphin sculptures could have been built by a god.

The Atlantis resort and casino is on Paradise Island, once called Hog Island. That name wouldn’t do when Huntington Hartford, the A&P heir, bought the property: Pigs and groceries were a bad combination. He rechristened it Paradise and the name stayed even after he was gone. This earthly Paradise provided the fabulous sugar-sand beaches and clear aqua water for such movies as
Thunderball
and the Beatles’
Help!

Only the rich were allowed into Hog heaven. The marina handled yachts up to 240 feet long and banned boats under 40 feet. In this company, the
Belted Earl
was only a midsized yacht. Helen thought the
Earl
, with its elegant curved hull, was handsomer than the tubby mega-yachts.

As the ship grew closer, they were hailed by a muscular dark-skinned man in a yellow speedboat.

“It’s Action Jackson!” Mira cried. “He’s the Bahamas’ unofficial greeter.”

Jackson was a bullet-headed man in a bright red cap who’d crowned himself the Limbo King of the Bahamas. He offered to take everyone on a tour.

“What fun!” Pepper said. “Let’s go. We can meet the natives!”

“Don’t encourage that revolting man,” Rosette said. “Can’t you do something about him, Earl? He’s dirty and so is his boat. Look. He’s attracting more vermin.”

Now the yacht was surrounded by a flotilla of little boats offering pink conch, yellow bananas and hairy brown coconuts.

Helen didn’t think Jackson was dirty. She liked his Bahamian lilt. Mira called Carl, the yacht’s second-in-command, on the radio.

The white-uniformed Carl was nearly six feet tall, with a round, open face, shrewd eyes and no-color hair. He looked like the Western hero’s best friend. He was under thirty and already developing sailor’s sun wrinkles.

He climbed down to the swim platform. Action and the swarm of small boats followed him. Carl seemed to be talking more to another boat captain in ragged shorts and a faded T-shirt. Helen caught a few phrases: “not a good time” … “come back” … “you need to hide.”

Hide? she wondered. Hide what? Did Carl tell someone on a little red boat, “See you ashore”? That couldn’t be right.

Action left with a flash of his wide, white smile and a wave of his thick brown arm, and the smaller boats followed. Carl climbed back up to the guests.

“They’re gone, Mrs. Randolph,” he said.

“Thank goodness,” she said. “With the crime rate in Nassau, I don’t know why those people are allowed to approach yachts in the harbor.”

“It would have been fun to limbo,” Pepper said.

Scotty wrapped her in a bear hug. “But not as much fun as buying emeralds. Are you ready? We go as soon as the ship docks.”

When the pink castle towers of Atlantis came into view, Pepper jumped up and said, “I want to see us dock.” She dragged Scotty to the rail.

“Let’s go, too, dear,” Ralph said. “The view is magnificent.”

Rosette rolled her eyes, but joined her stringy spouse on deck. Beth and Earl followed hand in hand, leaving Mitzi behind. The poodle ran inside and squatted on the salon carpet.

“Better walk that dog before they come back,” Mira said. “Walk the dog” was the cleanup code. Helen got down on hands and knees
to wipe up the dog pee, vowing to treat Thumbs to the finest catnip in Lauderdale and herself to a stiff drink when she was home.

“Come on out,” Mira said. “When the yacht docks, two stews have to be on deck to stand by the fenders and make sure they’re in place, in case something goes wrong.”

Helen was amazed how quickly and smoothly the
Belted Earl
was docked. She’d had a harder time parallel parking in downtown Lauderdale.

“I’ll meet you in the crew mess,” Mira said, “and help with the laundry.”

Mira was loading wet clothes into a dryer when Helen got there. The head stew looked annoyed. “Helen, why did you throw Pepper’s clothes in the laundry?”

“Just the jeans,” Helen said.

“Guests’ jeans are dry-cleaned,” Mira said, “unless they tell us otherwise.”

She held up Pepper’s jeans. They looked small. Helen hoped they hadn’t shrunk in the wash.

“Now I’ll have to take these to the Atlantis dry cleaner and hope they can be rescued,” Mira said. “You haven’t started any of the guests’ ironing.”

“I’ll fold laundry and iron now,” Helen said.

Helen’s radio squawked. “Missus wants to see you in the galley,” Suzanne said.

“Probably wants to talk about the dog,” Mira said. “When you get back, work on the laundry. Don’t forget to iron the guests’ underwear.”

Helen picked up Ralph’s stained, ragged tightie whities. “Even the holey underwear?”

“Guest underwear is always perfect, no matter what the condition,” Mira said, crisp as new cotton sheets. “Now run upstairs to the missus.”

Helen had lost count how many times she’d sprinted up and down those steps. Mitzi greeted her with a welcoming yap in the galley, while her mistress continued with Suzanne’s instructions.

“Scotty and Pepper are shopping,” Beth said. “The rest of us are going to stretch our legs. We’ll be back about eight thirty to dress for dinner at Nobu. You don’t have to worry about making dinner tonight, Suzanne. We’ll probably want something light when we return later this evening—actually, it will be more like tomorrow morning. The boys like to play poker until three or four.”

“How about lobster salad?” the chef asked.

“That will do for the girls, but the boys will want more meat.”

“I have enough Niman Ranch steaks.”

“Good. They never get tired of T-bones.”

“I’ll make fries,” Suzanne said.

“And onion rings,” Beth said. “They love your onion rings. Make enough for all the boys and Pepper. That little girl has a big appetite. Oh, and maybe a light dessert. That’s it. You don’t have to do anything else.”

Beth seemed oblivious that she’d given Suzanne orders for dinner for six people at three in the morning.

She turned to Helen. “Mitzi needs a walk. She had that little accident in the salon, but it’s all gone now, thanks to Auntie Helen.”

Great, Helen thought. I’m now a poodle’s relative.

“Our little Mitzi girl was so excited, she just couldn’t wait, could you, sweetie? Now it’s time to tinkle again.”

“Yap!”
Mitzi said.

Beth handed the dog to Helen, as if presenting her a gift. Mitzi cuddled in Helen’s arms. “She likes you!” Beth said. “I can’t take Mitzi into Atlantis. They don’t allow dogs, not even sweet doggy-woggies like you, Mitzi. But Auntie Helen will take good care of you. Here’s her leash.”

Beth attached a work of art trimmed in Native American silver to the dog’s lapis and squash-blossom collar.

“Enjoy your walk, baby girl,” Beth said.

Mitzi yapped once, then licked Helen’s nose.

“You’re growing on me, fur face,” Helen said as she carried the little white dog off the yacht. On the dock, Mitzi stopped at every post and piling while Helen praised her. “Good dog,” she said. “The more you do here, the less work you make for me on the boat.”