Golden Orange (32 page)

“I understand,” Winnie said. “It's okay, Tess. It's okay.”

She put her hands up under her glasses as though it would block out memories. When she removed them she looked at him dry-eyed, and said, “I can take anything as long as it's the truth.”

“That's the toughest thing of all,” Winnie said. “The truth here is awful slippery. It's like a … like the words to a song.”

Tess said, “You're staring at me in that odd way again.”

“Was I? Sorry.”

“What should we do about Warner Stillwell?”

“What would you say if we just met him head on?”

“How?”

“Like arrange a meeting. Maybe here or out at his ranch. Just confront him with what we know.”

“That somebody took some shots at me? That somebody spied on me?”

“Yeah, and that if something should happen to you all of a sudden, he'd be a very sorry old guy one way or the other.”

“Sounds like bad melodrama.”

“It's better'n sitting around waiting for a guy to take another shot. He might aim better next time.”

“There must be some other way.”

“I'm out of ideas.”

“The Ensenada race is coming up,” she said.

“Yeah, April twenty-eighth. I crewed for a friend a mine three years in a row. We came in second in our class one year.”

“My father had a lifelong friend named Dexter Moody who always throws a party at his yacht club on Catalina Island the week before the race. Some of the sailors use it as an excuse to tune up their boats. They do a shakedown cruise to Catalina, and then back the next day. Daddy and Warner almost never missed that racing party. Dexter was about the only friend from the old days who accepted Warner, and I'll bet he'll take Warner over to the island on his yacht.”

“I don't see how that's gonna help us.”

“Warner will
not
come alone, no matter what his health's like. He'll have a companion drive him from the ranch, and accompany him on the boat.”

“How about one of his servants?”

“They're too old and not the type for a yachting party. There's a very good chance that Warner might bring
him
! The man who's stalking me. Is that a reasonable assumption?”

Winnie looked at the gray pebbles and said, “Search me, lady. Nothing reasonable's happened to me since I met you.”

“Do you regret it?” she asked softly. “Meeting me?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“This might be … dangerous.”

“I doubt it. He's not gonna take a shot at you at a yacht party.”

She grinned seductively and said, “Are
you
feeling dangerous this morning?”

“Why, you got a hammock around here?”

She got up and patted his hand. “Old son, daytime performances are just the ticket for middle-aged folks. Have you ever tried it from the cockpit of a sailboat?”

He sometimes thought the most enchanting thing about her was her imagination. Tess ran upstairs and quickly changed into a trendy mariner's outfit: a double-breasted, waist-length jacket with crested gold buttons and baggy sleeves, and white linen pants, with the white deck shoes. She told him she had to phone a yacht broker. When she reappeared, she posed provocatively and said, “How's about a date, sailor?”

When they got in the car she informed him they were going sailing, but while driving down Coast Highway to the boat dealer, she suddenly asked Winnie if he needed a drink.

“I never
need
a drink,” Winnie said.

“Of course you don't,” Tess Binder said, turning the Mercedes into the driveway of the club. “But it's almost noon. It's certainly not too early.”

He said to Tess, “Maybe if we're gonna sail I shouldn't have any booze. I feel responsible for somebody else's boat.”

“The people I borrow boats from wouldn't care if you sunk them,” she said. “In fact, they'd probably appreciate it. They could collect the insurance and buy a bigger one with more prestige. Let's have just
one
drink.”

He was starting to think that being with her was like traveling with his own bartender. He had to admit that a brew sounded good.

They took a table under an umbrella and he ordered a Mexican beer. He was a bit irritated when Tess ordered iced tea, no sugar.

“How come I'm the guy that has a real drink?” he said.

“I'll order something else if you want.”

“I don't
need
somebody drinking with me, Tess!” he said. “
You
suggested we have a drink in the first place!”

“Oh, please, let's not quarrel again,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “We're going to have a
lovely
day.” When the waitress came with the beer, Tess said, “Changed my mind. I'd like a beer too.”

Before he had time to object to
that
move, Corky Peebles blazed onto the patio from the private beach fifty yards away. She wore a see-through coverup over a gold bikini, with gold sandals. On the third toe of her left foot she wore a tiny gold band.

“As inevitable as dawn,” Tess said to Winnie. “She comes up like thunder 'cross the bay. Where she's living with a girlfriend until she can find another husband.” When Corky came closer, Tess smiled and said, “My, you've got an early start on your tan this season!”

Corky stopped at the table, nodded at Winnie and said to Tess, “I know it's déclassé nowadays, but I'm an old-fashioned girl. Besides, I look pretty good with a tan, yes?”

When she turned to Winnie, slit-eyed, he said, “Absolutely!” And noticed a little scar on each of Corky's hips near the bikini line. Then he realized that Tess had similar marks, tiny, but they were there.

Corky said, “Have you heard what Doris got from Bob for their honeymoon trip? The luggage, I mean?”

“Tell us,” said Winnie, glad that Tess had insisted on the beer. It tasted great.

“Crocodile luggage with gold fittings. Only gold
plated
, of course, but still.”

“How much did it cost?” Tess asked.

“A hundred and twenty-five thousand.”

“What a crock!” Winnie said, but Corky didn't react. Then he said, “Crock?” Still nothing.

“She can't hold on to Manley,” Corky said. “Men don't like her after they get to know her. Manley'll be available soon, you'll see.”

“He does seem sweet,” Tess said.

“One of those self-made street guys, though,” Corky offered. “Thinks it was skill that made his waterfront house quadruple right after he bought it in seventy-five. When really it was dumb luck and a volatile market. They just can't admit things like that, those self-made types. How do you pass an evening with guys like that? What do you talk about? Like, one time I went with them to Beverly Hills when people still ate nouvelle. He looks at his plate and goes, ‘I don't know whether to hang it or drink it.' Then he asks for ketchup! How do you pass an evening when you
marry
guys like that?”

“Reminds me of a self-made rich guy that comes down to Spoon's Landing,” Winnie said. “Mouth like a mule skinner. Always has a load a snuff in his cheek, so big it looks like he forgot to take it outta the can. He says most a the wives only get to act out by voting for a Democrat once every four years.”

They nodded politely, but neither women seemed interested, so Winnie signaled to the waitress for another beer.

“And have you heard about Blanche's husband?” Corky asked. “The new bank he founded went belly up and he's being sued by thirteen foreign investors. Had to file Chapter eleven and he's forced to countersue them. But get this! He's syndicating his lawsuit! Fifty thousand shares of common stock at five dollars a share! He prepared a formal stock offering, and from any settlement judgment you get back your investment and a percentage of remaining proceeds.”

“He always had imagination,” Tess said.

“Shares in a lawsuit,” Winnie said. “That's pretty amazing all right.”

While the women chatted, Winnie looked at his watch and ordered a vodka. He was definitely feeling a buzz by the time Corky left their table to join another hot momma on the beach. Winnie watched as together they approached a very fat, older man who was having a tall drink at the beach hut. One woman sat on either side of him and he pecked them both on the cheek.

As Tess signed the bill, Winnie pointed to the fat man and said, “Who's that guy? Is he F.F.H. rich?”

Tess squinted, then removed her sunglasses and put on the clear ones. “Oh, that's Miles Jarvis,” she said. “He's seven-one-four rich.”

“They work in pairs,” Winnie said. “Corky makes the approach, the friend closes the deal.”

“They're not
hookers
, Win!” Tess said defensively. “They have marriage in mind.”

“I'd say those ladies're entrepreneurs. Corky hopes to make a marriage
deal.
And her little pal's the
closer
! I think I know what that tall drunk in the red toup was trying to say about the hot mommas around here. Like junk bonds: irresistible, but not worth it in the long run.”

He thought they were going to borrow a sailboat there at the club, but Tess surprised him by driving him to one of the yacht brokers on the main channel. She said it was an “upmarket company,” one of those yacht brokers where all the salesmen wore jackets and ties and the inventory in the boat slips was worth millions.

The broker was a tall good-looking guy about Winnie's age, with a terrific tan and teeth as white as Buster's. He was definitely commodore material for the old club, Winnie thought, as soon as he got old enough. He wore a blazer and slacks and a rep tie with deck shoes. He even wore socks.

“Boyd Schuyler, meet Win Farlowe,” Tess said after he'd kissed her on the cheek.

“Hear you're a pretty good sailor,” the broker said, and Winnie wondered if the guy knew he was the guy that stole Christmas from the boat paraders.

“How about showing Win some of your stock?” Tess asked.

They walked down the ramp, where there were huge power yachts in the first row of slips, and Boyd Schuyler said, “A sailor probably isn't interested in these.”

Winnie gazed past them at a thirty-six-foot sloop in the second row. Boyd Schuyler followed his eyes and said, “You in the market for a Swan, Mister Farlowe?”

Winnie didn't even bother to ask the price. He said simply, “I got to sail a Swan thirty-eight one time. Did a favor for a guy and he took me out.”

“Bit too much of the heavy furniture feel for me,” Boyd Schuyler said. “When Tess phoned she said you're the performance-boat type.”

“I'll take whatever you're willing to let us borrow.”

As they continued along the dock, the yacht broker said to Winnie, “I guess you've sailed all the standard stuff?”

“Used to own a twenty-nine-foot sloop.”

“Do you know the Baltic?”

“Never sailed one,” Winnie said. “I know it though.”

“It's like the Swan in that there's the feeling of security and the traditional warmth down below.
You
might like that, Tess.”

Winnie thought he saw Boyd Schuyler give a subtle nod to Tess when they got to the penultimate boat slip. The yacht broker said, “I wonder if you'd like to take a look at this forty-footer? She's an ultralight. Only displaces ten thousand five hundred pounds.”

“That's a mini-sled!” Winnie said.

“Let's take a look, shall we?” said the broker.

He took Tess's hand and helped her up onto the deck of the sloop, with Winnie right behind her.

The broker said, “We sailed a fifty like this and beat a Swan forty-six to Cabo San Lucas by nearly twenty hours. She surfs
sooner
than a heavy boat.”

Winnie was confused. Why was he showing them a terrific new boat like this? What had Tess told him?

“She's got a very long waterline and a planing hull, and for this dealer demo we put a furling one-fifty on her. Lots of little things. Deck hardware's through-bolted with stainless steel fasteners and backing plates.”

“She's a paper bag,” Winnie said. “I'll bet she
flies.
”

“But she'll hold up under washing machine conditions. The deck's cored with plywood inserts where there's high stress. The hull and deck're bonded and through-bolted with aluminum toe rails. Go on down the companion way and have a look at the main cabin. The cabinets and bulkhead are bonded directly to the hull. No floating bulkheads.”

Tess said, “I want to see if this boat's got any lady features.”

When they got down in the cabin, Boyd Schuyler said to Tess, “You've got two roomy quarter berths or doubles, and a large locker. You can stand upright in the head and the galley has a three-burner stove and oven and a stainless steel double sink. You've got double iceboxes and even a trash bin. She's not a cruiser, but there's comfort.”

“Okay,” she said, “I can make an omelet down here. I approve.”

“All seating is arranged so you have a three-sixty view out the cabin windows,” said the broker.

When Boyd Schuyler saw Winnie admiring the navigator's station, running his fingers along the Bruynzeel mahogany chart table, the broker said, “Plenty of electronics, as you can see. Wind speed, autopilot, depth, VHF and Loran. The station is convenient to the cockpit and the whole electrical system is controlled at a breaker panel.”

“What kind of engine?”

“A twenty-seven-horsepower three-cylinder diesel.”

“Tell me, Boyd,” said Tess. “How much does this boat cost?”

“Well, Tess, we like to quote prices without sails and electronics. That would be at a hundred and fifty thousand.”

“This boat
has
sails and electronics, Boyd,” she said. “How much?”

He laughed and said, “For you, Tess, we'll do the best we can. I'd have to sit down and do some computing. Probably another twenty thousand, more or less.”