Savannah Breeze (33 page)

When the phone
rang in the motel room, I regarded it with deep suspicion. Anybody who knew me would be calling on my cell phone. And then I looked at the cell phone, sitting on the nightstand, and realized I'd let the battery go dead.

“BeBe?” The voice was whispered, barely audible.

“Who is this?”

“It's me, damnit, Weezie.”

“Why are we whispering?”

“I'm in trouble,” she whispered. “Get over here. Now. Bring Harry and Spencer.”

“They're not here,” I said. “Where are you? What's wrong?”

“I'm on the yacht. Get here now.”

And then she hung up.

Get there how? I wondered. Granddad and Harry had the Buick. I'd been sitting around the motel room all afternoon, going bonkers from boredom and nerves. I grabbed my purse and was almost out the door when it occurred to me: disguise. Reddy could still be skulking around the marina, watching the
Reefer Madness.

Cursing, I called a cab. I pulled the dark wig over my own hair, and shoved some socks in my bra. There was no time for any more extensive costuming. I just barely had time to put on the yellow platform heels before I heard the cab tooting its horn.

“Bahia Mar marina,” I told the driver. He turned and stared at me.

“You working?”

Oh. He thought it was that kind of business.

“No,” I said, frowning. I handed him my last twenty-dollar bill. “Could you move it, please? It's kind of an emergency.”

“Everything's an emergency with you people,” he muttered, but ten minutes later he was letting me off at the marina.

“You want me back in an hour?” he asked, giving me a wink.

“No,” I said. “My pimp's picking me up.”

I clomped as fast as the platforms would take me to the end of the dock where the
Reefer Madness
was tied up. I gave a furtive look up and down the dock to see if anybody was watching, then boarded quickly.

Up close, the splendor of the
Reefer Madness
took my breath away. It made Roy Eugene's Savannah yacht, the
Blue Moon,
look like a bathtub toy. Everything was white and gleaming and smelled like money. And there was nobody around.

The sundeck was deserted. I kicked off the platforms and tiptoed around to the bow of the boat. Nobody there either. Back in the stern, I eased open the door to what looked like a living room. “Weezie?” I whispered.

“Get in here.” An arm reached out and grabbed me.

“What the hell?” Weezie was sitting on a huge black leather banquette, next to a strange man who'd been hog-tied with a series of brightly colored bungee cords.

“It's Liam, the first mate,” she whispered.

“What happened to him?” I asked.

I could tell she'd been crying. “He, he, was groping me. Kissing me…”

“So you tied him up? That seems a little extreme, Weezer.”

“He was going to double-cross us!” she exclaimed. Even though it was uncomfortably warm in the room, she was rubbing her arms and her teeth were chattering. “He said he and I should go to Reddy and make a deal with him ourselves, without Harry or Spencer. And if I didn't go along, he'd rat us out to Reddy. And I was scared. He was going to ruin everything.”

“So then you tied him up,” I said, nodding approval.

“No. Not right away. I acted like I was going to go along with him,” Weezie said.

“He wanted to party. He showed me Doobie's stash. Down in the master salon. There's a whole gym bag full of stuff, coke and marijuana and pills and I don't know what all. He wanted me to smoke dope with him, but I told him it makes me puke, which is true. So he smoked a joint, and I made us a pitcher of cosmopolitans, and I dropped in eight or nine of these blue pills I sorta stole when he wasn't looking.”

I knelt down and took a close look at Liam. His eyelids fluttered. I picked up his hand and dropped it. Limp as a fish. “What kind of pills?”

“Like I cared!” Weezie said. “They did the job, okay? He drank two cosmos, then he just sort of stopped talking, and he started to teeter, and then thunk! He was out cold. And I'm petrified. What if I gave him an overdose? What if he dies? Oh my God, what if he wakes up? We have got to do something with him.”

“Calm down,” I said, rubbing her hands, which were icy. “His breathing sounds fine. He's got a pulse. And he's not puking up blood or anything.”

“You've been watching
ER
again,” she said.

“And
General Hospital.
Did you know there's a soap-opera cable network?”

“BeBe! What are we gonna do?” Weezie wailed. “We've got to do something with Liam. What if Reddy turns up and finds us here with him?”

“Show me that stash of drugs,” I said briskly. “We need to figure out what you gave him, and whether it's likely to kill him.”

Liam gave an almost inaudible moan then, and shuddered.

“Wait,” I said. “First we need to tie him up more securely. He's pretty muscular looking. And we've gotta move him too.”

“There's a locker up in the bow of the boat,” Weezie said. “It's where they stow life jackets and stuff. We can stick him in there for the time being.”

I hooked my arms through his and Weezie took his feet, and between us, we managed to drag-carry Liam up to the storage locker, and wedge him in between the ropes and life jackets. But the locker had no lock.

“This'll do until we find something better,” I said.

“What about tying him up with some of that rope?” Weezie said.

“No, it's too thick. Let's look around for something better.”

“Maybe a belt or something,” Weezie said. “Doobie and Anya's closets in the master salon are full of clothes. We can look there. And the gym bag is there too.”

“Holy geez,” I said when she opened the door to the master salon. Everything in it was cream colored, from the carpet, to the heavy satin draperies, to the silk coverlet on the king-size bed.

“Check out the ceiling,” Weezie said, running to the closet.

It was mirrored.

“Kinky,” I said. “Wouldn't you think that would make you seasick on a yacht?”

She threw a blue gym bag in my direction. I unzipped it and dumped the contents out on the bed. “Whoa,” I said. “Now we know why they call it
Reefer Madness.
” I rifled through the pill bottles, looking for the blue capsules she'd described.

“These?” I asked, spilling some out into my hand.

“Yeah, probably,” she said.

There was no label on the bottle. I held one of the pills up to the light to look for lettering or numbers. “Nothing.”

“He said something about 'ludes,” Weezie said, opening a vanity drawer.

“Quaaludes,” I said. “That makes sense. I heard they quit making them, but some people buy them on the black market. That could be
why there's no label on the bottle, or lettering on the pills themselves. If it's Quaaludes, he'll be all right. He'll just take a really long nap and wake up with a headache.”

“Look at this,” Weezie said. She held up a lacy black garter belt.

“Ooh, Anya,” I said admiringly. “Looks like you have a naughty side.”

“It's French,” Weezie said, examining the label. She pulled out some more lingerie, a black lace bustier, and the tiniest thong panties I'd ever seen.

“Interesting curling iron,” Weezie said, laying a black rubber wandlike apparatus on the top of the vanity. “I don't think I've ever seen a battery-operated one before.”

“No, no, no, my little Catholic princess,” I said, giggling. “Not a curling iron. It's a vibrator. The perfect gift for the woman who has everything.”

“What?” Weezie took a closer look and her face went bright pink. She hurried over to the sink and started scrubbing her hands.

I took over her spot at the vanity. “Let me see what else is in here.”

I held up a pair of sheer black stockings “We could tie his hands with these.”

“They're real silk,” Weezie said, fingering the fabric. “It would be a shame to ruin them.”

“Aha,” I said, digging down to the bottom of the drawer. I pulled out a square flat black velvet case. “I think I found the Bauers family jewels.”

I flipped the box open. The lining was red satin, and nestled inside was a pair of shiny silver handcuffs with black fur accents.

“Perfect,” Weezie said, grabbing them and shoving the vanity drawer shut with her hip. “I don't even want to know what else is in there.”

Liam was snoring softly when we went back to the equipment locker. We rolled him on his side and clamped one hand with the cuff to some water pipes in the locker room.

“See? Just think of it as a power nap,” I told her.

“Now what?” she demanded. “Do we just leave him here?”

“We've got to,” I said. “We couldn't drag him off the boat now—someone will see us. He'll be all right here for the night. The guys can deal with him tomorrow.”

“Speaking of the men,” Weezie said, “where are they? Harry said they were going to go take care of the paperwork for the yacht sale. But that was hours ago.”

“There's no telling where they are now,” I said. “They've bonded.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I am not staying another night on this boat. Not with that sex fiend. And not with that, that
thing
you found in the vanity, either.”

“All right,” I told her, linking her arm in mine. “You've been very brave and very ingenious. Just let me go hide Doobie's stash back in that closet. Then we'll go back to the Mango Tree and order a pizza. Harry and Spencer can hold the fort here tonight.”

Back at the motel,
we found my grandfather stretched out on top of his bed, fully dressed, including shoes and socks. Protruding from the breast pocket of his blazer was an unlit cigar and a red plastic cocktail swizzle stick that said “Embers Lounge.” With each soft snore he exuded a cloud of Scotch-scented breath.

“Granddad,” I said, patting his cheek softly. “Wake up.”

He shook his head and mumbled something.

“Wake up,” I said, shaking him by the shoulder. “Where's Harry? What have you two been doing all this time?”

He opened one eye. “Business. Been doing business.” He patted his breast pocket, and brought forth a wad of paper. “All set for tomorrow. All set.” And then he turned his head and closed his eyes and went right back to sleep.

I unfolded the papers and held them up for Weezie to see.

“Sales contract for the
Reefer Madness,
” I said. “It looks pretty official.”

A piece of paper fluttered down to the bedspread. She picked it up and held it out for me to examine. “This looks official too.”

It was a cashier's check for $50,000, made out to S and L Yacht Sales.

“Excellent,” I said. “He even thought to make up a corporate name for himself.”

“Who's S and L?” Weezie asked.

“Spencer and Lorena,” I said, without hesitation. “That was the
name of the furniture store they used to own on Broughton Street. S and L Quality Furnishings. Eighty years old and he's still a hopeless romantic.

“Granddad!” I was shaking him again. “Where's Harry?”

“Gone back boat,” he mumbled. “All set.”

I leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “You bet,” I said softly. I took off his shoes, pulled the bedspread over him, and turned out the light.

“What now?” Weezie asked, following me through the connecting door to our own room.

I snatched the wig off my head and threw it on a chair, and pulled the socks out of my bra. “We get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow's it. The big day. We either pull off the biggest scam of the century or we go home broke. Either way, it all comes down to tomorrow.”

“What about Liam?” Weezie asked, sinking down onto her bed. “What if he gets out? Shouldn't we let Harry know he's there?”

I picked up the phone on the bedside table and dialed Harry's cell phone number. It rang three times and then rolled over to voice mail. “Harry,” I said quickly. “It's me. You've got a passenger tied up in the closet thingy in the bow of the boat. It's Liam. He tried to double-cross us, so Weezie slipped him a mickey. Don't let him out. I'll explain in the morning. 'Bye.”

“Happy?” I asked, turning to Weezie, who was undressing.

“I guess,” she said. “You still haven't explained your plan.”

I went into the bathroom to try to scrub the rest of the tan in a can off my face.

“Tell you in the morning,” I called. And then, “Right after I figure it out myself.”

Danger. Travis McGee
could taste it, smell it, hear it in the buzzing nothingness of the shimmering tropical heat. “Get down,” he whispered to the tawny-skinned blonde. In a moment, he was pressing the cold steel of the revolver into her shaking hands. He kissed her, his unyielding warmth enveloping, then releasing her. He unsheathed the knife, held its glinting metal between strong white teeth and crawled forward on elbows and knees. The shots came without warning, spinning him down and around in a stream of hot crimson. “Trav!” she screamed.

“BeBe!”

I sat straight up in the bed, my eyes wild with fright.

Weezie stood over me, barefoot, in her nightgown.

“Are you all right?” she asked, yawning. “You were screaming something.”

“Bad dream,” I said, echoing with a yawn of my own. “What time is it?”

“Seven-thirty,” she said, dropping back to her own bed. “I swear, I feel like I just closed my eyes a minute ago.”

“Go back to sleep,” I told her.

But the phone rang. I grabbed for it, dropped it, picked it back up.

“BeBe? Did I wake you up?”

It was Harry. “No,” I told him. “It was Travis.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. What's up?”

“You want to tell me why you two assaulted, drugged, and detained Liam?”

“Is he awake? You didn't let him go, did you?”

“No,” Harry said. “He's still out cold. I haven't touched him. About those handcuffs—”

“But he's alive, right? We don't want him dead. Just quiet. For the time being.”

“He's breathing,” Harry said.

“Tell me he's alive,” Weezie said, palms pressed together, heavenward.

“He's alive. But sleeping,” I told her.

“Tell Harry he had it coming.”

“He had it coming,” I told Harry.

“He groped me,” Weezie said.

“He—”

“I hear her,” Harry interrupted. “You drugged and hog-tied him because he had wandering hands? Is that good policy?”

“He was threatening to double-cross us,” I said. “He wanted to cut you and Granddad out of the deal, just split it with Weezie. And he threatened to tell Reddy what was going on if she didn't go along with him.”

“Riiight,” Harry said. “Forget I ever doubted you.”

“I will,” I said. “What about Granddad? What did you do to him last night?”

“Me?” Harry protested. “If it weren't for me, we'd still be in that dive. The Embers. He wanted to stop by after we got the sales contracts fixed up. Some other geezer he met at the Sand Bar told him they had senior-citizen happy hour. He got happy, all right. He only agreed to leave when they jacked drink prices up after ten o'clock.”

“All right,” I said finally. “I think I've got everything figured out for today.”

“I'm listening,” he said warily.

I pulled Randall's cashier's check out of the nightstand drawer where I'd stashed it the night before. “His check is drawn on an account at Bank of America. There are two branches near the marina. One is right down the street, and the other is just a couple blocks up. As soon as the banks are open, I'll take the check by there to make sure it's the real deal.”

“Good idea,” Harry said.

“And I'll open an account at the same branch,” I added. “For S and L Yacht Sales. The minute we get the big check from Randall, we'll race over there and deposit it in our account. Since the check is from the same bank, they won't put a hold on the funds.”

“If there is a big check,” Harry said.

I got a cold chill up my spine. “What do you mean ‘if '?”

“He's up to something,” Harry said. “I slept in a lounge chair up on deck last night. He rode by at least three times on that bike of his. Checking on us.”

“Did he see you?”

“No,” Harry said. “I had the chair pulled up under the overhang of the cabin. It was totally dark. There's no way he could have seen me.”

I gave it some thought. “He can't take the boat from us. Not by himself.”

“No,” Harry said. “I won't let that happen.”

“Then he's planning another scam,” I said. “With the money.”

“Makes sense.”

“We've got to make him think he's gotten away with stealing the boat,” I said.

“What?” Weezie said.

“What?” Harry chimed in.

“Get the check from him, let him think he's got us swindled, and then turn the tables on him,” I said.

“How?” Weezie asked.

“How?” Harry asked.

“We need a speakerphone here,” I said. “Look. I'm just thinking
like he'd think. He's got to give us a bona fide check for the yacht. That's a condition of the sale. But if I know Reddy, he has no intention of paying for something he thinks he can steal. I'll bet you ten bucks he takes possession of the
Reefer,
chugs away from the dock, and then promptly beats it back to the bank to withdraw the funds before we can cash that check.”

“Can he do that?” Weezie asked.

“We're not gonna give him the chance.”

“Just how do we stop him?” Harry asked.

“Let him take the
Reefer,
” I said. “See to it that he gets just far enough from Bahia Mar, and no farther.”

“And then what?” Weezie asked.

“I'm assuming that's where I come in,” Harry said.

I turned to Weezie. “That's where Harry comes in. Can you do it?” I asked him. “Fix it so the boat comes unfixed—just long enough for us to get to the bank and put his money in our account before two o'clock?”

“He can do it,” Weezie assured me.

“No problem,” Harry said.

“Speaking of problems,” I said. “I'm wondering what we do with Liam. If Reddy really is lurking around the area, watching, we can't just let him walk off under his own steam. Not until the deal's done and the ship's sailed. So to speak.”

“Leave it to me,” Harry said. “It's natural that I'd be unloading my own personal possessions from the
Reefer Madness
before it changes hands, right?”

“Right,” I said.

“When Weezie and Spencer come back over here this morning, get them to stop at Home Depot and pick up a big plastic tarp. Also some beer. Heineken.”

“I get what you want with the tarp, but why the beer?” I asked.

“We're out,” Harry said. “A man gets thirsty. Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Do you really think this crazy-ass scheme of yours is going to work?”

I looked over at Weezie, who was now sitting cross-legged on her bed, watching the
Today Show.
I thought about Granddad, passed out in the other room. And Harry. I'd been thinking a lot about Harry these past few days. About the kind of man he was, what he wanted from life. What I wanted from life. Two very different realities. And yet…

“It'll work,” I said. “It just has to.”

“Okay, kid,” he said softly. “That's all I wanted to hear. See you soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

I was thinking about that dream I'd been having just a few minutes ago. Another chill went up my spine.

“You be careful, Harry Sorrentino, you hear me?”

“I hear you, kid.”