The Island of Dangerous Dreams (4 page)

A much taller, graying man, who seemed uncomfortably out of place in a sport jacket and slacks, shirt and tie, stepped up behind him.

“Come aboard!” the judge repeated. “Both of you.”

The two men stared at each other, first with surprise, then suspicion. The judge tried to suppress a smile, like a kid who was watching someone else get blamed for something he had done.

As soon at the men were on deck the judge introduced the small man as Norton Lindsay. Norton shook his head. “Never mind,” he said curtly. “I know everyone here.”

But the older man introduced himself as Aldo Malcolm. The judge studied him quizzically, then said, “We must have met before, Mr. Malcolm.”

“I don’t believe we have,” Aldo said.

The judge shook his head. “I have a good memory for faces. Eventually I’ll remember where and when I’ve seen you.”

Aldo smiled. “Then you’ll have the advantage, because to my knowledge we have never met.”

Benita’s glance fluttered between Aldo, Kurt, and the judge like a hyperactive butterfly, but Madelyn was poised for the occasion. She held out a cool hand toward Norton Lindsay and said, “So, Norton, you’re here to represent Franklin Granakee.”

Norton smiled and answered, “As you know, I’m his best agent.”

I knew who Franklin Granakee was. Everybody who could read knew about him. He owned an oil company and a bunch of hotels and some other companies and was in the news last year for paying over ten million dollars for a painting for his private collection. But I didn’t know what he looked like. He was supposed to be so protective of his privacy that he rarely went out in public and never allowed himself to be photographed.

Norton’s appraisal swept across the rest of us. “I seem to have been misinformed. When I was invited I was not told that I would be part of a group.”

Judge Arlington-Hughes’s secret smile returned as he said, “Please make yourself comfortable, Norton. Who knows? You may find this to be an extremely profitable weekend vacation.”

Aunt Madelyn quickly turned from Norton to Aldo Malcolm, who shifted from one foot to the other. He was sweating in that sport jacket. I felt sorry for him and wished he’d at least take off his tie and relax. “Mr. Malcolm,” she said, “are you—”

He interrupted. “Aldo, please. You are all on a first-name basis. I don’t wish to be different.”

“Very well, Aldo,” she said, smoothly slipping into what she really wanted to know. “The rest of us are familiar with each other’s positions. Benita represents the Gridling Art Auction House, Norton bids for Franklin Granakee, and I represent the Sartington Museum—a private collection open to the public. And you?”

He shrugged, letting us all wait a moment before he answered, “You get directly to the point, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “Well?”

“Let’s just say that I’m here, as you are, to bid for the artifact.”

“For yourself?”

“For someone who doesn’t wish his name to be known.”

“Someone from this country?”

“Does it matter?”

I couldn’t stand it. Madelyn and Aldo were playing twenty questions about an artifact that didn’t and shouldn’t belong to any of them in the first place. So I said, “If we each get a guess about the person Aldo represents, I’d like to be first. I’ll say he’s a Mideastern sheik who owns a villa in France, a town house in London, an estate in Beverly Hills, and a hotel in New York.”

Aunt Madelyn looked ready to throw me overboard, but Aldo smiled. “An amazing guess,” he said.

Norton made a noise between a sniff and a snicker, but I stammered, “You mean I’m right?”

Madelyn looked extremely irritated, to put it mildly. “Well,” she said, “it certainly wouldn’t be the first time Mideastern oil money was involved in an art sale.”

They could buy Aldo’s statement, but I didn’t. He looked so smugly pleased with himself that I wished I hadn’t butted in with my ridiculous explanation.

“Enough speculation,” Judge Arlington-Hughes
said. “I was satisfied with Mr. Malcolm’s credentials when they were presented to me, and that’s all that matters. I’m sure you’ll agree.” The judge elbowed through us and to the front of the boat, where two deckhands had appeared. Ropes were pulled from cleats, and the sailors jumped aboard.

“Be seated. Make yourselves comfortable. We’re taking off now,” the judge shouted to us, and he climbed some stairs to a small wheelhouse.

I pulled the lens cover off my camera and aimed at the dock, but before I had a chance to snap the picture the camera was firmly pulled downward. “Under the circumstances, there should be no pictures,” Aldo said.

“I won’t take your picture if you don’t want me to,” I said. “But I’d like some shots of the boat and the ocean and the island. This is my vacation.”

“This may be a vacation for you, but it’s a business trip for the rest of us,” Norton said. “I agree with Aldo. No photographs.”

Aunt Madelyn held out a hand for the camera. “Give it to me, Andrea. I’ll keep it for you in my handbag.”

I had no choice. I turned over the camera to her, wondering what was with these guys. I suppose I wouldn’t want my picture taken if I were dressed like they were. Or if I really did represent a sheik. I was going to have a miserable weekend vacation with these people!

Benita, Madelyn, Norton, Aldo, and I squeezed together on the cushions around the U-shaped railing. Kurt disappeared into the galley and soon came back with some orange juice and cinnamon
rolls. It was easy to balance plates and glasses on our knees while we puttered through the harbor, but once out at sea, moving at a fast clip up and down through the swells, it became a close-packed juggling act.

Judge Arlington-Hughes turned the wheel over to one of his deckhands and came to join us. As soon as he had squirmed into position on the bench, casting an impatient glance in my direction, Aunt Madelyn got right to the point again.

“Don’t you think it’s time now, Justin, to tell us what all this secrecy and mystery are about?”

“Very simple, Madelyn,” he said. He took a large bite of a cinnamon roll and leisurely chewed and swallowed it before he continued. By this time he had everyone’s attention. “As you know, I am in possession of a particularly valuable Peruvian artifact. Whereas the stones in most South American artifacts are jade or emeralds, this stone happens to be a very large blue topaz. I hope that this topaz will bring me a great deal of money, and that’s why each of you happens to be here.”

“Am I the only one who didn’t know others were to be invited?”

“None of you were told,” he said. “That was essential, especially after what happened the last time, when I offered the small Delaroche painting.”

No one spoke. Aldo looked puzzled, Benita looked guilty, and Madelyn’s lips pressed into a thin, red line. Norton chuckled.

“What happened?” I had to know.

Norton was the only one who answered. “There
was some chicanery involved. Telephone calls were intercepted, misinformation was given. The Sartington ended up with the painting.”

“I had nothing to do with that message to your hotel operator that you did not wish to receive calls,” Madelyn said.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Norton said. “In fact, I do believe that someone did me—or, more directly, Mr. Granakee—a favor. I am sure that what was purported to be a Delaroche was not by Delaroche at all, but by a lesser artist, one of his students.”

“Impossible!” Madelyn said, and the conversation turned to a short, impassioned discussion of Delaroche’s technique.

Kurt collected the empty dishes and carried them down the stairs, disappearing into the galley.

Aldo, who was squashed between Benita and me at the side of the boat deck, smiled at me pleasantly. “I have a daughter who is probably close to your age,” he said. “Sixteen? Seventeen?”

“Seventeen,” I answered.

“She loves to ski,” he said. “Do you ski?”

I shook my head. “Swim. The Texas Gulf Coast has good swimming weather. We’d have to travel quite a distance to get to a ski resort.” Trying to keep the conversation going, I asked, “Do you ski with her?”

“Every chance I get,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “Elizabeth is a wonderful girl, a perfect daughter.”

“Tell me about her,” I said.

But Benita’s voice rose, interrupting our conversation.
“That’s enough, Madelyn! Norton!” she said. “You aren’t going to get anywhere with that argument. We’re wasting time. I want to see the artifact.” She tugged at the judge’s sleeve. “Come on, Justin. Can’t we see it now?”

“Of course not,” the judge said. “I wouldn’t risk passing it around here at sea. It’s safely tucked away in my home on the island.”

He managed to lean back and smile. “You’ll be able to examine it at your leisure, with no telephones, no tricks, no leaking information to the press.”

“It’s that important to you?” Madelyn asked.

“Yes,” he said. “And there’s another reason. Because of the artifact’s great value, it’s essential that I protect it from theft.”

Theft? He was a fine one to talk!

A corner of Norton’s mouth twisted down, and he peered upward through his green eyeshade. “The word is out that you have the artifact,” he murmured.

Benita pouted. “Justin, I don’t think you trust us either. When your secretary investigated us he didn’t attempt to hide it.”

“On my orders,” the judge said. “Both Kurt and I felt it advisable to let you know how thoroughly your backgrounds and connections would be looked into. Kurt did an excellent job on each and every one of you.”

But not on me
, I thought, wanting to laugh aloud. I could be a spy, an agent for a foreign power, the head of the Mafia, and no one would
know it. No one would suspect me. I was just Madelyn’s niece, an uninvited, unwanted guest.

Spray stung my cheek as the boat nosed into a high swell, and an idea struck me with the same force. Each of the invited guests on this boat wanted that artifact. But so did I. I wanted it to be returned to the country of Peru.

4

We were a floating restaurant all the way out to the island. It’s a good thing that none of us were inclined toward seasickness. Kurt appeared with a large tray of sandwiches and fruit. When the tray was empty he did a disappearing act and came up this time with assorted cookies. He kept a bar going, and luckily there were plenty of soft drinks.

Benita sipped on a diet cola, simpering a bit as she said she never mixed drinking with business and wanted to keep a clear head for whatever was in store.

“You’re going to love Justin’s house,” she explained to Aldo. “It’s an old plantation-style home, with wide verandas on both floors. The rooms on the verandas face the sea, and they have marvelous louvered doors that open wide to the breeze. Absolutely delightful. A gorgeous place to entertain. I’ll never forget Justin’s birthday party last year. Madelyn and I were there. Norton, too, as I remember.”

Norton shook his head emphatically. “I’ve never been to Justin’s island.”

“But you must have been,” Benita said. “I distinctly remember—”

“Incorrectly,” Norton interrupted. “Just ask Justin. This is not only my first trip to his island, it’s my first trip to Florida.”

“I believe that’s right,” the judge said.

“But I could almost swear that …”

Madelyn smiled. “You’re thinking of the Art Gala in Santa Barbara in ’85.”

Benita sighed. “Well, if you all say so. I honestly don’t know how I can get one party so confused with another.”

“Perhaps it’s your age, dear,” Madelyn murmured.

I timed them out. It was more interesting to watch the horizon, where small, dark blobs began to emerge as islands, looming up around us as we wove our way between them. Here and there I saw a house or two or a small boat, but most of the islands seemed to be uninhabited. We went through stretches of open sea, then islands again, then sea. Finally there was a change in the pitch of the boat’s motors and we swung inward, around a wooded promontory at the far western end of an island, and headed toward a small dock where a single figure waited for us.

Benita waved and called, “Yoo-hoo, Ellison!” even though she must have known that the noise of the motors would keep her from being heard.

Ellison was bent and angular, with short-cropped, tight gray curls, and as we moved closer
to the dock I could see the smooth, flat contours of his face, which was as dark and unwrinkled as a purple plum and just as empty of expression. Whatever he thought or felt seemed to be tucked safely out of sight behind the wire-rimmed glasses whose thick lenses shielded his eyes.

Beyond the dock and the heavily wooded hillside emerged the judge’s large plantation house, which had obviously been designed to overlook the bay and its inviting strip of white sand. Maybe I had expected too much from Benita’s enthusiastic description. The house had a grayed, slightly moldy look, and unkempt vines wrapped clinging tendrils over porch rails, pillars, and shutters.

With a softly padded thump the boat slid against the dock. The deckhands again sprang into view and into action, and, one by one, we were helped from the boat.

For the most part we took care of our own luggage, since we’d brought very little, but Ellison carried the judge’s case up the path and entered the house, Kurt right behind him.