Henry, for once out of phase with her thoughts, said, “You’re very quiet, darling. I’m sorry—another holiday spoiled. You know I didn’t want it this way. I didn’t want to get involved.”
Almost fiercely, Emmy said, “I’m glad we’re involved. I cared about Betsy and I care about this place. We couldn’t just have gone home and done nothing.”
Henry put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a little hug. He had not missed her use of the pronoun “we.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
SEVEN O’CLOCK. IT was a shining morning, for once nearly windless. Outside the marina, the rippled water turned from silver-gray to blue, reflecting the deeper color of the sky as the sun rose higher. Henry and Emmy breakfasted in the cockpit, and by eight o’clock Emmy had washed up, cleared away the dishes, and was preparing to go and buy food at the commissary. Henry lit his pipe and climbed ashore to take a leisurely walk around and look at the boats.
He spotted the Ocean Rover almost at once—not in a slip but tied up alongside the harbor wall, a favorite spot for boats paying a brief visit in clement weather. She was a big, old-fashioned ketch, gaff-rigged, with heavy cotton sails, and her comfortably broad beam promised spacious accommodations below. A slow, sturdy sea boat, stiff and reliable in bad weather but sluggish in light airs, Henry reckoned. A very suitable boat to serve as sport and home for a middle-aged couple.
Bill Montgomery was already on deck, making some sort of adjustment to his jib halyard. He saw Henry, waved, and called out, “You going out today?”
“Yes. As soon as my wife gets back from shopping.” Henry strolled alongside the Ocean Rover. “Nice boat you’ve got there.”
“She’s a steady old lady,” said Montgomery. “No frills, but all the solid virtues. Like her owners, what?” he added, with a bark of laughter. Then, “Care to come for a spin one of these days?”
“Love to,” said Henry. “Are you staying long in St. Mark’s?”
“Oh…depends. See how the spirit moves us. And the weather, of course. Heard this morning’s forecast?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t listen,” Henry said. “The weather always seems to be beautiful down here.”
Montgomery gave a reproving snort. “Don’t you be too sure,” he said. “It can change, you know, with very little warning.” He looked at the sky. “Might get some rain later today. Thunder, even. There’s a tropical wave out in the Atlantic to the east of us. Never can tell what path it’ll take.”
Henry said, “Of course, you’re right. One should always listen to forecasts. You think we’re in for bad weather, then?”
Montgomery scanned the sky again. “Not before this evening” was his verdict. Then, “Is this your first time in the islands?”
“We were here once before, several years ago,” Henry said. “That’s to say, in St. Matthew’s.”
“Ah. You know St. Matthew’s, then?”
“Not well at all. We spent a few days there before we came here this time—”
“Ah. So you didn’t fly into St. Mark’s?”
“No. We took the boat from Antigua to St. Matthew’s.”
“Don’t blame you. Nicest way to approach these islands, by water.” Montgomery gave the halyard a final tweak and secured it to a cleat on the mast. “There. That should do it.”
From belowdecks, a woman’s voice called, “Breakfast’s ready, Bill.” It was a strange accent—almost like refined Cockney. Quite at odds with the aristocratic looks of Mrs. Montgomery.
Colonel Montgomery winked at Henry. “Duty calls,” he said. “Best be getting below. Good sailing. See you later.” He disappeared down the companionway.
When Henry got back to Windflower, there was no sign of Emmy, but a young couple, hand in hand, were standing on the pontoon gazing at the boat with undisguised admiration. They turned as Henry approached and smiled shyly. The girl, in her twenties, had dark red hair and the fair complexion that often goes with it. The young man’s blond head was bleached almost white by the sun, and his hair hung to his shoulders. Both wore tattered blue-jean shorts and faded pink shirts, and their feet were bare. Although they looked clean, any Immigration Officer in the world would have been wary of admitting them. Henry, not being an Immigration Officer, smiled, nodded briefly, and clambered on board.
The couple hesitated a moment, and then the girl stepped up to the boat and said breathlessly, “Do please excuse us, but…is this your boat?”
“Only temporarily,” Henry said. “We’ve chartered her for a week or so.”
“She’s beautiful,” said the young man simply.
Slightly surprised, Henry said, “Yes, she’s a nice boat. But there are much newer and grander ones in the marina—you only have to look around.”
The couple exchanged a quick glance, and then the girl said, “She’s a Lancaster thirty-five, isn’t she? Built in Baltimore?”
“Yes, I believe she is. I really don’t know that much about—”
Eagerly, the young man said, “My father used to have a Lancaster thirty-five. I learned to sail on her.”
“She was a fabulous boat,” the girl said. “Harvey took me out on her once.”
Harvey said, “Dad had to sell her four years ago. We miss her so much. She was like one of the family—wasn’t she, Jilly?”
The girl nodded. She said, “Would you think it awful of us…I mean…could we come aboard for just a moment?”
If Henry felt any skepticism, it was not apparent. He smiled and said, “Of course. Let me give you a hand. I think there may be some coffee left over from breakfast.”
When Emmy arrived back with her bulging shopping bag, she found quite a party going on in the cabin. The young couple, who had introduced themselves as Jill and Harvey Blackstone, were ensconced on one of the bunks with mugs of coffee and were reminiscing freely. Henry had already learned that they were both Marylanders, that Harvey’s father was a Baltimore lawyer and Jill’s a businessman in the same city. Casually, Henry asked if they were on holiday in the islands.
“Oh, yes,” said Jill. “It’s our first visit to the Caribbean. We’ve heard so much about it.”
The young man nodded in agreement.
“You’re staying here on St. Mark’s, are you?” Emmy asked.
“That’s right.”
“At a hotel, or—?”
The young people exchanged a slightly embarrassed glance. Then Harvey said, “Actually, we came down here to camp. But…the people are so nice…somebody offered us a room in his house for nothing. One of the local people.”
Henry smiled. “You did land on your feet,” he said. “Who is it?”
“Well, I should have said, his father’s house. The old man is Anderson, the Harbour Master. We met his son, Sebastian, on the beach—he was out diving for lobsters.” There was a tiny pause. Then Harvey Blackstone put his coffee mug down and said, “You don’t mind if we smoke, do you?” He pulled a strangely battered cigarette out of his pocket.
Emmy, who was busy at the stove with her back to the others, began to say, “Of course not—”
But Henry cut her short. He said, “I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind. Not on my boat.”
Harvey said, “Of course. I understand.” The cigarette went back into his pocket. “Well, we mustn’t keep you any longer. I expect you’re off for a sail.”
“Yes,” Henry said. “We’re just leaving.”
Jill said, “Will you be back?”
Emmy laughed. “God willing,” she said.
Jill was embarrassed again. “I only meant…I mean… will you be coming back to St. Mark’s, or are you going down island… ?”
“Just a day sail,” Henry assured her. “We’ll be back.”
When the young people had gone, Emmy said, “What a nice couple.”
“Yes.” Henry sounded abstracted.
“Oh, Henry—you don’t suspect them, do you?”
Henry smiled at her. “You must learn,” he said, “to suspect the least
suspicious. That’s how these people operate.”
“But Henry—”
“They’re not staying in a hotel, but with locals. They say it’s their first visit to the Caribbean, but did you notice how the girl came out with the expression ‘down island’ quite automatically?”
“She probably picked it up from her host—”
“Sebastian Anderson, who was busted at the fish fry,” said Henry. “And you realize they were about to light up a joint just now?”
“No, I—”
“That may just have been to test us. I don’t know. Look, Emmy, I’m not accusing those two of anything more than smoking a little pot, but from now on we can’t take anybody at their face value. Why did they pick on our boat? Because Harvey’s father had the same model. A plausible pretext, but very easy to invent. One thing I’m prepared to bet—innocent or not, they want a sail on this boat, and they’re going to do their damndest to get it.”
Ocean Rover left harbor ahead of Windflower, with the Montgomerys waving energetically as their yacht sailed past the end of the floating dock. By the time Windflower was out of the harbor, Ocean Rover had disappeared, and it was impossible to tell whether she had rounded the northerly or southerly headland protecting St. Mark’s Harbour. Presumably she must have turned north, since when Windflower turned southward, there was no sign of Ocean Rover. The Tibbetts sailed to Seal Island, another small uninhabited member of the Seawards group, where they shared an anchorage and a coral sand beach with two other charter boats.
Henry and Emmy swam, snorkeled, and sunbathed and then came back on board for a picnic lunch. By half-past four they were motoring back into St. Mark’s marina, managing Windflower somewhat more handily than the previous day, but still with a certain amount of flurry which indicated that an extra pair of hands would have been welcome.
Bob Harrison was pottering about on Mark One in a neighboring berth. When he saw the Tibbetts, he turned with a wave and called, “Mr. Tibbett!”
“Yes, Bob. What is it?”
“John Colville’s been trying to get you on the blower. Can you give him a call back, like?”
“Certainly I will. Thanks, Bob.”
Henry did not go to the Harbour Master’s office, but called the Anchorage from one of the public telephones that Betsy Sprague had used for the same purpose the previous week. When John answered, Henry said, “Ah, hello, John. Look, I think I’d better call you in future. It looks a bit odd—you phoning me every day.”
“I’m sorry, old man, but you did ask me—”
“I know I did. It’s just that I think it would be less conspicuous if I made the calls. I’ll keep in close touch, don’t worry. Now, what do you have for me?”
“Several things. Hang on, I’ve got it all written down.” There was a pause. Henry could hear the sound of cheerful voices from the Anchorage bar in the background. Then John said, “Here we are. Well, Ingham called me at five to ten this morning. He has checked up on Ocean Rover. Home port, Tampica. Owner, William Montgomery, holder of British passport but thought to be of American origin, though this is only hearsay. Seems the Montgomerys have lived in Tampica since the Second World War. Ocean Rover checked into St. Mark’s on Tuesday—two days ago. Previous port of call, St. Thomas, American Virgin Islands. Local people know the boat and the people well. She does a lot of cruising. No further information at the moment.”
Henry had been making notes in a small pocket diary. He said, “Thanks, John. That’s useful. Anything else?”
“I’ll say there is. Herbert called back at ten past twelve—seemed quite frantic to get this message to you. Does the name Starfish mean anything to you?”
“Yes,” said Henry. “What about it?”
John was obviously reading from his notes. He said, “Police station logged a Starfish call at ten A.M. this morning. Not noted by Inspector Ingham until log checked at midday.” In parenthesis, John added, “He sounded really mad. Said something about that would show you. Anyhow, message read, ‘Starfish to Cockleshell. Starfish to Cockleshell. Are you receiving me? Over.’ Voice female, probably American, but reception not very good owing to approaching bad weather area. Answer (faint), ‘Cockleshell to Starfish. Receiving you. Over.’ Answering voice, male American. Female voice, ‘Hi, there, Cockleshell. Feel like meeting for picnic today, usual place, around half-past one? Over.’ Male voice, ‘Sure, Starfish. Be seeing you. Out.’ That’s all, but Herbert Ingham seemed to think it was plenty.”
“Yes,” said Henry. “Very interesting.” He glanced around to see that he was not being overheard. The telephones were in half-egg-shaped, soundproof booths, but it was by no means impossible for a bystander to catch the conversation. However, there was nobody about. Through the glass door of the gift shop, Henry could see the girl assistant languidly polishing the countertop. In the terrace restaurant, two waitresses lounged against an empty table, giggling and exchanging repartee with the young man from the reception desk. The marina was deep in its midafternoon doldrums.
Into the telephone Henry said, “You’d better call Ingham back, John. Thank him and tell him that his information is very useful. Better assure him that we couldn’t have done anything about intercepting the rendezvous even if we’d known sooner—and that anyway there’d have been little point. The important thing was to get the message. Then ask him if he’ll do some more checking for me. A young couple by the name of Blackstone—Jill and Harvey. Visitors from the States—hippie-type—arrived within the last few days, probably by air. They’re not staying at a hotel and would have registered with Immigration as camping. Tell him to try the airport first, and if there’s no record of them there, ask the harbor office at St. Matthew’s. It’s possible that they didn’t check in at all, and if that’s so, I want to know about it, and fast.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll call you back at half-past seven to see if there’s any news. Sorry about all this, John.”
John said grimly, “If I can do anything to help nail the people who got Betsy, it’s pure pleasure, I can assure you. Give Emmy my love. Good-bye for now.”
Back on board, the Tibbetts had just made themselves iced tea and were preparing to come up and enjoy it in the cockpit when they were hailed by a familiar voice from the pontoon.
“Tibbett? Mrs. Tibbett? Bill Montgomery here. Sorry to disturb you… ”
Henry and Emmy scrambled up the companionway. Emmy said, “Hello, Colonel Montgomery. You got back early, I see. Won’t you come aboard?”
“Matter of fact,” said Montgomery, “I just came over with a message from my good lady to ask if you wouldn’t come and have a drink on Ocean Rover. We plan to be off at first light tomorrow, weather permitting.”
“Weather?” Emmy echoed. “The weather’s always perfect, isn’t it?”
Montgomery cocked an eye toward the eastern horizon. “Take a look over there. Quite a bit of dirt blowing in from the Atlantic. We’ll get rain very soon.”
Sure enough, although the sky overhead was clear, dark clouds were beginning to build up toward the east. Bill Montgomery went on, “We had intended to get at least as far as St. Matthew’s this evening, but I don’t like the look of that lot. So we plan to turn in early and hope it’ll blow itself out during the night. Tomorrow we have to be off—meeting friends in Anegada on Sunday, and it’s sixty miles and a beat most of the way. So this looks like our last chance to get acquainted.”
Quickly, Henry said, “That would be very nice—thanks. When shall we come over?”
“Soon as you like, old man. Before the rain starts.” Montgomery gave one of his sudden roars of laughter, brought his hand to his forehead in a mock-salute, and strode off toward the shore.
Ocean Rover, the Tibbetts discovered when they boarded her about an hour later, was a supremely comfortable boat. Old-fashioned and beamy, her saloon was fitted out in well-worn varnished wood, with bright brass oil lamps and fittings. The galley boasted a battered, much-used stove and a refrigerator; both worked off bottled gas. T
hrough an open door leading forward, the Tibbetts got a glimpse of a good-sized sleeping cabin with a built-in double bed and plenty of hanging space, and a door leading even farther forward presumably opened into the fo’c’sle. In the saloon, shelves of books were kept in place by removable wooden fiddle bars, and crockery and glasses were stowed in speciaIly made racks. It was immediately obvious that this boat was not a sporting toy, but a home.
Mrs. Montgomery, tall and statuesque in white trousers and a loose yeIlow overblouse, introduced herself in what might have been an Australian accent as Martha. She welcomed the Tibbetts with a pleasant but slightly managerial air, seated them on one of the bunks, and relayed their acceptance of rum punches to her husband, who went and busied himself in the galley.
Martha Montgomery sat down facing Henry and Emmy across the gleaming teak table and said, “So you are from England. How interesting. Whereabouts do you live?”
“We’re Londoners,” Henry said.
“Dear old London. Many years since we were there. And what’s your job?”
“I’m in business,” said Henry, with affable vagueness.
“Oh, yes? Import-export?”
“Sort of.” Mrs. Montgomery seemed less than satisfied with this answer, but she did not press the matter. She turned to Emmy, “And Mrs. Tibbett—or may I call you Emily?”
Emmy grinned. “If you like,” she said, “but actually my name is Emmy. Short for Emmeline, believe it or not.”
“How quaint,” remarked Mrs. Montgomery, with a quick smile. “Emmeline. Delightfully Victorian. And are you Victorian enough to stay at home, Emmy, or do you have a job like so many women these days?”
“I don’t think I’m particularly Victorian,” said Emmy, “but I don’t have a job. Not a paying one. I do quite a lot of volunteer work.”
“And look after your husband and children,” said Martha approvingly.
“I look after my husband,” Emmy said. “We’ve no children.”
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