Whit shot her an appreciative look. "That occurred to you, too? My suspicion started to rise the minute Smith went for his wallet."
"We spent three hours last night searching that boat from prow to keel," Greg said. "If there ever was a pirate treasure or something concealed aboard her, it isn't there now."
"In that case, we can just forget about Mr. Smith and all the other menacing rivals you three have conjured up," Regina said firmly. "Pretty soon we won't have time to loaf around; we'll have to buckle down and start getting things in shape for the wedding."
"To think I've met my doom so young!" Greg moaned, but it was obvious that he wouldn't have traded one of Regina's dimples for an admiral's stripes.
Regina proposed a picnic, an idea which the others quickly seconded. They made a foray on the Prescott refrigerator, then returned to the beach to eat, talk, and swim the day away.
Late that afternoon, Whit boarded the Albatross, and presently he rejoined his companions carrying a dog-eared catalogue. Using the damp sand as a tablet, he estimated the cost of the furniture and equipment which would be needed to start the houseboat-restaurant in business.
"I hadn't figured on everything being so expensive," he said in a worried tone. He added that even at wholesale prices his budget could not possibly stretch enough to cover the cost of all the tables and chairs, as well as the enormous amount of dishes, flatware, and linen that would be needed.
"Why don't you buy some of the things secondhand?" Barbara suggested. "We can all scout around for a cafe that's going out of business. In that way, you could buy what you need at half price, or even less."
Whit solved a quick problem in long division. "We could swing that," he agreed. "Buying the stuff at half price would leave us enough capital to install a modern range and dishwasher, too."
"We'll look around first, and if we don't find anything suitable, perhaps an ad in the paper would smoke out a place," Barbara proposed.
Greg laughed. "I think it's all a plot to drum up business for the Courier!" Nevertheless, he agreed that her idea was sound.
Whit was anxious to have the refurbishment well under way by the time Roger Nelson, his partner, arrived. The young couples spent the rest of the afternoon pacing off the decks of the houseboat and computing the amount of paint, primer, cleanser and detergent required to give the Albatross the trim, spotless appearance which would attract customers.
Returning to the house at six o'clock, Barbara found a telephone message awaiting her.
"Melinda wants me to cover Terri Nicholson's deb dance!" she exclaimed with a mixture of excitement and regret, since Whit had already asked her out for the evening.
"Miss Foster said she didn't feel up to attending herself," Mrs. Prescott called from the kitchen. "I'm afraid it doesn't give you much notice. Can you be there by nine? She also mentioned that you were welcome to bring an escort."
"Would you like to come with me, Whit?" Barbara asked eagerly. "We could have just as much fun-oh! It's black tie."
"You're in luck," he replied loftily. "The best men at weddings nowadays come fully equipped with black ties-and white dinner jackets. Pick you up at eight-thirty."
Barbara raced through a shampoo and shower. She borrowed Mrs. Prescott's hair dryer to set her curls, and gave herself a manicure. When the doorbell chimed, she was dabbing cologne on her wrists and temples.
"I'm coming!"
She spun once in front of the mirror, admiring the swirl of her lemon-yellow gown with its flared skirt, then draped a matching stole around her shoulders.
Whit's smile showed his very evident approval. After a complimentary remark about her appearance, he mentioned that Mr. Prescott had offered them the loan of his car.
Barbara decided that in his white dinner jacket and with his reddish hair freshly trimmed, Whit was the handsomest escort she had had in months. She was also secretly delighted that, even while wearing the highest pair of heels she possessed, the top of her head barely brushed his chin.
Most of the guests were already assembled when they arrived. Barbara whipped a pen and notebook from her purse as the debutante, radiant in bouffant white, made her grand entrance. For the next half hour, she concentrated on identifying half-forgotten faces, jotting down details, and filling page after page with notes regarding floral decorations and the superb buffet dinner of which the guests would partake later.
Pausing to relax her cramped fingers, Barbara looked around for Whit and caught sight of him dancing with a raven-haired girl in a snug, backless dress. The girl appeared to be listening breathlessly to his every word. And Whit seemed to be enjoying her adulation!
I have enough data to fill three articles, Barbara abruptly decided. She tucked the pen and notebook in her evening bag, determined that there they could stay for the remainder of the evening. She wasn't jealous, of course, but-
To her relieved delight, Whit escorted his sophisticated partner back to her seat as soon as the dance ended, and shouldered his way through the crush of couples to Barbara's side.
"Have you ever," he asked with an amused grin, "been tickled under the chin by a pair of false eyelashes? It's quite an experience!"
Barbara shared his laughter, glad now that she had not attempted anything along the lines of heavy glamour herself. When the members of the orchestra bongoed their way into a rhumba, she at first insisted on dancing at arm's length, until Whit drew her closer.
"Just keeping my eyelashes out of harm's way," she explained demurely.
"Yours aren't phony!"
The midnight buffet tasted as delectable as it had looked, and after they had circled the floor in a final waltz and said their good nights to their hostess, Barbara exclaimed that she had never enjoyed a party so thoroughly.
"Care for a short stroll?" Whit suggested, cutting the motor after pulling up in front of the Prescott garage. "Only to work off the anchovies," he added innocently when she hesitated.
Barbara laughed and took his hand. Whit was fun and, so far, had proved himself to be definitely unwolfish. In an amiable silence, they sauntered up a knoll which commanded a view of the moonlit sea.
"Santa Teresa is a beautiful town," Whit said sincerely. "Exactly the spot I've always wanted to settle down in. I'm glad Greg talked me into coming here."
"So am I," Barbara admitted. "Regina's wedding-" Suddenly she stopped, rising on tiptoe to peer over a clump of low-growing trees at the water's edge. "That's odd," she murmured. "I thought I saw a light down there."
Whit tensed. Dropping her hand, he strode forward a few paces.
"There it is again!" Barbara cried, pointing.
But Whit, too, had seen the pinpoint flash. "Let's go," he said, tight-lipped. "Somebody is on the Albatross!"
"Wait!" Barbara caught Whit's arm, restraining him from hurtling down the rocky slope. "You'd only break a leg going through there in the dark. Besides, it's quicker by car-there's an abandoned road just the other side of the grove."
Whit steadied her across the slick patches of grass as they raced toward the driveway. He had the motor turning over before she was half in the seat, and an instant later, they were rocketing down the quiet street.
"There!" Barbara indicated the turn.
Whit shifted into low gear, exclaiming in disgust at the ruts that snatched at the tires and pitched the car into the center of the road. Reluctantly, he eased up on the accelerator. "I've thought of a hundred questions to ask about that houseboat in the past twenty-four hours," he said grimly. "Now maybe we can get a few answers!"
Barbara felt certain that an urgent reason lay behind the interloper's nocturnal visit to the Albatross. She glanced anxiously at the determined young man beside her. "But-you and Greg searched the boat, didn't you?"