The death of Rene Renoir stealthily invaded my thoughts, ruining the mood. Picturing her lying on that cold metal tray, I kept seeing Lynn's deep hurt at her sister's senseless death.
After an hour, Issach and Mary said they were going below and fix breakfast. Coffee would be coming up in a moment, they promised. Much later, both of them climbed back up to the tuna tower. Issach handed me a cup of coffee, a reddening smile on his face. Ah, youth.
We rounded Great Stirrup Cay and took up a heading of one hundred and fifty degrees, staying just east of the Berry Islands. It was another three hours to Nassau.
Clearing in with Nassau Harbor Customs, we slowly passed down through the channel between Paradise Island and the mainland. Easing under Potter's Cay Bridge, we pulled in at the Nassau Yacht Club. The harbormaster was an old friend of over twenty years. A true man of the sea, Gustave Fuentes was born in the Canary Islands aboard a fishing schooner, and had spent his life either on or near a boat.
As we began mooring the Lady Lorraine to the pier, Gus came out to collect the docking fee and recognized me. "Well I'll be a son of a sea dog if it ain't Jay Leicester. I thought you had drowned or crashed one of them planes by now."
He was a small man with a face that looked as if it had once been punched in and never rebounded. Watery, blurry eyes pointed to a life dedicated more to the gin bottle than the sea.
"Hello, Gus. How you doing?"
"Couldn't be better, boy." He chewed on a cigar. "Salt air is a tonic for my soul. Throw a line, I'll help you tie up. Who's your mates?"
Gus had his dock crew working over the boat immediately, cleaning, adding spring-lines, and coiling ropes.
Introducing Issach and Mary, Gus scratched his gray beard. "I know this boat. You Joseph's boy, from over at Bimini. Well, I'll be. You sure favor your Ma, son. I remember one time…"
"Gus, they need to get back, and I'm in a bit of a hurry."
He looked at me with wise old eyes. A grin crossed his face. "Well, it's a long story. I'll tell you about your Pa and me another time. You tell him hello from old Gus, boy. You do that, now."
Issach and Mary were ready to depart within the hour. Handing him three one hundred-dollar bills, I thanked him for this help. He appreciated it. Leaving Issach and Gus on the dock, I went into the salon where Mary was washing dishes. She raised her head up with a slow, deliberate movement, her big, soft, wide-set, brown eyes had a look of alertness, of eager interest; a look that expected the world to contain an exciting secret behind every diamond-topped wave. Folding three more hundred-dollar bills, I placed them in her hand. "You take care of Issach, Mary. He's a good man. You two be happy."
She bowed her head and spoke in a low, flat voice, looking at the money that shimmered green in her fingers. She showed no emotion, but her voice had the intense monotone of a prayer. "Thanks, you a good man. We need this money. You be careful, Cop'um."
Gus and I stood and watched the Hatteras ease out into the channel.
"Seems like a couple of good kids," Gus said.
"Yes."
"If that boy's anything like his Pa, he is all right. Shy little girl, though," Gus laughed. "Seems most too timid to make babies. What do you think?"
"Come on, Gus. I'll buy you a drink."
CHAPTER TEN
We sat in the yacht club's second story bar overlooking the harbor and Paradise Island. Gus' weathered sun-scorched face was familiar and pleasant. Watching the traffic in the channel, we sipped the heavy, dark, Anchor Rode beer.
"I'm looking for a boat, the Sun Dog. Know anything about her?"
"Yeah, she's bad news. Why you interested in that smelly mess of flotsam?"
Telling Gus as much as I thought he should know, I asked about the crew.
"The boat belongs to a drug smuggler running Snowpowder from here up to Grand Bahama and Abaco. Buys fuel from us at times. Always pays cash. Never heard his name. They got a slip over in Hurricane Hole and keep a low profile. Never no trouble around here that I heard of, but they have a reputation as being a mean bunch."
"They probably use it as the 'mother-boat.' Little boats come out and off load the stuff and run inshore."
"Yeah, they use those cigarette boats. Slim, fast things go forty knots. Someone said they cold-molded the dope into the hull and cut it out when they need it."
"Good way to hide it from the Coast Guard. Seems one would have to be careful removing it or you could end up with a boat full of salt water."
"That's funny…boat full of salt water."
"You got a car that I can borrow? I'm going to check in at a hotel on the island."
"If you'll bring it back, not leave it parked at the airport, like last time."
I drove over and checked in at the Paradise Island Hotel. It was a short walk from there to Hurricane Hole, a safe, natural, round, shallow bay the three hotels on the island used as a marina for guest's boats. Being registered at the hotel allowed free access to the docks.
My room was on the eighth floor with a view of Hurricane Hole and the boat channel. It was a big room and newly refurbished. The windows opened and a clean, fresh, salt-filled breeze wafted through the sliding glass doors. At the public docks across the channel on the mainland, islanders hawked their wares to visitors from all over the world. Automobiles crowded narrow streets, and Bahamian policemen in starched, white uniforms, gloves and military-style caps, directed traffic.
Placing a call to Glossman, I tried to pick out the Sun Dog in the marina. I could not. Glossman was out, but his secretary put me through to Bill Moran. "Jay, I'm glad you called. Anything, yet?"
"I'm in Nassau. Rene was brought to Bimini from here aboard a sportfisherman named the Sun Dog. I've traced it to a marina on Paradise Island. How's Lynn doing?"
"Well, that's just it. We've been unable to locate her."
"God, I didn't think about her being in danger. Whoever snatched Rene could do the same with Lynn. Get the police in on this."
"Already have. Don't worry, Jay. We didn't think of that possibility, either."
"Call me here at the hotel if anything turns up. I'm in room 816."
"Someone will be in the office all weekend if you need to communicate. Let us know what you find out about the boat. Be careful."
"Right."
There had been no ransom demand from Rene's disappearance, so it never occurred to me Lynn could be a target. What's the motive? None of this made any sense."
Taking a shower, I changed clothes, and walked down to Hurricane Hole. The Sun Dog was there, tied stern to the dock. Two men stood in the salon. One of them was big, well over six feet, and built like Mako, except more barrel-chested and light skinned. My guess he was a free diver from one of the northern islands. The other man was a small, Latin American with olive skin and silver-gray hair combed straight back. Both appeared in their mid-forties.
At first, I didn't see the women. Lying on deck, snake-like, just forward of the salon, they were flat, brown, lissome creatures wearing string bikinis that didn't contain enough thread to sew a button on a shirt. They had bleached blond hair with skin burned to the color of mahogany. Rounded buttocks, long, slim legs, and bare breasts glistened in the afternoon sun from coconut oil applied by the gallon. The pleasant smell of the oil drifted across me like a veil, stirring memories of other summer evenings, other women, and other islands.
Barrel-chest stepped out into the cockpit, fished an Anchor Rode from a cooler, and stood staring into the setting sun. He was even bigger than I thought, chest and shoulders like a fighting bull, and his neck disappeared under sun-streaked blond hair and a solid-looking square jaw. One of those that appear chiseled out of stone. His face was marked and scarred, eyes deep set. He wore a sweat-stained Guayabera shirt that was two sizes too small.