He gave me a slow nod and a smile at the sound of her name. “You really got around today,” he said. “Not bad for a hermit.”
When I finally made it back to my cabin that night, the light on my answering machine was blinking again. There were two messages this time. I pressed play and heard a voice I didn’t recognize at first. Then it came to me. It was Winston Vargas, inviting me to have lunch with him the next day. On his boat, of all places. The second message was from Eleanor Prudell, Leon’s wife, asking me to call her back as soon as I could.
It was late, but I figured Vargas’s message was one invitation I shouldn’t leave hanging. He had left his number-I dialed it and waited through five rings until a woman answered.
“Is this Mrs. Vargas?” I said. “I’m sorry to call so late. Is your husband there?”
“Who is this?”
“My name’s Alex McKnight. I was one of the men playing poker at your house last night.”
“Let me guess, you had so much fun you’re calling to set up the next game.”
“No, actually, your husband invited me to lunch tomorrow. On his boat. I was calling to decline. I hope I didn’t wake you, ma’am. I wasn’t thinking.”
“He’s not here right now,” she said. “He’s out having some kind of meeting with his hired goon.”
“With Leon Prudell? It’s almost midnight.”
“I don’t know his name. He’s the big guy with the orange hair, the one who’s been following me around for the last few weeks.”
I wasn’t going to touch that one. “Well, can you give your husband the message, ma’am? That I won’t be having lunch with him?”
“I’ll do that,” she said. “I hope it doesn’t break his heart.”
“Thank you, ma’am. And good night.”
“Alex, was it? Sleep tight, Alex.”
I was going to save Eleanor Prudell’s call for the next morning, but this business with Vargas was getting stranger by the minute. The way Leon had been acting, and that line about his first priority being his client, his second priority being the police. I was thinking that was just Leon being Leon, but now I wasn’t so sure. I figured it was worth returning his wife’s phone call, even this late at night. She answered on the first ring.
“Eleanor,” I said. “This is Alex. I take it you weren’t sleeping.”
I’d gotten to know Eleanor Prudell, enough to like her and to admire the way she put up with her husband’s private eye dreams. When Leon broke both his ankles, I watched her carry him around the house like he was a basket of laundry. If I ever needed back-up in a bar fight, Eleanor would be my first choice.
“It’s good to hear your voice,” she said. “It’s been so long, Alex.”
“Is everything all right? You sounded a little upset in your message.”
“I’m just wondering what Leon’s got himself mixed up with this time,” she said. “This crazy Vargas character called him seven times today. They’re out at some bar right now, having some kind of ‘pow-wow,’ he said.”
“A ‘pow-wow?’”
“That’s what he called it. He’s been acting real weird, Alex. I mean, even on the Leon scale. I was hoping you’d know something.”
“I really don’t,” I said, feeling a small stab of guilt. “I haven’t been spending any time with him lately.”
“I wish you would,” she said. “You know how to bring him back to earth sometimes.”
“Eleanor, I’m sorry…”
“You don’t have to apologize, Alex. I know you’re not really his partner anymore. I was just hoping you could find out what he’s up to.”
“Maybe I can,” I said, rubbing my eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was about to do. “Vargas wants to have lunch with me tomorrow. Maybe I can find out what’s going on with Leon.”
“God, Alex, would you? I feel better already.”
I said I would, she thanked me a few times, promised she’d hug her kids for me, thanked me again, and then said good night.
I called Vargas’s number, apologized to his wife again, and told her I’d be making the lunch date after all.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” she said. “I was just sitting here crying about it. Now I can sleep.”
I let her have that one, wished her a good night, and hoped to God that I’d never have to meet her in person.
Before I went to sleep myself that night, I lay there in the dark, listening to the wind coming in off the lake. I wondered what the hell was going on, what Leon was up to, and why Vargas would want to have lunch with me.
Go to sleep, I told myself. You’ll find out tomorrow.
Lunch on a boat. How bad could it be?
Chapter Seven
The Kemp Marina is on the St. Marys River, not far from the Coast Guard station, east of the Soo Locks. There’s an old freighter docked on one side of the marina-you can walk through it and see how the seamen lived on it for months at a time. Then there’s the marina itself, where you’ll see just about every kind of private boat money can buy, from small sailboats to sport fishing boats, all the way up to the hundred-foot yachts. I stood at the front gate, asking myself two questions. First of all, why was I here? It had seemed to make some sense the night before. Now in the light of day I wasn’t so sure.
The second question was, how the hell would I find his boat? I walked down a couple of the docks. Some of the boats had a little sign with the owner’s name on it. Most didn’t. I finally went back to the shed by the front gate, hoping to find the harbor-master, or the dockmaster, or whatever you’d call the guy.
There was a woman in the shed, trying to type with two fingers on a manual typewriter and having a rough time of it. “Be with ya in a second, hon,” she said, as she hunted for the next key. “Two hundred dollars,” she finally said. “That’s how much it costs to fix a computer. Two hundred dollars. You’d think he’d spring for that, wouldn’t you?”
I listened to her say a few more things about the man who wouldn’t call the computer repairman. I hoped it was her husband, because some of the things she was saying you shouldn’t say about somebody you’re not married to. “Sorry about that, hon,” she said, finally looking up at me. “What can I do for ya?”
“I’m looking for Winston Vargas’s boat,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “Vargas, there’s a piece of work.”
“Do you know if he’s here right now? He told me to meet him at noon. I’m a little late.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t talk about him like that,” she said. “You must be a friend of his.”
“No, I wouldn’t say that.”
“Okay, then. Never mind. Anyway, let’s see. You go back out there, go to the last dock. He’s in the second-to-last slip on the right.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate it. I hope you get your computer fixed.”
“I’m not holding my breath,” she said, and then she went back to her typing.
I walked down to the last dock and then all the way down to the end. The sun was high in the sky and gleaming off the shiny metal trim on the boats. One man was sitting on a lawn chair on his deck, reading the paper. He looked up at me and nodded. The boat next to his was probably the biggest yacht in the marina. It looked like it probably slept twelve people quite comfortably. I couldn’t imagine what it cost.
Vargas’s boat wouldn’t be quite as big as this one, I thought, but I was betting on something pretty obscene. When I got to the second-to-last slip on the right, I was a little surprised at first. The boat couldn’t have been more than forty feet long. There was a cabin, but it probably slept three, maybe four people. Compared to some of the other boats here, it was downright modest. But then on second thought, it made sense. Those mega-yachts were probably slower than hell. Vargas’s boat had a long hull, and probably had twin diesel engines from the looks of the stern. This thing was built to go fast.
I didn’t see anybody on deck, but I didn’t want to just jump aboard. I remember somebody telling me once that a man’s boat was just as inviolate as his house, maybe more so. You don’t go on board without being asked.