“Very good girl,” Hooker added, with a grin. “What was her father like?”
“Much money,” Billy told him. Then he frowned. “He never have pocket money. Sometime he sign his name or little funny man who worked for him would pay.”
“Howard Hughes was like that,” Hooker said.
“I don’t know he.”
“Howard wasn’t into fishing. He liked to fly airplanes and make money.”
Billy nodded sagely. “You think that’s why Mr. Durant was killed?”
“They took his wallet,” Hooker reminded him.
“But if it had no money...?”
“I suppose it could make the muggers mad,” Hooker suggested. “Where did it happen? You know?”
Billy bobbed his head and pointed north. “He be in Miami, that day.”
“Alone?”
This time Billy shrugged. The ways of a city were not his ways and he didn’t dwell on trying to understand them. He changed the subject abruptly. “We go get conchs now.” He made a rough oval with his hands. “About so big. Okay?”
“Right on, pal. We’ll make a party she’ll never forget.”
Judy didn’t have to make any special preparations for rain. Here any downpour was written in advance on the calendar, with occasional squalls penciled in. In this latitude the seasons dictated the weather, with the exception of the occasional hurricane.
The Durant estate had been carefully selected to accommodate a rich man’s preference for solitude. The main house was nestled in the dunes, almost invisible at first because of its shell-covered facade. The broad leaves of the native palms shaded the area gracefully, planted in clusters and looking well tended. No brown fronds were among the green ones and there was a decorator’s touch to their placement.
A natural channel cut an entrance to the grounds, going in a good hundred feet, then breaking sharply to the right around a natural outcropping of barnacle-studded rock. The pier with the floating dock could handle three good-sized yachts or a dozen native crafts. Unlike most boating facilities on the island, this one wasn’t haphazard. All the pilings and bulkheadings were sea wood imported from Miami, guaranteed to last many years longer than local products. On one end a tall pole carried an anemometer and a box evidently laden with weather information instruments. At the far end was a shack built like the cabin of a small ship with three antennas rising from its roof. One would be the VHF for contact with boats at sea, another could be a single sideband rig for long-distance transmitting and the other could be almost anything.
Hooker scanned the docking area and nodded his approval. “Your friend Judy has a nice place here.”
Billy grinned slightly. He knew Mako’s approval was more than just a passing remark. “She do the big house long time ago. Her father like the boat parts.”
Idly, Hooker asked, “He have a license?”
“Why for, sar? He own he boat. He do what he wants without papers.”
“Well, was he a good sailor?”
“Ha.”
“What’s that mean?”
“He go out with somebody. Not alone. Sometimes I go for to fish. Mr. Sar Durant, he didn’t like to catch the fish anyway. He liked to watch somebody else catch them. He take pictures all the time.”
“Of what?”
“Other boats sometime. Getting conchs for chowder, sometimes just fishing. Nothing special.”
“What kind of camera did he have?”
“Mr. Sar Durant, he have many for picture taking. He use the little one like the tourist.”
“Thirty-five millimeter?”
“Yes. I save the little round boxes he get with the film.”
“Why, Billy?”
“I don’t know. Keep good things, maybe. You tell me good things come in little package boxes. Someday I get good things to keep.” Mako gave him a sidewise glance and Billy added, “I know. I am one crazy Carib.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Sar, you think very loud.”
Mako had come in gently, the rub rail squeaking against the plastic bumpers around the pier. He tied off the stern line while Billy threw a hitch around the bow bollard, then the both of them began unloading the baskets of choice seafood for the garden party. By the time they had everything off-loaded, two young islanders came up pushing an empty cart, stored the load on the bed, and then wheeled it up to the big house.
“Mako...” The light from behind silhouetted her body under the yellow silk sarong, and when Hooker turned to look at her he felt as if he had been punched in the gut. It had happened before, so he realized what it was and let the old armor plate settle over the part of his mind that was being targeted.
“Hello, Judy.” He grinned at her and felt that armor plate getting thinner, making him more vulnerable than he wanted to be. He knew that somehow he had been manipulated into this situation by Billy, but he couldn’t figure out just how it had happened. “Your party here yet?”
“One more hour. This occasion does not work on native time.”
“Don’t knock it, lady. These islanders can split a second in half if they want to. Luckily, not wanting to is part of their charm. And I’m beginning to get that way too.”
Her laugh was soft and enticing. She said, “Whether you want to or not, you do have a certain charm yourself.”
“And I clean up pretty nice too, right?”
“Right,” she told him.
“So where do we go to work?”
“Billy will show you. I’ll go change clothes and help you clean the fish.”
Before he could say not to, she headed back into the house while he followed his friend’s tracks in the sand to the outdoor picnic area, where a huge charcoal burning pit was already smoldering. There were cleaning tables for opening shellfish, and scaling tools and knives for filleting or steaking, and curious partygoers could watch the delicate machinations that go into preparing a genuine native seafood dinner from the seats around a tiki bar made from the wreckage of old sailing ships.
Gentle native music flowed out of the hidden speakers, occasionally turning staccato with the thumping of drums. Fine original music, Hooker thought. The only trouble was, it originated in Hawaii.
“Nobody will care,” Judy said from behind him.
Hooker put his basket of clams down and said, “You know, you’re as cat-footed as Billy and he can sneak up on a seagull.”
“So I dress barefoots,” she said, mimicking Billy. “He tell you I talk good Carib too?”
“No, but I wouldn’t doubt it.”
Billy had made himself busy twenty-five feet away cleaning fish, hearing everything, but giving no indication of paying any attention.
“Would you like to come up to the main house and meet my guests? Some you already know.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got too much to do...”
“Mr. Hooker, sar,” Billy called over, “it is better I work alone. You go talk stateside stuff to the people.”
“See?” Judy smiled.
Mako shook his head in mock defeat, washed at the tap, then took Judy’s hand and led her to the house. It was a gesture he’d use on little kids to help them cross a ditch, but when he felt her fingers tighten around his, the armor plate turned into tinfoil. There were things going on in his mind he thought had been safely put away.
But emotion was not new and could be handled. He had handled it before. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth it, when it had interfered with his work and could have affected his finely tuned reactions. Now there was no need to watch his back or any reason to practice with the weaponry of his former trade.
It was still something to be handled, though.
Coming over the sand dune, he saw the two ships behind the Clamdip. The first one was an eighty-foot yacht gleaming with polished metalwork and burnished mahogany and teak. The nameplate on the bow read Lotusland, and from the displayed bunting in the rigging to the camera stands clipped to the rail, it spelled Hollywood, U.S.A.