The first mate and steward, dressed in crisp white sweatshirts with the yacht's name and outline emblazoned on the chest, were tying up along the pier. Cassie was asking them if they needed help and trying to make herself useful.
I started to make small talk with them, too, anxious to find out where they-and their skipper-had spent the previous evening. "She's a beauty. Hope you didn't have anyone on board during that blow last night."
"Had her all safe and sound, thanks, in the lee. No harm done."
"She'd hardly fit here in Menemsha," I said, aware that the marinas in Edgartown and Vineyard Haven would have had no problem docking a boat this size.
"No, no. Over in Nantucket," the mate shot back. "That's her home."
"You guys actually sit it out on the water in this?"
"Captain's orders," he said, looking over at the steward and laughing.
"Must have been rough."
"They don't make enough Dramamine to get you through one of these. And we were damn well sheltered."
Cassie was filling the fuel tanks and surveying the length of the yacht with great admiration.
I laughed, too. "Bet the owner doesn't hang out in the storm with you."
"Are you kidding? He wouldn't leave this baby for a minute. Rode the whole thing through with us. Only his wife got a pass to stay onshore."
"Is that you, Alexandra? I would never have recognized you."
I was startled by the sound of Hoyt's voice. Squinting and shielding my eyes from the sun, I raised my head and saw him in the cockpit on the flying bridge, one flight above the crew.
"I was just trying to call you," he said, waving the cell phone in his hand. "Thought sevenA.M. was a respectable time to wake you up. We're heading for the city and needed to gas up. Don't know when the airport will reopen but thought you might want to hitch back with us."
"Way to go, Alex," Cassie said. "Totally cool."
"No thanks, Graham. Cell phones don't work in Menemsha." This sleepy little village was a black hole in the world of cell communications. "There's no tower."
"No tower, no power," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "How about the ride home?"
"Thanks. I may stay on the island for a while," I said, lying to him. I wasn't about to spend another night in the house until the broken glass was replaced and the locks and alarm system were changed. But that didn't mean I was ready to set out on the high seas with Graham Hoyt.
"I bet you won't say no to a hot breakfast. How about you, young lady? Want a tour?"
Cassie had stepped out of her boots and climbed on board without hesitating for a moment. From over my shoulder I heard one of the guys on the bench urging me to follow her. "What are you waitin' for, honey? Don't see one of these big guys pull into town every day. You afraid they's got Bluebeard hiding belowdeck or what?"
I forced a smile and kicked off my boots, winking at the grizzled old-timers. "If they pull out with Cassie and me on board, tell Chip to get the navy after them, okay?"
The men laughed but I wasn't entirely kidding.
Hoyt extended his hand to help me off the ladder, then turned to the steward. "Why don't you tell the chef to set a table on the aft deck for three? Some scrambled eggs and bacon, a fresh pot of coffee, and some juice."
The knots in my stomach were turning somersaults. Perhaps it was because I had not really eaten yesterday, but also because I worried about where Graham Hoyt had been during the storm. What if his crew were covering for him? They had no reason to be setting up a false alibi, I reassured myself. They couldn't possibly have thought that the bedraggled woman in the oversized flannel shirt and the Capri-length chinos was trying to cross-examine them.
"So this is my little folly, Alex. Let me show you two around."
I followed Hoyt and Cassie through the entrance into the yacht's main salon. The entire room was paneled in teakwood, with thick green leather sofas and wool sisal carpeting. Crystal wine goblets hung upside down over the wide bar, notched in place so they wouldn't fly off and break in the fiercest of storms.
"Come see the staterooms," he said, leading us down the aft staircase. The master had a queen-sized bed and full bathroom, and the two smaller rooms were just as exquisitely appointed, in the softest shade of sea foam.
"How big is she?" Cassie asked.
"Ninety-eight feet. A Palmer Johnson. Cruises at twelve and a half knots, holds five thousand gallons of fuel."
Cassie was more interested in the specs than I was, but the thought of the upkeep was overwhelming. It had to cost more than a million dollars a year to keep this toy afloat, with its crew of four and all that went with it.
Back on deck, I leaned over to check whether I could see how far below water the boat's bottom went. "What does she draw?"
"Six feet. We just make it in here."
I noticed a small motorboat tied up alongside us. A twenty-foot Boston Whaler. For most people, that would have been more than enough of a vessel.
I looked at the gold lettering on the rear of the Pirate 's tender: Rebecca.
I turned to Hoyt. "Daphne du Maurier?"
"You mean Rebecca? Is that what I named her for? You really see murder in everything, don't you, Alex?" Hoyt shook his finger at me.
"Happens to be one of my favorite novels."
"Yes, but my wife would never go out on the water with me, if that was the inspiration for her name. James Gordon Bennett-the first commodore of the yacht club-that's what his boat was called. She's named in his honor."
The steward came back to whisper to Hoyt that our breakfast was about to be served.
"Is there another phone line? Other than the cell, I mean."
"Certainly. We've got satellite phones on board. Todd, will you show Ms. Cooper to the cockpit?"
I wanted to talk to Mike Chapman. I wanted him to know I was on Hoyt's yacht, and confirm his whereabouts last night. This might be the only working phone I would be near all day.
I reached voice mail at his apartment and on his cell. I dialed Mercer Wallace. The captain was working on his route chart right next to me, so I explained where I was without telling the story of the previous night.
"When are you coming back to the city?" Mercer asked.
"Uh-I'm still not quite sure." I wanted to tell him as soon as the airport was open and I could find some way to get to it, but I couldn't trust the captain not to repeat that to Hoyt.
"You alone there on the Titanic?"
"No, no, no. Got one of my local friends here with me, and we're getting right off after breakfast. We won't even leave the dock."
"Well, hurry home, Alex. I'm trying to make progress. Seems that it most likely was Mrs. Gatts's brother-in-law who followed you down to the church last week. His supervisor says he signed out of court at fiveP.M, just up the street from you. Left the building in his uniform, without changing, which is not his usual pattern. Chief said he seemed in a hurry to go somewhere." That explained the navy blue pants. "And he called in sick the next day-just didn't come to work."
"Anybody keeping an eye on him?"
"They read him the riot act. If we can prove something, they'll suspend him."
"All circumstantial, but it's a start. Anything else before I lose you?"
"Yes, ma'am. Found out yesterday that Tiffany Gatts has some other family ties that might interest you," Mercer said.
"Like who?"
"Seems her boyfriend Kevin had good reason to know about Queenie Ransome and her collection of coins. Tiffany's cousin is the one who let the cat out of the bag, about valuables being in Queenie's apartment."
"I give up, Mercer. Who's her cousin?"
"Spike Logan. Know who I mean? The Harvard guy who lives up on the Vineyard."
I took another breath and thought about the intruder who had frightened me out of my home, into the wind and rain. Spike Logan lived up here. Where the hell was he during last night's storm?