“I appreciate your point, Captain. You know, it’s a funny thing. If my sister hadn’t been aboard, I’d be upset about something that doesn’t seem important at all to me now.”
“What’s that, sir?”
Watching Staniker closely, Sam shrugged, smiled wryly, and said, “I had a deal going with Bix. A couple of hundred thousand dollars of mine went down with that boat.”
Staniker stared, eyes wide. “Cash money?” he said in a hushed tone.
“Cash money. And a lot more that Bix put in the kitty.”
Staniker shook his head. “Now why would a sane man take a chance and tote that much money all over the Bahamas on a fifty-three foot boat?”
“Sometimes, when something is for sale, cash is the only way you can buy it. Cash doesn’t leave tracks, Staniker.”
“I never had any idea!” Staniker said.
“I wouldn’t have mentioned it. But when you told me you felt — a moral responsibility not to discuss his business dealings, I knew there wouldn’t be any harm in it.”
“I’d never mention it to a soul, Mr. Boylston, I swear.”
Sam sighed. “Funny thing. I had a hunch about that cruise. I should have followed it. I felt a little edgy about having my kid sister go along. Careful as Bix was about everything, there was a chance somebody might figure out he had it aboard. Nobody knew except me and Bix. If somebody went after that money, I thought, it would be a damned poor place for Leila to be. Oh. Correction. Two other men knew it would be aboard, even though Leila and nobody else in Bix’s family knew. The other two are business associates. Known them for years. They stood to make too much out of the deal to try anything tricky anyway.”
Staniker poked very gently at his burned thigh, biting his lip. “Mr. Boylston?”
“What?”
“I was wondering. Is it going to come out there was all that money aboard? I mean through the estate or insurance or anything?”
“For personal reasons, Staniker, I hope not. But there’s always that chance, isn’t there? One of our associates might try to set it up as a casualty loss. But I don’t understand, Captain. Why should any publicity about it be upsetting to you?”
Staniker stared blankly at him. “Upsetting? Oh, no. Listen, maybe you don’t like it, me making a few bucks by signing that contract. Maybe you think it isn’t right to make money out of a terrible accident like that. But it’s going to be hard for me to get work. I got to worry about how I’m going to keep eating. My contract has book royalties in it and movie rights. Now I swear to you I won’t tell a soul about that money. You can trust me all the way in a thing like that. But what I was thinking, the reason I asked, if it did happen to come out, it might mean a lot more money for me out of that contract. You can hate me if you want to, but nobody is going to look after me except me.”
“I understand.” Sam stood up. “Thanks for giving me the time. You coming along all right?”
“Better than they thought I would, I guess. They’re letting me leave Wednesday. That’s what? June first? Yes. I got a little advance on an insurance settlement. I might maybe try a hotel a couple days to get used to getting around, then fly on back to Miami. But I guess it will be a long time before I really get over this thing, or maybe never. It’s a nightmare for sure, Mr. Boylston.”
On his way to the stairway he saw Theyma Chappie coming along the corridor toward him. He beckoned her into a small alcove.
“Do you now see what I was trying to tell you?” she asked in a low tone.
“Yes. I see it.”
“Some terrible thing hides behind his eyes. When he put his hand on me, after I jumped away, I felt so cold for a long, long time. That was when I knew he could do what you say he did. Then I was sure.”
“He’s good, Theyma. Believe me, he’s damned good. It’s a great front, all that bumbling slowness and sincerity and troubled manner. There aren’t many ways. Trick him, or trap him, or break him. I don’t know how it can be done. But I have to do it.”
“What will doing it do to you, Sam?”
“Balance the ledger.”
“God’s business, no?”
“With man’s help sometimes. Your place? Five thirty?”
“Good.”
“Just get the recorder out of the room, and that’s the last of it. I’m grateful to you for taking the chance.”
“Perhaps it would have been better not to. I think. For you. I am not sure. But — it is done. And you go tomorrow. Sam, go all the way home. Go all the way to your Texas and your Lydia Jean.”
“This evening I’ll play you something I put together out of all those tapes.”
“Perhaps I do not wish to hear it, eh?”
“I want you to.”
She made a face. “Why should such things you want matter to me in any way? You bully me, Mr. Boylston. It is a disgrace. Excuse me. I must go tuck your monster into bed for a nap.” She pulled her shoulders high, canted her head, gave him an odd look. “I watch him asleep. When his lids quiver and his hands twitch and his mouth changes shapes I know he dreams. And I wonder.”
Sunday afternoon after Leila awakened from another of her long naps, she fought back the insidious lethargy and drowsiness and told the Sergeant, sweetly and politely, that she felt she would be more comfortable aboard the Muñequita. Had he not said it was moored under the house? Then it would not get too hot. There were screens which could be zipped in place, a bow hatch propped open for ventilation, a marine head, bedding in a locker under the port bunk. She said he would then have his own bed back. She would be able to do more for herself. The suggestion seemed to displease him, and he went out without a word. She felt herself sliding back into sleep, fought it for a little while and then let go. Never had she slept so heavily and continuously. She wondered if the blow on the head had anything to do with it.
She had seen herself in the mirror he brought her when she asked for it. It had frightened her. Her cheekbones looked sharp enough to poke through her sallow-tan skin. Her eyes were sunk back into her head. Her matted hair was clumsily brushed over the shaved area of the wound. Her lips were swollen, pulpy, pale, cracked and split.
She knew everybody would be looking for her. She could not sustain a sense of urgency longer than a few minutes before sinking back into that lethargy that was so like having had too many drinks. He brought her bowls of spiced, rich, heavy food, big mugs of hot tea. She would feed herself until her arm tired, and then he would take the spoon and feed her, coaxing her to take more, making little clicking sounds with his mouth, the way some people speak to horses.
Once she had awakened — yesterday? the day before? — to find she had been turned face down, the improvised night-gown pulled high, while hands that were at once strong and gentle rubbed a pungent ointment into her back, working from high on her shoulders all the way to the backs of her calves and back again. In that disjointed world of half-sleep, Daddy was once again putting on that stuff that stopped the terrible itching-burning of the poison oak. Sam didn’t get it as bad as I did, she thought.
Then she heard the stranger-voice, crooning to itself, “... enough skin come off to build a whole new gal, I do swear... no bad places left... coming pink and new like a baby... pore little burned ass ain’t board-flat no more, plumping up again...”
Just as her body began to tighten in alarm, he had given her a little pat on the shoulder, grunted to his feet, spread the clean white shirt down over her, pulled the sheet back in place. Her thought of protest faded into the velvet dark of sleep.