“Well, relax, because that’s what you’re going to get.” She paused and looked across the harbor at the boats. “Unless I can dig up something new between now and Sunday.” She turned and walked up the pontoon toward the pub. Then she stopped, turned, and walked back. “One more thing,” she said. “You seem like a nice guy, Stone, so let me give you some free advice: don’t fall in love with her; don’t even fuck her, if you haven’t already. Allison Manning is a dangerous woman.”

Stone was speechless. He watched her walk away.

Chapter
19

Stone was having lunch with Hilary Kramer from the New York Times at the Shipwright’s Arms when Thomas Hardy waved him to the bar, pointing at the phone. Stone excused himself, got up, and went to the bar.

“It’s somebody named Cantor,” Thomas said, handing Stone the telephone. “By the way, Chester called from the airport, too; says he’s loaded down with media folk all afternoon.”

“Right,” Stone said, taking the phone. “I’d like to have a press conference here Friday morning at ten, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

Stone spoke into the phone. “Bob?”

“Stone? Glad I caught you; I’m coming home tomorrow.”

“That was fast; were you able to cover any ground in such a short time?”

“You bet; I got into Las Palmas early, so I took a connecting flight to Puerto Rico and spent a couple of hours there, then came back to Las Palmas.”

“What have you learned?”

“Nothing in Puerto Rico, except they took on fuel and water and spent one night there; more in Las Palmas, though.”

“Tell me.”

“They were at the yacht club marina for four or five days, doing odd jobs on the boat and provisioning with fresh fruit and vegetables at the local market. Paul had a drink at the yacht club bar late every afternoon, once or twice with Allison, but apart from the shopping, she kept pretty much to the boat. Boats go in and out of that marina constantly, so I was only able to find one boat still there with people who remembered the Mannings. Apart from their boat, which was big and beautiful, they remembered only a couple of things about them: first, their rubber dinghy was stolen, and Manning apparently had trouble finding the replacement he wanted; finally he had it flown in from Barcelona. Second, the Mannings had a terrific fight late on the night before they left Las Palmas.”

“Tell me about the fight,” Stone said, lowering his voice and looking around to be sure no one overheard.

“A real knockdown, drag-out domestic dispute. Crockery was thrown, names were called, tears were shed, and the whole thing happened at top volume.”

“Did you get any direct quotes?”

“No, but it had something to do with sailing—with their route, or something.”