He spread it out on the table and admired the many color photographs of the craft being rowed, being propelled by an outboard, and, most interesting, under sail. The Parker Sportster, it seemed, came with an aluminum mast, a mainsail, a jib, a rudder, and a centerboard. The brochure claimed it was the only inflatable dinghy so equipped. Stone thought the thing must be good for four or five knots, more if surfing with the wind aft.

Stone left the Shipwright’s Arms and walked down to the marina. He stepped lightly aboard Expansive, tiptoed down the companionway ladder, and looked into the aft cabin. Allison was asleep on the large bed, her breathing deep and regular.

Stone climbed back into the cockpit and began quietly opening the cockpit lockers. There was the usual tangle of gear found aboard any yacht: fenders, warps, plastic buckets and deck brushes, life jackets, and in a special aft locker, an eight-man life raft. He opened another of the lockers and was greeted with the sight of an inflatable dinghy in its canvas bag; the manufacturer’s name was printed boldly on the bag: AVON. Stone’s heart began to beat a little faster, as much out of apprehension as discovery. There was one more locker, and he opened it expecting no new information. But there, lying packed and ready for use, was another, larger canvas bag emblazoned with another brand name: PARKER SPORTSTER. It seemed new and unused.

He closed the locker softly and sat down on a cockpit seat, feeling relieved.

Chapter
22

On Saturday morning Stone fixed breakfast, then woke up Allison, who had been sleeping unusually well. “I’ve had a message from Leslie Hewitt,” he said. “He wants us to come out and see him this morning.”

“Okay,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I think a swim will wake me up.” She started up the ladder.

“Hang on!” he commanded. “It’s broad daylight, and there may be some press still on the island.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking.

“I enjoy you naked, but I don’t want anyone else to,” he said.

She smiled. “You’re sweet. I think I’ll just have a shower; join me?”

“Already had one,” he replied, “and breakfast is nearly ready, so hurry.”

They walked up to the Shipwright’s Arms together, to borrow Thomas’s car, and the first person they saw was Hilary Kramer from the Times.

“What are you still doing here?” Stone asked. “Didn’t you get the bum’s rush with everybody else?”

“Nope. I was in the capital, buying some necessities, and when I came back, everybody was gone.”

“You missed the press conference, then?”

“I didn’t care anything about that. I’d already filed.”

“Did anybody else survive the press purge?”

“There’s a crew from CNN here who got to stay to provide pool coverage for the TV people.”

“How about Chris Wheaton, from 60 Minutes?”

“Gone with the wind, along with everybody else.”