Lindy smiled faintly. Shawn caught the smile and sat back, lips pursed. “OK,” he muttered, quoting darkly: “’It’s a good thing the old man’s got somebody to sail her, or she’d grow fast to the bottom while he played dominoes.’ Right?”

Startled, they studied their plates. He was quoting her brother Bobby, drunk at Shawn’s birthday party last year. They hadn’t even known the old man had overheard.

“Dad,” Lindy said softly, "Mitch never said that.”

“Somebody did, somewhere,” insisted the old man. “Who, damn it? Bobby?”

They were silent.

“OK,” Shawn said wearily. “He was probably right. Anyway, you won a big case. You hit the jackpot. You got to spend it on a boat. It’s got to be wood. It’s got to be that red wooden ketch?”

“Not necessarily,” Mitch said. “She’s disappeared, anyway.”

“If you find her, you’ll never have time for Invincible."

"No, Pops,” said Mitch. “I probably won’t.”

The old man’s eyes fell. “If you’re shaking down your own boat, who navigates for me in the next Hawaii Race?”

Lindy was studying her father curiously. “Mitch would go. Or teach Bobby, or something. He wouldn’t just dump you.”

“Bobby can’t find the Farallon Islands on a clear day,” Shawn sulked. He moistened his finger and began to run it around the rim of his wineglass. He hit high G and, when the Commodore scowled from across the room, persisted more loudly. “Have I seen that ketch? She a San Francisco boat?”

“My God, Shawn,” Mitch exclaimed, “you almost ran her down. Are you saying you don’t know the boat?"

“Shh,” Lindy cautioned. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“You remember her all right. So what’s going on?”

“I’m senile,” suggested Shawn tersely. “Can’t remember who insults me. Can’t remember the Rules of the Road. Can’t recall half the boats I’ve seen.”

“It’s not Christmas,” Lindy said sharply. “We’re not little kids. What’s under the tree?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve found her, haven’t you?”

Shawn sat back, triumphantly. “She’s not red anymore. She’s at Cox’s Yard, Sausalito. She’s called Lorelei They’re painting her white. To make her look bigger, somebody said. So I guess she’s for sale.”

Mitch cut in angrily. “Did you see her? When was that? Suppose she’s sold? How long have you known?”

“A week, ten days,” Shawn shrugged. “I forget.”

“Forget, hell!” flared Lindy. Her cheeks were flaming. “You just let him beat the bushes! All the way to Dago! Damn it, Dad—”

Shawn ignored her. “If you got her,” he asked Mitch, “what would you do? She’s too slow to race.”

“We’d cruise her.”

“Offshore? She’s only forty feet.”

“Hell, Shawn, you’re only fifty feet yourself. Hawaii’s offshore!”

“I race. With a six-man crew. And escort vessels.” He shrugged. “Or I did...”