Stuart Woods - Dead In The Water

"Did you tell him?"

"Of course. Sir Winston hadn't been able to find a next of kin. It was the proper thing to do."

"What's this about a mother?"

He sighed. "It's bad. She's in her seventies, and she's had multiple sclerosis for years. She lives on Social Security and what little she makes playing the piano in a palm Beach hotel, for tips."

She remained expressionless. "Go on."

"She relies on Libby for support. They share an apartment, and the lawyer thinks the old lady will have to move, and he doesn't know where she'll go." He waited for a response.

There wasn't one. Allison continued to stare at him.

"I told you something like this might come up. Her mother is entitled to her estate."

"She has an estate?"

Oh, God, he thought; this was going to be hard. "The lawyer asked me some questions about any financial arrangements Libby might have with Paul's estate." This was true.

"So you think she might have sent him a copy of the agreement?"

"It's possible." Just. "She could have sent him the original."

"You said she didn't make any phone calls or mail anything."

"I said I didn't know that she did."

"So the lawyer might come after me for the money?"

"That's a possibility; a certainty, if he has the agreement."

"It would cost a lot of money to sue me for it, wouldn't it?"

"Maybe not; you wouldn't have much of a defense; it would be cut and dried." This was not entirely truthful, he thought, but that interpretation might legitimately be placed on the situation.

She put a hand on his knee. "Stone, I know you're worried about this, but I don't want you to be. I'll deal with this after the trial, all right? Don't worry, I'll do the right thing."

"Allison, I'm glad you feel that way, but…"

"But what if the trial goes wrong?"

He nodded.

"Well, then, her lawyer can make a claim on my can't he?"

"Yes, I suppose so. It would just be simpler to…"

"Not now," she said, and she said it emphatically.

Stone nodded. "By the way, do you have a will?"

"Yes, it's with the lawyer in Greenwich."

"Do you want to make any changes to it? I could draft something for you."

She thought for a minute. "No, I don't think so; it still reflects my wishes' I gave it a lot of thought at the time."

"All right." He stood up: "I'd better get up to my room at the Shipwright's Arms; I've got some work to do." There was a folder lying on the dressing table, the folder he had given Allison containing her copy of the agreement with Libby. He took a step toward it.

"Excuse me," she said. She stepped past him, picked up the folder, and stuffed it into a duffel. "See you later."

He left the boat and started up the dock. As he did, a very modern, fast-looking motor yacht entered the harbor and made for the marina. He stood and watched her. She must have been on the order of eighty feet, and she looked as if she'd do a good fifty knots in the open sea. As he watched she moved into a berth a few yards down, and two smartly dressed crewmen hopped onto the pontoon to make her fast. She was flying a yellow customs flag, and the officer on duty stirred himself from his shack and ambled down to the marina.

Stone continued toward the Shipwright's Arms, and when he was nearly there, he stopped and looked back. The skipper of the yacht, which was called Race, was sitting in the cockpit, going over documents with the customs officer. A thought occurred to him; a bad thought. No, he said to himself, Allison wouldn't do that.

He picked up some Federal Express materials at the bar, stuffed the death certificate into the envelope, addressed it, and left it on the bar, then went up to his room and dialed the law offices of Potter & Potter. An elderly sounding secretary put him through.

"This is Harley Potter."

"It's Stone Barrington, Mr.Potter."

"Ah, yes, Mr.Barrington; do you have some news for me?"

"Nothing very earthshaking, I'm afraid. The inquest was held this afternoon, and a verdict of death by misadventure was reached."

"I see."

"I obtained a death certificate from the coroner, and it will go out to you by Federal Express."

"Well, that's a relief," Potter said.

"An employee of the man who owned the airplane gave testimony that the airplane and a house were the man's only possessions, and that he had let his insurance lapse last year. I'm afraid there won't be anything to go after."

"I see. You're certain about this?"

"As certain as I can be without conducting a thorough investigation, and I'm afraid I don't have time to do that."

"That will be very bad news for Mrs.Peters," he said.

"I know it will; I'm sorry."

"Have you had an opportunity to speak with the second Mrs.Manning about…" He let the sentence die.

"Briefly. She won't be giving the matter any thought until her return to Greenwich next week. I expect she want to consult her attorney there. Perhaps you'll hear something then; I'll give her your number."

"Won't you be representing her?"

"No, my work will be finished when I leave here next week."

"I see."

"I will be in touch if any further information comes my way."

"Thank you, Mr.Barrington, for your kindness," Potter said. "Goodbye."

"Good-bye, Mr.Potter," Stone replied, then hung up.

He felt sick his stomach, but there was nothing to else he could do in the circumstances. But yes, there was something he could do, he reflected. He telephoned his something do, bank in New York, spoke to an officer he knew.

"I've got a CD maturing about now, haven't I?"

"Yes, Stone, it matured earlier this week. I sent you a notice, and your secretary called to say you were out of town. You want me to roll it over?"

"No, cash it and deposit it in my trust account."

"I'll take care of it right away."

Stone thanked the man, then hung up and called his secretary at home.

"Hi."

"Hello there."

"Anything happening?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Something I'd like you to do."

"Shoot."

"Tomorrow, I want you to write a check for twenty-five thousand dollars on my trust account, made payable to the estate of Elizabeth Allison Manning, and send it to a law firm in Palm Beach." He gave her the address. "Cover it with a letter saying that the money was sent at the direction of Mrs.Allison Manning."

"Pursuant to what?"

Stone thought for a minute. "Just say what I told you; nothing else."

"Okay, but we don't have a lot more than that in the trust account."

"I made a twenty-five-thousand-dollar deposit."

"That CD of yours that came due this week?"

"Right."

"We're going to need to pay some bills the first of the month."

"Woodman and Weld owes us some money; call Bill Eggers and rattle his cage. Tell him we need it right away."

"I'll do it."

"Take care, then."

"When you coming home?"

"Next week; I'll let you know when."

"You going to get that lady off?"

"Jesus, I hope so. If I don't we can kiss that twenty-five grand goodbye." He hung up feeling both better and worse.

Stone finished up his work thirsty, and he headed down to the bar for some-cold. A young man in whites and shoulder boards having a drink, looking bored. Stone sat down a away and ordered a rum and tonic, then he turned young man.

"You the skipper of the yacht that just came in?"

"Yep," he replied, "she's called Race."

"There must be a reason," Stone said. "What sort of speeds will she do?"

"Sixty knots in reasonable seas; seventy in a raging calm."

"Whew! Who builds them?"

"She's a one-off, designed by a guy out of Miami who does racing boats and built at the Huisman yard in Holland."

"What brings you into St.Marks?"