Стюарт Вудс - Foul Play

“I did some business with some people who turned out to be disagreeable,” Shep said, “and I don’t want to see or hear from them. I hope you don’t mind the precautions.”

“You mean the man on the top deck with a rifle?”

“I expect so. I’m leaving that to the captain. I understand you’re a painter. In what style?”

“Sort of impressionist, I suppose. I paint what I see. And you, Shep. What do you do?”

“I had a career in a family business, and when my father passed on, I sold it.”

“To the disagreeable people?”

“They were agreeable enough, until after we had closed, then they began making demands that weren’t covered by our contract and I declined to have anything more to do with them. They keep trying to arrange a meeting, one that I have no wish to attend.”

“Are you hoping they’ll get tired and go away?”

“Exactly.”

“And where are you living in the meantime?”

“I left Lenox, in Massachusetts, and moved to New York.”

“Where?”

“I have an apartment at the Carlyle Hotel. And you? Are you in Woods Hole the year around?”

“No, I go back to New York in the autumn. I have an apartment in the Dakota, on Central Park West.”

“Then you’re conveniently located.”

She laughed. “I try to be. How long have you had the yacht?”

“Oh, it belongs to some business associates, who were kind enough to lend it to me for our evening.”

“I thought you were retired.”

“I’m an investor, now.” He showed her the menu. “How does this sound? I’m told we can order anything we like.”

“Looks good to me. I eat anything.”

“So do I.”

There was the sound of another boat’s engines, and Captain Tim appeared. “Would you mind stepping into the saloon for a moment?” he asked. “We have some passersby who are a little too curious.”

They picked up their drinks and stepped into the saloon, where the blinds had been lowered, while the captain stepped out on deck.

“Beautiful boat!” someone yelled.

“Thank you!” Tim yelled back.

“May we come aboard and have a look around?”

“I’m afraid not. The owner does not welcome uninvited guests.”

“Is he aboard? May I speak to him?”

“He is at dinner and does not wish to be disturbed.”

“Perhaps tomorrow then?”

“Perhaps not, and please keep your distance. We wouldn’t want an incident, would we?”

“Whatever you say.”

They heard the boat put into gear and begin to motor away.

Tim came back into the saloon. “Perhaps it would be better to serve dinner inside,” he said.

“Perhaps so,” Shep replied.

“Is that what you’ve been expecting?” Phil asked.

“I haven’t been expecting anything,” Shep said. “Least of all, you. You are an unexpected delight.”

Dinner was served.

Shep and Phil dined before the saloon’s fireplace, which took the chill off the night.

“This is a delightful way to spend the evening,” Phil said.

“And you are a delightful person to spend it with,” Shep said.

She laughed. “Shep, how long has it been since you spent an evening alone with a woman?”

“Longer than I’d care to think about,” Shep replied. “How long since you’ve had... pardon me, dined alone with a man?”

“Your first choice of words would have been appropriate,” she replied. “Almost as long as your, ah, abstinence.”

“Perhaps we can do something about that after dinner,” Shep said.

“I’ll think about that,” Phil said.

Captain Tim appeared in the saloon with their dessert. “Please let me know when you’d like to go back ashore,” he said to Phil. “No rush at all.”

“I’d like to go back by midnight,” Phil said, then turned to Shep. “I’m in the middle of a painting that I’ve promised to a client, and I’d like to finish it tomorrow.”

“Of course. It’s only eight o’clock; we have plenty of time. Shall we have coffee and brandy in the owner’s cabin?” Shep asked.

“What a good idea.”

Shep gave the steward instructions, and they finished dessert.

The captain came into the saloon. “Your coffee and cognac are waiting in the owner’s cabin,” he said.

“Any further sign of our visitors?”

“They went past us into the inner harbor, and we haven’t seen them since, so I assume they’re at anchor there.”

“What sort of boat was it?”

“A Hinckley motor yacht, a 43, I should think.”

“Did you get her name?”

“No, but a crew caught sight of her hailing port: Wilmington, Delaware.”

Shep nodded. “Thank you, Tim. We’ll call when we’re ready to go ashore.”

“Ah, Mr. Troutman, the owners think it would be better if you remain aboard the tender. A crewman will take Ms. Grant ashore and see her to her door.”

Shep started to object, but Phil interrupted. “It’s all right, Shep. I’ll be in good hands.”

“Oh, all right. This security business is beginning to get boring.”

After dessert, they made their way down to the owner’s suite, where they found a silver coffee service and a bottle of cognac with two crystal snifters sitting on a mahogany cart at bedside.

“Oh, how beautiful!” Phil enthused. “Is there a head?”

“One for each of us,” Shep said, pointing. “That’s yours.”

She excused herself, and when she came back fifteen minutes later she was wearing a terry robe. She tossed another on the bed. “I believe this is for you,” she said, and busied herself pouring coffee and brandy while he undressed and got into the robe. They drank their coffee sitting up in bed, and then she took away the cups.

“The service is pretty good around here,” Shep said.

“And we’re only getting started,” she said, shedding her robe and tugging at his.

They kissed, and it turned into a long one. Soon, they had finished their cognac and were naked in bed. From there, things improved — from good to better.

They were asleep in each other’s arms when there was a rap on the cabin door.

“Yes?” Shep called out.

“Sir, it’s a quarter to twelve. The tender is ready whenever Ms. Grant is.”

“She’ll be there shortly,” Shep said, starting to get dressed.

“You’re not coming ashore, are you?” Phil asked.

“I’ll accompany you to the town dock, and the crewman can escort you from there.”

“Whatever you’d like,” she said.

“I’d like to take you home with me,” he said. “It’s not far.”

“Next time.”

They shoved off from the boarding ladder a few minutes later and headed into Woods Hole. Shep noticed that there was a Winchester lever-action rifle mounted next to the steering station.

“What’s that for?” Shep asked the crewman.

“Pirates,” the young man said.

“Do you encounter them often?”

“Well, a boat just followed us out of the inner harbor and is holding back in our wake.”

Shep looked back. There was no moon, and it was a cloudy night. He could see nothing.

The crewman hopped out and secured the lines. “I’ll be back in ten minutes,” he said.

Shep kissed Phil good night and sent her ashore. He collapsed into a chair and pondered for a few minutes what an unexpectedly good evening he had had. Then he sat bolt upright. He heard something that sounded very much like a pistol shot ashore.

Shep grabbed the Winchester, checked to be sure it was loaded, and leapt off the boat onto the dock. He hit the boards running, just as he heard a woman scream and a man shout something.

He remembered from his street map where Phil’s house was, and he could see a sign over the door at the end of the street that read: grant. As he ran another shot rang out, and the sign shattered and fell in pieces.