Savannah Breeze (35 page)

I patted my pocket
and felt the magic blue pills. Maybe, I thought, I should take one myself. A chill pill. I could use some chilling. My hands were trembling so much I left the tray and the pitcher in the galley and just carried two full glasses up to the deck.

Rory was studying the sheaf of papers Spencer gave him. I set the glasses down on the table. “All set,” I said in a cheery voice.

Harry gave me a questioning look.

“Emma called,” I said. “She's going to pick up a friend at the airport. Right away.”

Rory signed the papers and pushed them back across the table. “Everything looks fine.”

“'Bout damn time,” Harry said. “Where's the damned check?”

“Doobie!” I said sharply.

“It's all right,” Rory said, chuckling. “I don't blame your husband. It's a lot of money.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out a cell phone and an alligator-skin notebook. He put the phone on the tabletop, opened the notebook and extracted a check from it, and handed it over to Spencer.

He held up the phone. “You can call the bank if you like, to check on the availability of the funds. I don't feel comfortable carrying that much cash.”

“That won't be necessary,” Spencer said, examining the check before handing it to Harry.

“All right?” Spencer asked. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in agitation.

Harry shrugged, as though he handled multimillion-dollar business transactions every day. “Looks fine to me.”

I stood up abruptly. “Then let's go,” I announced. “I've got things to do before we leave for Nashville.”

Harry held up his hand. “Just a minute.” He looked over at Rory. “When were you thinking of taking possession of the
Reefer
?”

“Right now,” Rory said, standing up. “I've waited a long time for this. I want to take her out immediately. A shakedown cruise, if you will.”

“Right now?” Harry repeated. “We've got a few things we need to clear out. How 'bout you come back in an hour or so? I can get my stuff unloaded—”

“Right now,” Rory said, his voice deadly calm, his affable smile long gone. “You've had all morning to clear out your stuff. Now, we've signed the papers. You've got your check.” He stuck out his hand, still unsmiling. “Pleasure doing business with you. Any of your belongings you haven't already gotten, I'll pack up and leave with the dockmaster.”

“Shit, man,” Harry muttered. “Nothing like ‘Here's your hat, what's your hurry?'”

“Exactly,” Rory said. He walked us to the gangplank. I was just about to follow Harry over to the dock when he clamped a hand on my neck. “Not you, Anya. Doobie, you don't mind if I have a private word with your lovely wife, do you?”

Harry turned around. I felt my knees start to buckle. My eyes were screaming “No! Don't leave me here!” But I couldn't even croak the word no.

“It'll just take a moment or two,” Rory said, his voice silky. His fingertips massaged my neck ever so lightly. It felt like a snake wrapping itself around my throat. I wanted to gag.

“Just a minute, then,” Harry said reluctantly. “Like she said, we got stuff to do.”

Rory turned and led me back to the table where we'd been sitting only moments before. He leaned in so close his lips brushed my neck. “Do you really intend to stay with that burnt-out troglodyte?”

“He's my husband,” I managed to gasp.

“Leave him,” Rory said. “I want to show you something.” He leaned over to get the backpack. In that second, my hand found the magic blue pills in my pocket. I dropped two of them in his half-empty drink, and slid his cell phone into my pocket, willing him not to notice.

When he came up, he was holding a small black-velvet box.

“The deal breaker,” he said, extending it to me.

I held my breath and opened the box. Inside was a pair of gorgeous emerald earrings, each emerald surrounded by diamonds.

“What?” I gave him a questioning look. “What's this for?”

“You,” he said simply. “A lovely lady should have lovely things.” He jerked his head in Harry's direction. “What's he given you? Grief? Humiliation?”

I snapped the lid of the box and handed it back to him. “I can't. He may be an asshole, but he's my asshole.”

“You're making a mistake,” Rory said. “Don't kid yourself. He'll never change. Addicts don't.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“How old is he, anyway?” Rory asked, annoyed. “He could be your father.”

At that point, I turned my back on him and walked briskly toward the gangplank. Off this boat. Off this dock. Outta here.

When I got to the dock, Harry and Spencer were waiting for me. I turned around. Rory stood on the sundeck watching me. I gave him a finger wave.

He shook his head, but held his glass aloft in a mock salute.

“Cheers!” I called.

He laughed and downed the drink.

“Asshole,” I said, under my breath.

“Let's get outta here,” Harry said. “It's ten till. I want to get to that bank before he manages to call and close that account.”

“I don't think he'll be making any calls,” I said, showing them the cell phone I'd just pocketed.

“What about Liam?” Spencer asked.

“Not our problem anymore,” Harry said. “You heard me, I tried to get Rory to let me unload him. But he wasn't having it. So let him deal with Liam.”

I had another pang of guilt. “What if something happens? He could starve to death in that gear locker. Or suffocate or something.”

We were halfway down the dock when we heard the
Reefer
's diesel engines thrum to life.

“Keep walking,” Harry said. “The bank. We've got to get to the bank before he does.”

“But Liam!” I said. “Who knows how long Rory will be out before he finds him.”

“He'll only be out about a half hour before he runs out of fuel,” Harry said. “And then he'll have plenty of time to roam around the boat and find his stowaway.”

“How…?”

“I fiddled with the fuel gauge,” Harry said. “Can we go now?”

“Well, okay,” I said. “But I should tell you I did some fiddling of my own.”

“How's that?”

“I slipped some 'ludes in his Bloody Mary.”

“No way,” Harry said. “I was watching you the whole time.”

“I did it when he called me back. He was bending down to get something out of his backpack. I was afraid it was a gun or something. And I had the pills in my pocket. For insurance. It was only a couple. That's when I took the phone too.”

Harry chuckled. “Between us, Roy Eugene Moseley is going to have a short, but very strange voyage.”

We were almost to the Buick when we saw a battered white Toyota pull into the parking lot. The Toyota passed us and the driver, a woman, gave us a small, furtive nod. The man in the passenger seat had a baseball cap pulled low over his face, and he was wearing dark glasses.

“It's Emma,” I said. “And Doobie Bauers.”

“Get in the car,” Harry said. “We need to beat feet.”

Spencer slid into the backseat and I sat up front, riding shotgun with Harry.

“Shame,” Spencer said, looking out the rearview window. “I'd love to see what happens next.”

“Later,” Harry said. “After we get that check deposited in your account.”

Five minutes later we were at the Bank of America. “Turn off the engine,” Spencer instructed. “She burns oil if you leave her motor running too long.”

Harry sighed and rolled down the windows. It was in the high 80s. Perspiration dripped down his face. I was feeling a little moist my ownself.

But Spencer was cool as ice, strolling inside with new pep in his step.

Harry and I sat outside in the car. It was 1:59 by Harry's watch, 1:56 by the clock on the Buick's dashboard. Harry fiddled with the radio, switching stations from gospel to country to oldies to classic rock.

“What did Rory want back there, on the boat?” he asked.

“He wanted me to leave you. He offered me a really nifty pair of emerald and diamond earrings too,” I said. “He said you're an addict, and you'll never change.”

“That's bullshit,” Harry snapped. “People change all the time.”

“You asked,” I said lightly. “I'm just reporting the conversation.”

“He's a professional bullshit artist,” Harry said. “A pathological liar, a thief, a con artist. What else did he say?”

“He called you a troglodyte,” I said, with a giggle. “And he said you're way too old for me. Hey, Harry, just how old are you?”

He turned and gave me a cold stare. “Not that it matters,” I added. “You've got a very youthful spirit.”

Five minutes later, Spencer came strolling out of the bank, whistling merrily. He opened the back door and hopped inside. “All done,” he announced.

“Really?” I twisted around in the seat. “You're sure? The check's good? And you made it before the two o'clock close of business?”

“Everything's fine and dandy,” Spencer said. He handed me a slip of white paper. “There's the deposit slip. I had them wire it to BeBe's account in Savannah. Five million. All nice and legal.”

“Sort of,” I said.

Harry started the Buick's engine and we drove off.

“Let's just cruise through the parking lot at Bahia Mar,” I said. “I'm dying to see what the real Doobie Bauers looks like.”

“No way,” Harry said, his jaw set. “We are not going anywhere near that marina. What if Reddy already found Liam? What if he's turned right back around to Bahia Mar? We are getting the hell out of Dodge before it gets too hot around here.”

BeBe was sitting on her suitcase in front of the office at the Mango Tree, elbows propped on her knees. And right beside her were three more suitcases. She jumped to her feet as soon as we pulled into the parking lot. “What happened? Did you get the money?”

“We did it!” Spencer hollered, jumping out of the car before Harry even had it in park. “By God, we did it. We skinned him good.”

“For real?” BeBe squealed. “You got the money? He fell for the whole thing?”

“Hook, line, and sinker,” Harry drawled. BeBe fell into his arms. He picked her up and spun her around, and there was a good deal of showy kissing.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” BeBe said, picking up her suitcase. “I can't wait to get back to Savannah, and I especially can't wait to see the look on those snotty Arrendales when I kick them out of my house and make them give back my painting.”

“And then what?” Harry was loading suitcases into the trunk of the Buick. “What happens after you do all that, BeBe?”

“I get my old life back,” she said triumphantly. “Only better. Because I'll have you in it now.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He looked at his watch. “I guess we'd better hit the road then. We wouldn't want you to miss any of your old life, now, would we?”

“One last thing,”
Weezie announced. “You guys owe me. You owe me and Spencer.”

“What's that?” I asked, turning around in the seat to face her.

“We've got to go back to Bahia Mar,” she insisted. “We can't just leave without finding out what happens next. BeBe, just as we were leaving, Emma was pulling into the parking lot. With the real Doobie.”

“What?” I glanced over at Harry. “Is that right?”

“Yup,” Harry said. “Doobie ran away from rehab yesterday and flew into Fort Lauderdale this morning. Anya called to tell Emma he was on his way, and to have her tell Liam that under no circumstances was he to let Doobie take the
Reefer Madness
out.”

“And then Doobie himself called,” Weezie put in excitedly. “I almost died when I picked up the phone and he said he was at the airport.”

“Didn't he wonder who you were?” I asked.

“I just told him I was a friend of Liam's,” Weezie said. “I told him Liam was out running errands, but I'd have Emma pick him up at the airport. And then Doobie said to tell Liam to make sure he went to the candy store, 'cause they were gonna need plenty of candy for their run over to Bimini. According to Liam, that was Doobie's code to tell him to make a drug buy.”

“Anya's on her way down here too,” Harry added. “Her plane should have landed by now.”

“The stuff's about to hit the fan,” Granddad said. “Love to be a fly on that wall.”

“That's why we've got to go back to the marina,” Weezie repeated. “I have just got to find out what's going on.”

“We can ask Emma,” I said. “She can fill us in later. After we get back to Savannah. But we are not risking everything by going back to that marina.”

Harry looked over at me.

“What?”

“Weezie's right. She put herself out on a limb for you. She got pawed by Liam and hit on by Roy Eugene. All out of friendship for you. This won't take long. We can just cruise by and see what's happening. Don't you think you owe her that much?”

Granddad gave me a not so subtle nod and a wink.

“Okay,” I said with exaggerated reluctance. “I've been cooped up in that motel room for two days now. Let's go check it out. But if there's any sign of Reddy, Harry, don't even slow down.”

“Don't worry,” Harry said. “None of us is anxious to see him again.”

“He did buy me some beautiful earrings,” Weezie said. “Emeralds and diamonds.”

“Probably phony,” Harry put in. “Like everything else about him.”

When we got to the parking lot at Bahia Mar, things were jumping. At the marina entrance, there were three Fort Lauderdale police cruisers parked with blue lights flashing, along with an assortment of other cars, and vans equipped with satellite television thingies. A helicopter hovered overhead.

“Wow,” Weezie said, reading the logos on the vans. “CBS, ABC, NBC, and FoxTV.”

“Look,” Granddad said, pointing out the window. “That fella in the orange T-shirt and ball cap. He's the one we saw in Emma's car.”

“It's Doobie,” Harry said. “Gotta be.”

The real Doobie Bauers was surrounded by uniformed police offi
cers, and a horde of camera-and microphone-toting reporters. He was talking and making wild gestures in the general direction of the dock. As we watched, a cab pulled up to the entrance, and a petite blond woman hopped out and made a beeline for the crowd. Running right along behind her was a middle-aged man dressed all in black, with a gray goatee.

“Roll down the windows,” Weezie begged. “That's gotta be Anya. I wonder who that is with her? Come on, roll 'em down. I want to hear what happens next.”

Harry rolled all the windows down, but we were still too far away.

“Can't hear a damn thing,” Granddad complained. He opened the car door. “I'm goin' over there.”

“Me too,” Weezie announced, opening the other door.

Harry looked at me and shrugged. “Just for a minute,” he said, jamming a ball cap on his head. “Nobody here knows us from Adam. We're just interested bystanders.”

“And unindicted co-conspirators,” I muttered, but I couldn't resist either. I twisted my hair into a ponytail and poked it up under Weezie's abandoned straw hat, and donned my own sunglasses.

“Wait up,” I called to Harry.

We stood at the far edge of the crowd. I'm short anyway, but it was nearly impossible to see through the mass of cameramen and reporters.

“What's going on?” I finally asked a teenager who had a minicam trained on the action.

“That old white guy in the orange shirt is telling the cops that somebody stole his yacht,” the kid said, lowering the camera. “He's supposed to be some famous rock star, I heard on my police scanner at home. That's why I came over here. Thought maybe I could shoot some footage to sell to
COPs
or
Hard Copy
. But, dude, he's like, way old.”

“What's his name?” I asked, all innocence.

A young woman in a T-shirt with a Z-103 Zoo-Crew logo shook
her head. “Doobie Bauers. He used to be in Meat Loaf. That's why my producer sent me over here. But c'mon. Meat Loaf? That is so yesterday.” Her voice dripped disgust. “Waste of time.”

I could hear a high-pitched voice now, berating the officers. I stood on my tiptoes to get a better look, but all I could see was the backs of reporters' heads. I circled around and snaked my way through the pack. Finally, I wedged myself in between a tall black guy with a long boom mike and a short brunette in a cheesy yellow linen suit that screamed recent college grad. She had a notebook and was scribbling like mad.

“What are you people doing, standing around with your thumbs up your ass?” Anya screamed, getting right in a cop's face. “A crime has been committed. That boat is worth seven million dollars. And you're just standing around.”

I could hear Doobie saying something, but couldn't get the gist of it.

“What's going on?” I asked the reporter with the notebook. “Who's that woman? What's she been saying?”

“Name's Anya Bauers,” the girl said, still scribbling. “And that's her husband. Doobie. Spelled D-O-O-B-I-E. He apparently ran away from the Betty Ford Center and showed up here today. She followed him down. Sort of an intervention, I guess. But now his yacht's been stolen, and she's screamin' at the cops to do something.”

“Who's the guy in black?” I asked. Goatee man had an arm around Doobie's shoulder, obviously trying to calm him down, but the more goatee talked, the more agitated Doobie became.

“Somebody said that's his therapist,” the reporter said. “But then somebody else said they think it's his business manager.”

“I heard it's his nutritionist,” a crew-cut guy in a white dress shirt and striped tie said. “His wife told the cops her husband is suffering from an electrolyte imbalance, and that's why he's been acting erratic.”

Another reporter, this one wearing a headset, turned to the reporter with the boom mike. “Hey, Jack,” he said excitedly. “That's the
desk back at the station. The Coast Guard just radioed in that they intercepted the missing yacht, beached on a sandbar a couple miles out. Get this, the name of the boat is the
Reefer Madness.
They're towing it over to the Coast Guard station.”

The little newspaper chick chortled and scribbled madly.

“Oh, man,” the headset reporter said. “They've radioed to have ATF meet 'em at the dock. Apparently they found a huge stash of drugs onboard. There were warrants out on the guy who stole the yacht. They even found the boat's first mate, tied up and handcuffed in a closet. Says he was taken hostage. Let's go. I wanna get over there and get some footage of the boat before the feds get everything roped off and locked down.”

I quietly inched my way out and around the crowd until I found Harry, chatting with a cameraman beside the FoxTV van.

“Hey,” he said, glancing over at me. “Did you hear? They found the
Reefer Madness.
Apparently the guy who was stealing it ran aground on a sandbar. He ran out of gas. What a loser!”

“Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “Don't you just love a happy ending?”