Windward Whisperings (11 page)

If very pregnant Sedona hadn’t been taken over by the nesting instinct, Kitzie knew her affair
with Garrett would have been obvious. One afternoon Sedona pulled her aside and told her a
private detective had asked questions. Kitzie thanked her for letting her know.

At the crack of dawn Thursday, there was enough visible light over the empty grounds of the
Biltmore estate for Kitzie to make out the figure of Leviticus Blake. No doubt, Biltmore had hired
him for his security capacity. From his vantage point, he could snap photos of a certain someone’s
car in her driveway. Fortunately, it wasn’t there.

Since the wiretapping scare, her pact with Garrett was one of avoidance at work. She didn’t look
forward to going to the office. All week she’d sensed defiance in his body language and voice. Other
times he’d looked so sad that she wanted to give him a hug.

Guilt was burning through him like toxic waste.
With another day ahead, she’d steer clear of him as usual. It wasn’t that she didn’t miss him. The
longing she felt reminded her that he’d be gone in a little over five months. She couldn’t help but
look forward to Friday. They’d be together on the plane on their scheduled visit to his grandparents’
assisted living complex.
She phoned Coral, knowing she would be getting ready for school. “Hey, Coral. Feel like taking
a bike ride later?”
“Kitzie, I’m so sorry. I have midterms tomorrow. I’ll have to skip out.”
“Good girl, you’re studying. I’m going to be out of town over the weekend. I’m afraid you’ll
have to volunteer at the hospital without me.”
“Sure, Kitzie. What about Thor? I can take care of him while you’re gone.”
“Thank you so much.” After she wound up their conversation, she realized how different her
life would be soon. Coral would leave for college. Garrett would be gone.
She needed to be consumed. It’d be the best way to mourn loss. She wanted to be so busy she
wouldn’t be able to think.
In and out of her consciousness, a restless thought was no longer intermittent. She stood for a
minute to catch her breath.
Timing was perfect to buy Piermont Sails.
To be a contender, she’d sell her cottage. The proceeds would serve as the down payment. The
sailmaking factory didn’t have living quarters, but she was sure she’d find a place to rent.
Her heart soared with the thought of bringing her family’s business back to life. But, before she
could find buyers for sails made by Piermont, she’d have to make them unique. Over the years,
she’d studied up on a new fabric, Vectran. With its high strength, low stretch, and lighter weight
than Dacron, it had a topcoat for ultraviolet protection. The newly invented cloth had two
advantages. Vectran was sensitive to light winds and strong enough to handle extreme wind loads
without losing shape.
By noon, a third of the employees called in sick. Two salesmen filed complaints for a stressrelated illness caused by “workplace bullying by the consultant,” but three returned to work. No one
went postal, but Garrett received a venomous e-mail that day.
She didn’t have the opportunity to discuss it with him at work. He’d mentioned going to lunch,
but as busy as he was, she assumed he’d forgotten. She walked to her car. Concerned about the email, she phoned him. “Gar, turn that nasty e-mail over to Leviticus Blake. He’ll work with the
cops.”
“I’ll take your advice on that. What are you doing?”
“It’s such a lovely day. I thought I’d take a walk.”
“I have meetings all day. I’ll be in and out. Can I pick you up at seven?”
“Where are we going?”
“Duke’s.”
“You’re irresistible.”
And impossible.
She hung up quickly, not telling him she planned to walk the
property at Piermont Sails.
She drove past the cemetery and glanced at a larger-than-life marble angel. Wings outstretched,
the angel was sculpted with her hands covering her eyes.
Cheer up, will you?
Driving into the industrial section, she pulled onto the street, Piermont Place. Her hands felt
cold on the steering wheel as she parked. Getting out, she crossed her arms and rubbed them
briskly. The sun was setting after another dry, windy day. She wished for a hard rain, for trees full of
dripping leaves.
She moved with a certain frankness that comes to a person who’s alone. Now that she was there,
she felt less certain. She scowled at the ground ahead of her feet, an uncertain trail. She was doing
pretty well. She was about to risk everything she had.
As she stood on the property of Piermont Sails, her cell phone rang, playing the strains of
Heartbreaker
. “Learn anything, Gar?”
“No surprise. It originated from the laptop of Vinny Devine. If he throws mud, I’ll bury him in
it.”
“Doesn’t sound like Vinny. He’s an upfront asshole.”
“I phoned Leviticus. He’s handling it. So, for now, I’m out of the loop.”
“Good. One less thing you have to worry about.”
Walking, she passed the shabby entrance of Piermont. She peered into a window. The break
room for the employees looked just as bleak.
By this time, she’d walked around the building and had made up her mind. Working for Naiad
was a job. This was a business. She wanted it to be hers. She took out her cell and phoned the
realtor that handled the sale when she bought the cottage.
They exchanged news before realtor Sara Feigenbaum got to the point. “It’s cozy and has an
ocean view. It’s a bargain at two million. We’ll start at two and a half. It’ll sell fast.”
“Even faster if it’s a cash buyer, I suspect.”
“True. When can I come over and take photos?”
“I can be home in a half hour.”
“See you then. I’ll get it into multiple listings and have your charming home sold this weekend.”
Kitzie pictured twenty-five-watt bulbs in the pitted, brass-colored sconce that lit the stairway.
Soon photos would be taken. Paperwork would be signed.
She’d made tough choices before. Good or bad, a choice that involved sacrifice was a world
made new.

She could tell the minute she stepped into their corner office that Garrett was operating in his
professional mode. It was nothing new. He’d been like that all week.
Under pressure, his entire body was a stick of dynamite, lit with a fuse. The wild man was
buttoned-down. His nickname Loup de Mer leaned toward the Machiavellian.
A perfect fit
, she
thought. “Bon jour, monsieur.”
“What? Oh, good morning.” His good manners, not him, said, “We planned on lunch today, you
and I. How about Madge’s Corner Bakery?”
“Lunch is officially over. What’s the name of the broker handling Piermont?”
He delayed answering.
“I’ve caught you off guard. Disturbed the blinders of the driven accountant once again.”
He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not going to discuss it, Kitzie.”
Work had been a way for her to learn of his rigid boundaries. To think she’d once thought he
could be led around by the nose. “Hmm, okay.”
He made a short, dismissive laugh with both hands up. “I can’t let your situation dictate what’s
best for Naiad. You can’t expect me to keep you informed.”
It was a defining moment, knowing how far she could push him. “I’m not supposed to bring
this up again, am I?”
“Don’t even think about it. I can’t breach conflict of disclosure. With your projects, you have
complete latitude.”
She did, but even then, if they discussed something, his explanations were on point and
understated. His hand was never on her knee, and that was too bad. She would have relished
throwing it off.
Because of the way he had distanced himself, she left again without a word. Ten minutes passed,
and he hadn’t phoned her cell. Probably he hadn’t realized she was gone. She felt more sadness than
anger as she hopped in her car and drove around the peninsula twice, everything blurring past her
windows. The third time around, she noticed the sign to the civic center.
She checked her rearview mirror and put on her left turn signal. As soon as there was a break in
traffic, she whipped the car across the boulevard. In the parking lot, she pulled into a space and
bumped her front fender against the curb.
She stopped at a lunch kiosk and bought a take-out corned beef on rye to bring back to Garrett.
For herself, she bought a salad and iced tea and then walked toward the rose garden and fountain.
When she was just a girl, her mother and Millie Pugh had spearheaded the design. It had taken them
months to iron out the details.
The garden faced a broad public beach. Roses fragranced the air, brick paths crisscrossed, and
there, strolling among laurel topiaries, she noticed how they complimented columns of palms. Water
splashed over a marble statue of Naiad and fell into the surrounding pool blooming with white
water lilies.
It’s really pretty, Mother.
Naiad Boatworks had been named for this statue, she
remembered. When it went public, many residents poured money into it.
A red-tiled portico provided shade. She sat under it, opened the cellophane package around her
salad, and looked across the boulevard at the endless ocean. As she took a bite, she thought about
Garrett. His preoccupied persona was getting under her skin. At the same time, she respected him.
She began to wonder if he’d become aware of her absence.
She laughed knowing that her display of temper, stomping off, had gone unnoticed.
Nevertheless, he’d been the one who’d suggested she come along to visit his grandparents. Except
for his mention of e-tickets on Sunday, they hadn’t talked of this trip across the continent. She’d set
that time aside and looked forward to seeing them.
Concerned with their disappointment if he didn’t go, she decided to phone him. “Gar, about our
trip east—”
“Damn, babe. The broker flies in on Saturday. I’ll have to cancel our tickets.”
That was the first time he called her babe. Even though he’d infuriated her, she rather liked it.
“Would you mind if ‘babe’ visited them without you?”
He laughed. “You’d do that for me?”
“I’d love to see them again.” She wanted to put some joy into their lives and get out of her
house at the same time.
“What about Thor?”
“Coral said she’d take him, but if you would, it’d be better. She’s a preoccupied teen. I don’t
want Thor to be an inconvenience for her parents.”
“Did you go to lunch without me?”
“You looked busy. I’m bringing you back a sandwich. I’ll leave it on your desk.”
“You’re incredible.”

The afternoon passed, and Garrett’s sandwich remained intact on his mahogany desk. She felt
guilty, not having hurried back.
He must be starving.
Sitting in her alcove at her computer, she scanned Craigslist for rentals. If her house sold as
quickly as Sara anticipated, she’d need a place to live. After making twenty calls, she realized it was
close to impossible for a dog owner to rent. That included vacant units in Stucco City Park. For the
umpteenth time, she heard, “No pets, sorry,” and a click. Her circumstances drove her to consider
boat living. A cabin would suffice. It would give her an opportunity to test and retest her first set of
Vectran sails on a large boat.
With work completed, she left the office at five. She drove home, pulled into the driveway, and
rolled down her window.
“Here, Thor. We’re going bye-bye.”
He darted through the doggy door. His toenails scraped the wooden floor of the porch and he
leaped across the grass to her car.
“Good dog.” She opened her car door, and he flew over her. “We’re taking a ride to the wharf.”
Thor barked in agreement.
She pulled out a dog seatbelt from various canine items under the seat. She eased the harness
around him and secured him. It felt right bringing her furry friend on her search for a boat. The
sailing craft would have to be within her means. Only a used one would be reasonably priced, she
knew.
As she drove, she considered minimum requirements. She needed a kitchen, a bathroom, a table,
and two berths. “The boat will rock us to sleep,” she said. “We’ll awaken to the sounds of the sea.
I’ll sip coffee on the deck.”
Her dog barked, matching her excitement.
When she stopped at a traffic light, she rolled down the passenger window so that Thor could
stick his head out. Her mind whipped through obstacles. “Don’t worry, Thor. I’ll take you on more
runs.” She could move household possessions into a storage locker, she decided.
“Come, you great lump.” She clipped a leash onto his collar, opened her door, and they hopped
out. Hardly able to contain herself, she jogged in sandals along the boardwalk. Thor padded
alongside.
The wharf was hopping, typical for a Friday night. Boats were being rigged for moonlight harbor
magic. The wind was light, but sailing yachts had motors.
She took notice of well-wishers, waving off a couple. It was clear they were newlyweds with their
sloop decorated with white streamers. The groom started up their diesel while he kissed his bride.
With concern for the couple’s safety, Kitzie felt compelled to yell a warning. “Watch out for harbor
traffic.”
The groom made a quick turn to avoid a Starr-14 and waved back. Soon the couple looked dizzy
with love again.
A recent memory flooded her mind. Garrett had kissed her with that same thoroughness. She
wouldn’t have been able to think of much else either.
As she watched them head for a Catalina honeymoon, she spotted the “Just Married” sign on
the stern.
She was looking for another type of sign, “For Sale.”
Thor sniffed the planks for interesting scents. She pulled him along to examine boats. Most were
in need of major fix-ups. She paused while Thor barked at a pelican sitting on a piling. She took in a
breath, tasting both salt and petrol in the air, and walked the wharf another hour.
She was about to give up when a sign on the mast of an Avalon-40 caught her eye. The owner
had rigged it. She gazed up at the hoisted, ill-fitting sails. With the wind near dead, the tattered
mainsail drooped. Still, the boat seemed to crouch by the dock like a feral cat ready to leap.
“Hey there, Kitz.” Woody breezed toward her. “Go aboard.” He took Thor’s leash from her and
patted his head.
“I’d like to.” She gave him a hug, kissed his bearded cheek. “Who owns it?” She hopped onto
the deck. The narrow hull rocked just a bit, and she grabbed the mast.
“An exec bought it, someone you know, very well apparently. There was this party at the
Talbots—”
“Say no more.” She cringed, remembering their hot-and-heavy front porch escapade. Somehow,
she worried about Millie and shaming her deceased mother.
“Leviticus Blake is discreet. He’s only told me.”
“Is Leviticus a saint?” She turned to watch him grin.
“He’d be Saint Leviticus if the old scripture had them.”
She watched chattering seagulls take flight behind him.
“Our detective put the squeeze on the secretary. You know, the one ready-to-pop.”
“Sedona mentioned it.”
“He told me that asking her anything was like breaking into Fort Knox.”
“Sedona is a true friend.” She smiled. “Woody, I’m going to resign from Naiad anyway. The
time is right for me.”
“You haven’t dirtied your nest there yet.”
“The sailmaking department is up for grabs. I want it.”
“I’ll be. Well, wanting it and buying it are two different things.”
She nodded. “I’m selling my house as a down payment.”
“Going into business is risky enough. If you go bankrupt and own a home, you can protect it.
Where will you live?”
“On a boat with a cabin. Ready to play broker?”
Woody grabbed the forward stay and pulled the boat closer. “It didn’t come with sails. I rigged it
with old sails, in the hopes that someone might notice it. Not someone like you.”
“Yeah, they’re crap. How much for the boat?” She knew it was performance class, a racing boat
with a radar arch on the stern.
Garrett may have had thoughts of returning to Landings Beach. Perhaps those
thoughts were fleeting.
She stepped into the cockpit. There were two form-fitting white seats with a bench behind. The
dashboard looked like an airplane with a key hole and gears for the diesel. She knew the chrome
steering wheel attached to the rudder. When she opened the hatch to the cabin, she ran a hand over
teakwood paneling. “It’s beautiful.”
“Has a powerful diesel.”
“I saw the double exhausts on the stern.”
“Mackenzie’s asking fifteen. He bought it new for thirty.”
“I’ll take it.” She shuddered. She’d never made major changes in such a short time.
“You’re quite the deal maker. The title’s up in my office. You can bring in your dog.”
“I’ll write you a check. As soon as I get home, I’ll transfer funds from my money market to
cover it.”
“Are you going to race this mother?” Woody asked.
“Absolutely. I’ll have new sails made for her before the Channel Island Regatta.” She knew the
Avalon was one of the international racing classes included. Each boat class had its own race, and
various races were scheduled over one weekend.
“What kind of sails?”
“Vectran, and I hope to prove they win races.”
“Now there’s a happy marriage, you and your boat. You’ll be winning races and selling state-ofthe-art sails.”
His kind eyes made her feel confident. She wondered precisely what she was going to tell
Garrett.
I saw it and needed a place to live, that’s all.
“Woody, let’s take care of this.”
His grin made deep creases in his cheeks. “Come.” He held out his hand to help her off the
boat.
“I feel exhilarated.”
“I can tell.”
A moment later, they were off the dock and plodding up his exterior staircase to his office.
Ahead of him with Thor, she looked behind to see how he was taking the stairs. He was older now,
but didn’t seem to be winded.
Woody swung around a bamboo wind chine suspended from a eucalyptus tree in the still, cold
air. “Glad we don’t have wind. There’s a fire east of us.”
She scanned the parched, weedy grass below and then heard a click. Cigarette smoke curled
upward, and she knew the click was from a lighter. She looked over the railing and spotted a man in
his late thirties wearing a Tommy Bahama shirt. The way he leaned against the building and held his
cigarette with his thumb and forefinger looked staged. It was as if he hoped someone would take his
picture.
Woody looked over the small balcony at the top of the stairs. “Be careful what you do with that
cigarette butt.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it, old man. I know all about the dry conditions.”
Woody pushed open the door to his office.
“I didn’t like his lack of respect. Are you immune to assholes?”
“I do business with plenty of them.”
“Who is he, do you know?”
“An actor, not famous.” He gestured for her to take the chair near his desk. “According to
Millie, his first name is Bud. Gets parts in B-movies. Used to live in Stucco City Park.” He nodded
out the east window toward the coastal range. Fifty-year-old structures called dingbats littered the
hillside.
“Used to, you said.”
“Things must be looking up for him. He bought a condo in the Villa’s.”
“Sounds like he’s a fixture. Still, I don’t like him.”
“So far, he hasn’t given me any trouble.”
Thor curled up on the carpet beside her.
“Don’t mind my office. I fight the pressure of time.”
“What does Millie Pugh have to say about the mess in here?”
“She says, ‘Holy Smokes.’” Woody mimicked her with a squeaky voice. “‘The Indians raided the
place. They tied me up in the closet. My, what they did to me in there!’”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “You know Millie was a friend of my mother. They did major
improvements around Landings Beach.”
“Didn’t they design the rose garden in front of the civic center?”
“Yes, and Millie had put my mother in the best of spirits. Well, I came to do business. And, I
shouldn’t criticize your housekeeping.”
“My office is in shambles.”
“That’s an irony considering your organized brain.”
Smiling, he pulled a notebook from rubble in the corner. Inside was a plastic folder that
contained keys and operating specifications. “I’ll make fifteen percent, paid by the seller.” He set
open the notebook, pulled the title from a plastic encasement, and handed her a pen.
She signed her check and the title before sitting back. “Woody, I need to ask a favor. Garrett
Mackenzie doesn’t trade on inner workings of Naiad. Can you find out the name of the broker
who’s handling the dumping of Piermont Sails?”
“I can and I shall.” Woody flipped through his old-fashioned Rolodex and found Garrett
Mackenzie’s business card. He dialed Garrett’s phone.
“Mr. Mackenzie, this is Harry Woodster. I sold your boat this evening for your asking price,
fifteen thousand. The buyer is here with me, and I’ve got you on speaker. I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“I heard Biltmore’s sailmaking department is being sold. My interest is in the real estate it sits on.
Could you give me the name of the broker?”
“Christian Spencer of New York Boatyard. He’ll be in my office on Saturday. I’m sure he
wouldn’t mind if I gave you his cell.” After rattling off the number, he asked, “Are you upstairs in
your office?”
“I’ll be here for awhile.” Woody slipped the title into its case and handed her the Avalon-40
notebook.
The men wound up the conversation.
Woody said, “Kitz, I can’t help but think this would be a good investment. For me, too, I mean.
You’re totally committed and know what you’re doing. How about I go in on it with you? You know
sailmaking and should have controlling interest. How do you feel about a sixty-forty partnership?”
“That would be great.” She blinked back tears. She bit her lip, squeezed her eyes shut, and then
let the tears flow. “Thank you, Woody.”
He handed her a roll of toilet paper. “Here, sweetheart. I want to thank you, too.”
A long wonderful moment passed while he drew up a contract between them. After they signed,
she explained she’d be out of town over the weekend.
“I’ll handle the purchase which means you’ll give me power of attorney.” He shoved another
paper over.
She signed. “You don’t need to give me an hour-by-hour update. That would make me too
nervous. I’ll just find out when I get back.”
“Unless you hear otherwise on Monday morning, meet me there at nine.” He started humming.
“What are the lyrics to that tune?”
“An old one. I find myself humming it when I buy into a new business. It goes, ‘Love is bonny
when it is young. Fair as a flower when it is new.’ We’ll keep the name, Piermont Sails.”
After a handshake with a peck on his cheek, she left with their partnership contract along with
the title and keys to a nearly new Avalon-40. As she headed down the steps, the setting sun floated
gold along the surface of the water.