82 Desire

end they did have sushi, and after that, they walked on the beach near their hotel.
    The next day they hit the yacht brokers.
    It was after lunch when they found the guy who sold him the boat—Gilbert Angus at Angus Yachts, sole proprietor, and from the looks of things, sole staff member. Angus was in his mid-fifties, perhaps, fit and tan, with slightly bowed legs sticking out of khaki shorts. He took one look at the picture of Russell, nodded, and said, “ On Y Va. “
    Skip was buffaloed. Angus was the last guy she could imagine saying a mantra, which was what it sounded like to her.
    But Steve said, “Let’s go where?”
    Angus laughed. “The name of the boat. ‘Let’s go’ in French. A Pearson thirty-eight; eighty-four.”
    Gradually, they sorted it out: the boat was thirty-eight feet long, and used—an ‘84, in car terms. The man in the picture paid cash.
    “Cash?” That was a shocker.
    “Fifty-six thousand.”
    “May we see the papers, please?”
    It turned out an Edward Favret had bought the boat, giving the same Uptown New Orleans address as the real Edward Favret and using his driver’s license as identification.
    “Nice guy,” Angus said. “What’s he wanted for?”
    “Routine questioning.”
    “All the way from New Orleans and it’s routine?” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, wait a minute. Hold it here.” He turned his back on them and started picking through a pile of newspapers on a table. “Here.” He tapped one. “This is what it’s about, isn’t it?”
    It was a story on the mini-crime wave in which Beau was featured as the star victim. “It’s all here. United Oil, United Oil.” He was looking back and forth between Edward Favret’s stats and the story on Beau. “This guy killed his partner, didn’t he? I should have known. He didn’t seem like a druggie, but he had all that cash. Goddamn, I just should have known.”
    After that, he was so helpful Skip couldn’t get a word in to ask a question. “You know, the guy just didn’t seem right. ‘Course, nobody who pays cash seems right. Edward Favret his real name? ‘Cause, you know, that picture on his driver’s license—I remember thinking it didn’t look much like him.” He gestured so wildly Skip was afraid she’d be hit. “But, you know, nine out of ten people—that’s the way it is—I just didn’t think.”
    “Did he give a local address?”
    “No, just that one. He said he didn’t have a slip yet.”
    “In a marina, you mean?”
    “I guess.” He thought a minute. “You can rent a mooring from someone who lives on the river or one of the canals, but that’s dicey. Must have meant a marina.”
    “Wait a minute. See if you can remember the conversation exactly.”
    “I just told you what it was.” Angus was suddenly testy.
    “How did he happen to mention he didn’t have a slip?”
    “I told you. I asked for a local address and that’s what he said.”
    “Tell me about this sailboat he bought—is it something you could live on?”
    “That’s what I just told you.”
    “Uh-huh. And could you take it cruising?”
    “Of course. That’s what it’s for.”
    “But was it your impression that he intended to live on it?”
    “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
    “Are there special marinas for that?”
    He shrugged. “Some might be better than others. Why don’t you call around? There’s lots of them.” He swung an arm wildly. “All up and down the coast. Unless he had a friend—and it sounds like he didn’t—he probably did what I’d do.” He stopped and licked his lips, evidently thinking he had a hot tip.
    “What’s that?”
    “Just turn to the M’s in the Yellow Pages and call till he found a slip.”
    Steve rolled his eyes.
    Skip punched him gently. “Thanks. Say, I’m wondering something. Did you happen to notice what kind of car he was driving?”
    Angus looked chagrined. “Nope. He walked in—don’t know where he parked.”
    “Well, thanks again. We really appreciate your help.”
    When they were outside, she said to Steve, “He had to have parked somewhere. I mean, he could have taken a taxi, but renting a car’s cheaper.”
    “He bought the damn boat—maybe he bought a car. Naah. Probably not. He probably fired up the boat and headed for Timbuktu.”
    “I don’t know. I’ve got a feeling that slip thing was—you know—a slip. You just wouldn’t think about mentioning a slip as an address unless it was.”
    After that it was a piece of