Dead in the Water

such a diet?”
    “For about a week,” she replied. “Paul was incapable of dieting for longer than that.”
    “Right,” Stone said and addressed himself to the coroner and the jury. “Paul Manning was grossly overweight and had been clogging his coronary arteries with cholesterol for many years. He was, in short, a heart attack waiting to happen, and happen it did, in exactly the way Mrs. Manning has described. You have heard how she coped with this disaster at sea, and I put it toyou that she could not have invented such a story. It is simply too heartrending not to be true. This brave woman has lost her husband under extraordinary circumstances and then mustered the fortitude to save their yacht and her own life. You cannot believe otherwise. Thank you for your time, Your Honor, gentlemen.” Stone sat down.
    The coroner turned to Sir Winston. “Do you have any further questions?”
    “None,” Sir Winston replied almost inaudibly, looking at his knees.
    “Gentlemen,” the coroner said to the jury, “do any of you have a question?”
    The jury was mute.
    “Then I will ask you to retire and consider your verdict.”
     
    Stone and Allison Manning sat at the bar of the Shipwright’s Arms, as Thomas Hardy’s restaurant and inn was called, and sipped piña coladas.
    “I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “I’ll give you my address in Connecticut, and you can send me your bill.”
    “For practicing law in a foreign country without a license?” Stone asked. “I’d be disbarred.”
    “What do you think the verdict will be?”
    “You can never tell about a jury, even a coroner’s jury, but I believe we answered every point Sir Winston made. I’m optimistic.”
    “So am I; you did a brilliant job.”
    “You’re too kind. What are your plans now?”
    “I suppose I’ll go home and settle Paul’s affairs. He had a lawyer and an accountant; I’m sure they’ll help me. We both made wills before we left on the transatlantic—simple ones, each leaving everything to the other.”
    “What will you do with the yacht?”
    “Sell it, I suppose; I’ve spent all the time on that boat I ever want to.”
    “I’d buy it myself—I’ve always admired Swans—but I think I’m a few years away from being able to afford one. My advice is to get it ferried back to the States—Fort Lauderdale, maybe—where there’s a brisk market in expensive yachts.”
    Thomas tapped lightly on the bar and nodded in the direction of the meeting hall.
    Stone turned and saw the coroner approaching, an envelope in his hand. They had not yet been out of the meeting hall for half an hour.

Chapter
6
    T he coroner handed the envelope to Allison Manning. “Here is your husband’s death certificate,” he said. “Please accept my condolences.”
    “Thank you,” Allison replied.
    He turned toward Stone. “For what it’s worth, I thought you did a very good job.” He turned and walked away.
    Allison handed the envelope to Stone. “You open it,” she said.
    Stone tore open the envelope and read the certificate.
    “Well,” Allison asked, “what was the verdict?”
    “It’s an open verdict,” Stone said. “The jury felt it had insufficient information to assign a cause of death.”
    “And what does that mean to me, legally?”
    “In my opinion,” Stone said, “it means you should get the hell out of St. Marks right now.”
    “Do you mean you think Sir Winston might still come after me?”
    “It’s certainly possible,” Stone replied.
    “If you’ll forgive me for butting in,” Thomas Hardy said, “I think it’s more than just possible.”
    “Thomas used to be a New York City policeman,” Stone said, “and he knows how things work here. Thomas, do you have any idea what the airline schedule is?”
    Thomas looked at his watch. “There’s a daily flight out of Antigua for San Juan in an hour and a half, and you’ll have to get Chester to fly her to Antigua.”
    “Who’s Chester?” Allison asked.
    “He flies a Cessna twin to Antigua, by arrangement,” Thomas replied. “Would you like me to call him and the airlines?”
    “Please,” Stone said.
    They sipped their drinks nervously while Thomas did his telephoning.
    “You’re on the flight from Antigua,” Thomas said, hanging up. “Now let me see if I can raise Chester.” He dialed another number. “Chester? You got room for one lady to Antigua, right smart? Good. She’ll be along.” He hung up. “You’d better get going,” he