Dead in the Water

See what you can do.”
    “I’m already rebooked on tomorrow’s flight, assuming it goes.”
    “Good. What are you up to now?”
    “I’m having dinner with Vance and some friends of his. He actually found a Range Rover somewhere, and he’s picking me up.”
    “Where are you dining?”
    “Wherever’s open, I guess.”
    “I miss you, babe.”
    “And I miss you, my darling. I was looking forward to that first piña colada.”
    “I’m drinking it for you right now. Say, let me give you this number.”
    Thomas shoved a card in front of him.
    Stone read off both the phone and fax numbers “Keep me posted on the flight situation, will you? The boat is moored no more than a hundred yards from this phone.”
    “I will, baby.”
    Stone said good-bye and hung up. “Well, Thomas, it looks like you and me.” He sipped the piña colada. It was perfect—cold, sweet, and pineapply.
    “Let me know when you’re ready for dinner,” Thomas said. “I’ll keep a table for you.” Customers were drifting in now, and a waiter was seating them.
    Stone watched as a large black man dressed in a white linen suit, and in the company of a beautiful café-au-lait woman, entered and was shown to a prime table overlooking the harbor. “Impressive-looking fellow,” he said.
    “That’s Sir Winston Sutherland, the minister of justice,” Thomas said.
    “A mover and shaker?”
    “He both moves and shakes. And if his own opinion holds, he just might be the next prime minister.”
    Stone heard a car door slam and turned to look. The blond woman from the blue yacht, Expansive, had left a police car and, alone, was making her way across the lawn toward the marina.
    “Very nice, huh?” Thomas said.
    “Very nice indeed. She spent the afternoon with the local cops, though. I wonder why.”
    “Word is, the lady left Europe with a husband but arrived in St. Marks without him.”
    Stone turned and looked at the bartender. “I didn’t see anybody else on board when she came into the harbor.”
    “That’s because she was all alone on that big boat.”
    “You mean she sailed it all the way across the Atlantic?”
    “Well, not all the way,” Thomas said. “Her husband was along for part of the time.”
    “Is foul play suspected?”
    “On this island, foul play is always suspected,” Thomas replied. “That lady is going to have to convince a number of people”—he pointed at Sir Winston Sutherland—“that man first among them, that she is as innocent as a newborn lamb.”
    “And how difficult is that likely to be?” Stone asked.
    “It could be very difficult indeed,” Thomas said. “There’s going to be a coroner’s jury over at the town meeting house tomorrow morning. Word is, Sir Winston is asking the questions.”
    “Is that unusual?”
    “Usually the coroner does it.”
    Stone looked over at Sir Winston Sutherland, who was digging into a bowl of something. “What’s he eating?” he asked.
    “Conch chowder.”
    “Well, I suppose you have to be careful of any man with enough daring to eat conch chowder in a white linen suit.”
    “Oh,” Thomas said, “there’s more reason than that to be careful of Sir Winston.”
    When Stone got back to his boat, late, there were lights on in the big blue yacht. He was tempted to call on the lady to offer his condolences, but he was a little drunker than he liked to be when he introduced himself to a beautiful woman.

Chapter
3
    S tone, a little worse for the wear, entered the Markstown Meeting Hall at ten o’clock the following morning, just as the coroner, a wizened little black man with snow white hair, was about to call the proceedings to order. A jury of five black men and one white sat on folding chairs along one side of the hall; the coroner sat on a folding chair at a card table at the front of the room, and the woman from the blue yacht sat in the front row of chairs, dressed in a trim black dress that set off her tan. The dress was not quite demure enough for mourning, but it bespoke a certain dignity. Stone took a seat in the front row, across the aisle from her, just as Sir Winston Sutherland made his entrance, carrying a large satchel briefcase and dressed in a double-breasted blue suit with chalk stripes. He looked very official.
    “These proceedings will come to order,” said thecoroner. “We meet to hear testimony on the death of Paul Phillips Manning; we are pleased to have Sir Winston with us to conduct questioning.”
    Stone glanced at the