Dead in the Water

person would accept that, but I have no idea how reasonable she is.”
    “If she wants more than that I’ll shoot her myself,” Allison said.
    “Goddammit, I told you not to talk like that!” he practically shouted.
    “All right, all right, just deal with her. I’ll trust you to handle it as you see fit.”
    “God, I wish I had that decree,” Stone said.
    “But you don’t; just do the best you can.”
    “Give me your checkbook,” Stone said.
    She found her handbag, dug out the checkbook, and handed it to Stone.
    He ripped out a check. “Sign it,” he said.
    “A blank check? Are you nuts?”
    “Sign it.”
    Allison signed the check.
    Stone ripped it out and tucked it into a pocket. “Now find two blank pieces of paper, and sign them.”
    She went to the chart table, found some paper, signed two sheets, and handed them over. “You see how I trust you,” she said.
    “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, and left the yacht.

Chapter
27
    S tone strode toward the Shipwright’s Arms. Dusk was falling, and the first customers were arriving for dinner. He looked around, saw no sign of the other Mrs. Manning, then went to the bar. “Give me a rum and tonic, Thomas,” he said.
    Thomas complied. “Seems like you got something of a mess on your hands,” he said.
    “Tell me about it. Will you ring Mrs. Manning’s room, please?”
    “She left orders not to be disturbed.”
    “Disturb her.”
    “Stone,” Thomas said gently, “if you’re going to handle this lady, don’t you think you’d better do it gently?”
    Stone took a deep breath and exhaled. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll wait for the lady to make her appearance for dinner.” He picked up his drink. “I’mgoing upstairs for a few minutes; if she shows up tell her I’d like it if she’d join me for dinner.”
    “I’ll tell her.”
    Stone went up to his room, switched on his computer, and began to type. When he had finished he printed out the document on the blank page over Allison’s signature, slipped it into an envelope, and started to leave. Then he stopped, picked up the phone, and dialed Bob Cantor’s number again, and once more got his answering machine. He swore and slammed down the phone, then composed himself and went downstairs.
    Libby Manning was sitting at the bar, sipping a martini; he wondered if she were a drunk. If so, he’d better get moving. “Good evening,” he said to her, managing a smile.
    “Good evening,” she said. “I accept your invitation to dinner.”
    “I’m glad,” he replied. “Thomas, may we have a table?”
    “Right this way,” Thomas said, picking up a pair of menus.
    “Something quiet,” Stone whispered as he passed.
    Thomas showed them to a corner table with a view of the harbor, then he brought Libby Manning another martini and Stone a rum and tonic.
    She raised her glass. “Better days,” she said, smiling.
    “I’ll drink to that,” Stone said, sipping his drink. “So, Libby, tell me something about yourself. Are you a Florida girl?”
    “Born and bred,” she said. “Went to Dade CountyHigh and the University of Miami, majored in journalism, went to work for the Herald. How about you?”
    “Born and bred in New York, NYU law school, a time with the NYPD, then retirement and the practice of law.”
    “What kind of law?”
    “Whatever comes along.”
    “I thought most lawyers specialized these days.”
    “Most do. Whatever my clients need done, I specialize in.”
    “And how did the lovely Allison come to hire you?”
    “Well, when she sailed in alone on that boat, I was the only game in town, I guess.”
    “Were the papers right? Is she going to hang?”
    “Not if I can help it.”
    “Can you help it?”
    “That remains to be seen.”
    “The trial is next week?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And if they hang her, it’ll be pretty quick, will it?”
    “Libby, you are a pessimist.” Or maybe an optimist, he thought to himself. “Let’s order.” They chatted idly, until their food came, and ate mostly in silence. She was waiting for him to make the first move, he reckoned. Then, as they ate, another couple was shown to a table a few yards away. Stone looked up and gulped.
    Libby leaned forward. “Who is that extraordinary-looking black fella?” she asked.
    “His name is Sir Winston Sutherland,” Stone replied, keeping his voice down, “and he is the worst nightmare of any white woman traveling alone in this country.”
    Her eyes