Sea Change

“Sure,” Ralston said. “Perfectly understandable. Why do you think she fell off a yacht.”

“I didn’t say she fell,” Jesse said.

“Whatever. You got any evidence?”

Jesse took out his head shots from the Horvath video.

“Know any of these three people?” Jesse said.

Ralston studied the pictures for a time, then shook his head and handed them back.

“Don’t know any of them,” he said.

Ralston took a leather cigar case out of his shirt pocket.

“Care for a cigar, Chief?” Ralston said. “The real thing. I’d deny it in court, of course. But genuine Cuban.”

“No thank you,” Jesse said.

Ralston shrugged and began to take out a cigar.

“There’s a town ordinance against smoking on town property,” Jesse said.

Ralston paused and shook his head and then put the cigar back in the case and the case back in his pocket.

“Amazing,” he said.

“Know anyone named Katie DeWolfe?” Jessie said.

Jesse could almost hear something click shut inside Ralston. He seemed to think about the name for a moment.

Then he shook his head.

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R O B E R T B . P A R K E R

“No,” he said. “I don’t. Why do you ask?”

“Know Harrison Darnell?”

“Darnell?” Ralston said. “Yeah. Sure. I know him a little.

Not well. Just casual, you know? Yachting isn’t that big a world. He’s on the Lady Jane, I believe.”

“Also out of Fort Lauderdale,” Jesse said.

“Oh, sure, that’s right. Of course. That’s why you’re asking. The Fort Lauderdale connection.”

“You think he might know Florence Horvath?” Jesse said.

“I just have no way to know, Chief . . . ?” Ralston looked at the nameplate on Jesse’s desk. “Jesse Stone, is it?”

Jesse nodded.

“I don’t know who Harrison Darnell knows or what he does.”

“What might he do?” Jesse said.

“I just told you I don’t know,” Ralston said. “I’m trying to be cooperative, Chief, but you seem hostile.”

Jesse nodded.

“Know anyone named Cathleen Holton?” Jesse said.

“No.”

“How about Corliss or Claudia Plum?”

“No. Who the hell are these people?”

“Mandy Morello?” Jesse said.

“No, for crissake, Chief. What’s going on here? You think I did something?”

“No,” Jesse said. “Just running through the list.”

“Well, no offense, but I’m getting tired of it. Can I leave?”

“Sure,” Jesse said. “Thanks for coming in.”

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37

K

elly Cruz was in the manager’s office at the marina near the Boat Club. The manager was appropriately windblown and sun-

tanned, wearing a marina staff polo shirt and khaki shorts.

There was, Kelly Cruz noticed, a cute tattoo on his left calf.

Kelly Cruz liked tattoos in discreet moderation.

“Wow,” the manager said. “You’re pretty good-looking, for a cop.”

“I’m pretty good-looking for a person,” Kelly Cruz said.

“My name’s Kelly Cruz.”

“Bob,” the manager said.

“Do you have assigned mooring here, Bob?”

R O B E R T B . P A R K E R

“Sure,” the manager said. “Otherwise it’d be a free-for-all when they came in.”

“So you got a record of the mooring locations,” Kelly Cruz said.

“Course.”

The manager had thick black hair, cut short. His forearms and hands looked strong. He was wearing a nice aftershave.

“May I see them?”

“You bet,” the manager said. “Come around, we got it all on computer.”

Kelly Cruz stood beside him while he punched up the listings.

“Lookin’ for anybody special?” he said.

“Thomas Ralston.”

The manager scrolled down.

“Here we go, he owns Sea Cloud. Number 10A.”

“How about Harrison Darnell?”

The manager scrolled again.

“He should be 8A or 12A. I remember . . . yeah, 12A . . .

I remember they made a point of insisting on side-by-side moorings.”

“They registered together?”

“We don’t call it registered, Kelly. But yeah. They came in a year, year and a half ago, said they wanted to be far out, and they had to be side by side.”

“Do you know either of these gentlemen, Bob?”

“Nope. Just saw them when they contracted the moorings.”

“Do you know why they wanted to be side by side?”

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S E A C H A N G E

“Nope.”

“A guess?”

“Party together, I suppose. Two boats are better than one?”

“Two of most things are better than one,” Kelly Cruz said.

“Absolutely, Detective Kelly Cruz.”

“Kelly’s my first name.”

Bob grinned at her.

“I figured you weren’t Irish,” he said.

She smiled.

“You know anything interesting about either of these guys?” she said.

“Not a thing.”

“Know anybody named Florence Horvath?”

“Nope.”

“Corliss or Claudia Plum?”

“Nope. Great names, though,” Bob said. “You ever go out with people you’ve questioned, Kelly Cruz?”

“When I can get a babysitter.”

“Kids.”

“Yep.”

“Husband?”

“Nope.”

“That works,” Bob said.

“It does,” Kelly Cruz said, and handed Bob her card.

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38

H ealy took his hat off and put it on the edge of Jesse’s desk.

“I’m on my way home,” he said.

“Way to go,” Jesse said.

“Which means I’m off duty.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jesse said.

He went to the file cabinet, got a bottle of Bushmill’s Black Label, poured about two inches into a water glass and handed it to Healy.

“You still can’t join me,” Healy said.

“Almost eleven months now,” Jesse said. “Not yet. Maybe never.”

S E A C H A N G E

“Day at a time,” Healy said.