Sail

  All he knew was how his former sister-in-law, Katherine, sounded on the phone when she called him a few weeks back. Desperate. Compelling. The way she talked about wanting—no, needing—to take this trip with the kids, you’d think it was her last hope in the world.

  So how could he say no to her when she asked if he would be their captain? He couldn’t, of course. He always said yes to Katherine.

  Jake was about to resume his final inspection of the boat, admiring all the new lines and canvas, when he heard a familiar voice call out to him.

  “How ya doin’ there, J.D.? Good to see you.” Jake turned to see Darcy Hammerman, the launch skipper for the marina. Darcy was standing directly below him on the dock. She was dressed in the same blue polo shirt with the Labrador Island logo that everyone on the staff was required to wear. Only Darcy’s shirt was a lot more faded, a subtle sign of her seniority. And why not? She and her brother Robert owned the place.

  “Hey, Darcy, what’s happening?” said Jake in his usual laid-back tone.

  “Not too much,” Darcy answered, flashing an easy grin. She was in her late thirties, slender, attractive, and always very tan. “Just another day of shuttling rich people to boats that cost more than my house.”

  Jake chuckled, watching as Darcy turned her attention to The Family Dunne.

  “So how’s she looking to you?” Darcy asked. “Is she ready to set sail?”

  “She was a little rusty, maybe, but she’s definitely sea worthy now,” said Jake, who would know as well as anybody.

  Growing up in Newport as the youngest in a family of devout sailors, Jake found boating a lot like breathing—it just came naturally. In fact, of all the Dunnes, Jake had become the most accomplished sailor. Twice he won the Cruising Division of the prestigious—and extremely arduous—Newport Bermuda sailing race.

  Still, Darcy didn’t look entirely convinced by his breezy appraisal. As she continued to eye the boat, she actually seemed a little concerned.

  “What is it?” asked Jake. “You see something I didn’t? Something come up in your overhaul?”

  “Nothing—nothing at all.”

  “How long have I known you—about ten years? It’s obviously something. So tell me.”

  Darcy’s eyes narrowed into a squint. “No, it’s just a stupid superstition, that’s all.”

  Jake nodded and didn’t press her on it. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly what Darcy was talking about. Among sailors worth spit, the superstition was widely known. What’s more, Jake believed in it. Sort of, anyway. It had been weighing on his mind as well. Like a two-ton anchor. A boat that loses its captain at sea is forever a ghost ship.

  Stuart had died while scuba diving off The Family Dunne. His tank had malfunctioned, cutting off his air. Stuart went down and never came up—that is, until his body was recovered. So to Jake, superstition or not, his older brother’s boat was a haunting reminder of a tragedy he’d just as soon forget. If only he could. Had it been up to him, he would’ve sold the damn thing before the dirt even settled on Stuart’s grave.

  But Katherine absolutely insisted on keeping it, presumably for sentimental reasons. Christ! A wedding band or a watch—those made for good keepsakes. Not a sixty-two-foot luxury Morris yacht!

  Worse, the boat had done nothing but sit in some warehouse for the past four years. Katherine and the kids hadn’t sailed it once. She hadn’t even laid eyes on it.

  Darcy grimaced. “I’m sorry, Jake. Stupid of me. I didn’t mean to spook you with my typical bullshit. I’ll shut my big mouth now. Better late than never.”

  “No worries, Darcy. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Course it is. You’re going to have an outstanding trip,” said Darcy, smiling as best she could. “Do you need my help with anything before you head off?”

  “I’m good. Give my best to Robert,” said Jake, glancing at the Tag Heuer strapped to his wrist. The Manhattan Dunnes were late. Of course. “The only thing I need now is for my crew to show up.”

  Chapter 4

  FORTY MINUTES LATER the Dunnes finally arrived. The junior contingent, at least. With the fog still hanging low around the marina, Jake heard his niece and two nephews before he actually saw them. Once again he thought, How fitting.

  The mouths on these kids were something awful. Maybe this trip was just what they needed.

  The last time Jake had had the ear-numbing pleasure of their company was when Katherine remarried, eleven months ago on Cape Cod, at the ritzy Chatham Bars Inn. At least she had looked happy with Peter Carlyle—radiant, actually—but for that entire weekend it seemed as if the only thing Carrie, Mark, and Ernie Dunne could do was argue with each other.

  Wait, correction.

  It didn’t seem that way. It was that way.

  And as Jake listened to their bickering voices getting closer, it was clear that nothing had changed with the Dunne crew—his crew now.

  “See, I told you it was this way, you idiots. I’m always right. I can see the boat.”

  Jake nodded to himself. That’s definitely Mark, slacker par excellence. Holden Caulfield for the twenty-first century.

  “Who are you calling an idiot, you idiot? I’m not the one who got caught smoking weed in his dorm room last month. That was impressive.”

  And that’s definitely Carrie, our Yalie—our troubled Yalie, from what I hear.

  “Oh, yeah?” said Mark. “The only reason you stopped smoking weed is because the munchies were making you fat! Your ass is dragging, sister.”

  “Up yours!”

  “Right back atcha!”

  A third voice chimed in then—much higher-pitched; kind of sweet, really. “Sorry to interrupt this stimulating conversation between my chronologically older siblings, but I was wondering something.”

  “What is it, twerp?” asked Carrie.

  “Why hasn’t Uncle Jake ever gotten married? You don’t think he’s gay, do you? Not that it’s a bad thing.”

  Jake started to laugh. That’s absolutely, positively Ernie! An inappropriate question for each and every situation.

  The three Dunne children finally appeared through the wisps of fog. They all smiled instantly at the sight of Jake. Whatever contempt they had for one another, they all loved their uncle. He was the “cool” relative. In fact, he was the only reason they had ultimately relented and agreed to the trip.

  Not that they were about to admit it to Jake, though. That would be so uncool.

  “How are you, Carrie?” asked Jake, giving her a hug. Everything about the poor girl looked thinner to him. Too thin. Well, hopefully they would remedy that soon.

  Carrie plopped a hand on her bony hip. “I gave up an entire summer by the Seine in Paris for this family bonding nightmare. How do you think I’m doing?” she huffed. “Paris, the family Dunne. Paris, the family Dunne. Which would you pick, Uncle?”

  “Good to see you too, sweetheart,” said Jake, unfazed. “And I already picked the family Dunne for my summer.”

  Next he turned and banged fists with Mark. “What about you, good buddy? What did you give up for this trip?”

  “Valerie D’Alexander,” Mark answered, running a hand through his disheveled long brown hair, which hadn’t seen a barber, or maybe even a comb, in months.

  “Vaaaal-ler-rieeee!” squealed Ernie. “That’s his hot and heavy girlfriend from Exeter. Well, actually, she’s not heavy. They’re having premarital sex!”

  “Sorry I asked,” said Jake. “Did I ask?”

  Ernie shrugged his chubby shoulders. His baby fat continued to be a stubborn holdout on his body. “Actually, Uncle Jake, I think I’m the only Dunne kid who wants to be here,” he said. “In fact, I know that’s true.”

  “I suppose one’s better than none.”

  “Yeah, I read in one of Mom’s medical journals that a change of scenery is considered essential for kids who are raised in a predominantly urban environment.”

  Jake chuckled in disbelief. Whatever happened to kids readi
ng comic books? “How old are you again, Ernie?” he asked. “Nineteen, right?”

  “Ten. But in Manhattan years, that makes me about sixteen. Plus I have a twelfth-grade vocabulary.”

  “Duly noted. Now where’s your mom?”

  “Back with Mr. Hot-Shot Lawyer and the gear,” answered Carrie.

  “Mr. Hot-Shot Lawyer, huh? Do I still detect a touch of hostility toward your new stepfather?” asked Jake. “Never mind. What about the gear? Don’t they at least need a hand?”

  “Duh. What do you think the limo driver from the airport is for?” said Mark.

  Jake blinked a couple of times in disbelief. Did the kid really just say that?

  Yeah, he did.

  As the fog around the marina began to lift, something clicked for Jake. He still wasn’t totally clear on how this little boating adventure was going to play out, but one thing he was suddenly sure of. Doesn’t Katherine see what the problem is? The real problem? These brats are spoiled. Rotten. They’re getting love all right, but the wrong kind.

  It was nothing he couldn’t fix, Jake figured. Two months on The Family Dunne would be ample time, he thought. Rigging, raising, trimming the sails. Cranking the jib. Scrubbing the deck. Come hell or high water, he was going to work these kids’ spoiled asses right back to normal.

  Chapter 5

  “KAT, ARE YOU SURE you don’t want me to come along?” asked Peter. “I will, you know.”

  “Hmmm, let’s see,” said Katherine, playfully scratching her chin. “You’ve got a big, important trial just about to start back in Manhattan, your plane is waiting for you at the airport with the engine practically still running, and you don’t have a single change of clothes with you. Sure, honey, come aboard!”

  The two stood in the parking lot of the Labrador Island Marina as the limo driver, a burly Italian man with thick arms and an even thicker accent, labored with the huge pile of luggage. Not that the limo guy minded. He knew a big tipper when he drove one, and this Peter Carlyle fellow fit the bill in every way, beginning with the fact that he owned and piloted his own Cessna Skyhawk. We’re talking serious denaro here! Plus Mista Carlyle was polite and not the self-centered bossy type. A pleasure in every way.

  Katherine reached for Peter’s hand and played with his platinum wedding band, which still looked shiny and new. “I appreciate your flying us all up here,” she said. “It means a lot to me—to all of us, sweetheart.”

  “Really, it’s the least I could do. Oh jeez, I’m going to miss you so much, Kat. I’m already missing you.”

  She kissed him softly on the mouth, then gave him a second kiss. “I’ve got some nerve, huh? We’re not even married for a year and here I go leaving for two months.”

  “It’s okay, I understand. I really do. The kids caught a really bad break in life. This is a good thing you’re doing. It’s great.”

  “That’s why I love you so much—you do understand. This trip is so, so important to me, Peter.”

  “And I’m proud of you for making it happen. That’s why I love you so much. You’re a terrific person, Katherine Dunne.” He leaned in, whispering in her ear. “And you happen to be damn sexy. Do we have time?” Peter winked at her. “The limo?”

  Katherine blushed a little, something she rarely, if ever, did. How did I get lucky enough to find him? she had wondered. She had never thought she could be in love again after Stuart’s death, and yet here he was, Peter Carlyle, the famous New York trial attorney.

  Truly, the newspaper idiots had him all wrong, just as they got most things wrong. They called him “Gordon Gekko with a law degree” and the “love child of Genghis Khan and the Wicked Witch of the West.” But Katherine knew it was all an act, a role he played to defend his clients.

  The Peter she had come to know and love—the man outside the courtroom—was a kind and gentle soul and almost always considerate of her needs. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was also handsome and pretty sexy himself!

  Best of all, though, Peter clearly didn’t want anything from Katherine except her love in return. Any jerk who could read the gossip columns of those same newspapers knew that she’d been left a substantial fortune by Stuart—over $100 million—and yet it was Peter’s idea to sign a prenup. “I have money,” he told her. “What I don’t have is a whole lot of happiness. At least, I didn’t until I met you, Kat.”

  Like two lovesick teenagers, Katherine and Peter kissed passionately in the middle of the marina’s parking lot, blissfully oblivious of the passersby and their “Get a room!” looks, which Katherine equated with jealousy. And you know what, who wouldn’t be jealous of her and Peter?

  He suddenly stepped back as if remembering something. “Now, tell me, do I have anything to worry about with Jake?” he asked.

  “No, he’s an expert sailor,” said Katherine. “He’s first-rate all the way. Been sailing since he could walk.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant, Kat.”

  Katherine broke into a smile, giving Peter a quick poke in the stomach. “I know that’s not what you meant, wise guy. And to answer your question, he was my brother-in-law, sweetheart.”

  “Still, I saw the way he looked at you at our wedding,” said Peter, gazing at Katherine as if she were a reluctant witness in one of his trials.

  “Don’t even try to pretend you’re jealous of Jake, or anybody else.”

  “Yeah, I guess not.” Peter shrugged. “But I’d feel a little better if he didn’t look like he walked out of some L.L. Bean catalog. Guys with permanent tans make me suspicious.”

  Katherine folded her arms. “What about you, stud? All alone in the big city for two whole months?”

  “Alone? Aren’t you forgetting about Angelica?”

  “Our somewhat overweight and uncommunicative Guatemalan housekeeper notwithstanding, maybe I’m the one who should be worried.”

  Peter grabbed Katherine in his arms again and pulled her tight against his chest. “I don’t think so, Kat. I waited half my life to find you. I think I can wait another two months to get you back. Especially since you’re out here performing a mercy mission.”

  “Pretty good answer, Counselor. You are a slick one, aren’t you?” said Katherine with a quick peek at her watch. “Now, c’mon, I’ve got a boat to catch.”

  Chapter 6

  STANDING no more than a couple of hundred feet from The Family Dunne, dressed in a teal Brooks Brothers polo shirt and tan Tommy Bahama shorts, another Newport boat person was busy hosing down the deck of a sleek Catalina-Morgan 440.

  Except this man wasn’t actually from Newport.

  In fact, this wasn’t his boat.

  Gerard Devoux was simply “borrowing” it for a while so he could blend into the Newport scene, as it were. To anyone who might look his way he was just another multimillionaire pampering his baby.

  But no one was looking his way. So good was Devoux at not being noticed, it was almost as if he weren’t there on the dock.

  A trick of the mind, he knew.

  An illusion that he was very good at creating.

  No wonder his nickname for himself was the Magician.

  Through dark Maui Jim sunglasses—another prop borrowed just for the occasion—Devoux watched as the Dunne crew prepared to set sail. One by one he checked them off in his head, a mental roll call to make sure all were present and accounted for. That was important, of course. Devoux was in complete control of every aspect of his working plan save for one thing: attendance.

  But there they were—the pretty M.D. mother, the equally handsome but petulant kids, ranging from eighteen to ten, and the rebellious uncle who looked like George Clooney in docksiders.

  Oh, and let’s not forget the loving new husband, the fancy-pants Manhattan lawyer. What’s the matter, Peter Carlyle—don’t you like to sail? Afraid to get your hair messed?

  Devoux smiled to himself. This was usually a part of his work he didn’t care for—surveillance duty. Totally necessary, yes, but also boring to him; a waste o
f his impressive skill set, as far as he was concerned.

  Only today was a little different. Devoux was actually having a decent time, reveling in the moment and, more important, in what was to come. And he knew exactly why.

  This was no ordinary job; it was his biggest, boldest, most challenging undertaking yet. It brought all those impressive skills of his to bear, and then some. In short, this had the potential to be a masterpiece of planning and expectations fulfilled.

  Devoux glanced down, checking the time on his brushed-steel Panerai watch. Submersible to a thousand meters, it fit right in with the rest of his nautical costume. However, it was the one thing he actually owned. Devoux loved watches but only the very best of the best. He bought them like Carrie Bradshaw bought shoes in Sex and the City. Ten thousand, twenty thousand, fifty thousand dollars—the cost didn’t matter. What mattered was the precision, the perfect orchestration of many different complex movements resulting in unyielding accuracy. There was no greater beauty than that. None that he had discovered, anyway.

  Two oh one, declared the Panerai. Precisely.

  Soon Devoux would slip away from the marina, vanishing, not unlike the noontime fog. Until then he would stand his post and keep a watchful eye, waiting for The Family Dunne to head off over the horizon.

  Never to be seen again.

  Because Gerard Devoux, aka the Magician, specialized in one trick and one trick only.

  He made people disappear.

  Chapter 7

  I STAND at the tip of the bow, like Kate minus Leo in Titanic, and take a deep breath, sucking in all the fresh air that my lungs will allow. Then, with my lips pursed, I let go of it gently, as if I’m blowing out a candle in slow motion.

  I am getting thoroughly drenched, but that feels pretty damn good.

  In fact, so far—amazingly—this entire trip feels pretty good. Who would’ve thunk it? Maybe I’m not so crazy after all. Or maybe I’m simply getting too much oxygen. An “ocean high,” as the boating crowd calls it.