Early Sunday morning, we fixed a quick breakfast of cereal and toast in the galley; then, taking Ginger along, we headed out to explore the other half-dozen harbors where the mystery yacht might be spotted. We completed our masquerade as members of the yachting community by donning the deck shoes we usually wore on the boat and dressing in khaki slacks and sporty polo shirts.
The first two harbors we visited were in areas where we could gain an overview of the yachts berthed there without needing to go through security gates. Each harbor ate away an hour of our morning. Nothing we saw matched Catia’s description of the superyacht she’d seen in the Azores.
We visited two more harbors with the same result, losing another two hours. It was after one o’clock when we stopped for a quick lunch at the Bay Wind Yacht Club, thinking the cruising captain might show up there. We hoped he would tell us if any Bay Wind members had made a trip to the Azores around the time of Liliana’s disappearance. We agreed to approach him with caution. After the way Buck had characterized the man, we weren’t about to divulge our real reason for questioning him.
The day was cool and overcast, so we left Ginger in the car at the yacht club parking lot. Inside, we took a table and ordered cocoanut shrimp appetizers. Nick asked the waiter if Captain Parkington was around. We were told he usually came in for lunch on Sundays, but hadn’t arrived yet. We tried to time our lunch to avoid finishing too soon. Both of us were on edge, knowing we had two more harbors to visit before flying back to Timbergate. We were about to give up when Parkington made his appearance.
He strode in with a decorative red-haired woman on his arm, easily young enough to be his granddaughter. He looked the part of a yachtsman, with a trim build, a full head of white hair, and a matching white moustache. His female companion wore enough gold and diamonds on her ears, throat, and arms to finance a small nation for a year.
They sailed past our table, waving and nodding to the assembled diners. The man was instantly recognizable from his picture on the club’s brochure.
When the couple had seated themselves, I asked Nick how he wanted to proceed.
“We don’t have a lot of time for subtlety,” he said. “I’ll just go over, introduce myself and say I’m inquiring for a friend who wants to cruise to the Azores.” He stood and dropped his napkin on the table.
“Good luck,” I mouthed.
A few minutes later, he came back and sat down, frowning.
“Well?” I said.
“Struck out.” Nick fingered the edge of his napkin. “Said he’s never been to the Azores, doesn’t know of any members who’ve made that trip.”
“Did you believe him?” I asked.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Then I’m assuming you didn’t mention the burgee I saw painted on the Horta Marina.”
“You’re correct.” Nick dropped some bills on our table. “Let’s go. We still have two harbors to visit, and that’s going to take some time.”
Outside, we talked it over and decided to save time by splitting up. Nick dropped me off at one of the two remaining harbors and drove on to the other, taking Ginger with him. I strolled along the walkway leading to the main dock, hoping to look as if I belonged. When the couple ahead of me went through the security gate, I followed along behind them with a quick “Thanks,” as if they’d saved me the trouble of using my own passkey. When they went one way, I went the other.
The harbor was large. It was going to take some time to walk all the docks, so I picked up my pace, passing the sailboats quickly and moving on toward the outer edges where the largest of the power cruisers were moored. Nothing I spotted fit Catia’s description, although some of the yachts were twice the size of Buck’s. I had stopped to admire one of them when I heard loud voices farther down the dock. Two men were shouting at each other in what sounded like a heated confrontation. They stood on a large power yacht moored at the far end of the dock.
I stepped away from the main walkway onto the narrower finger of dock that separated two adjacent boats. From there, I could listen without being seen. The voices rose. I could tell they were male, but I couldn’t make out their words. A gusting wind had come up, causing the riggings of every sailboat in the harbor to jiggle and clank. I was about to step out from my hiding place when I felt the floating dock sway and caught the rhythmic beat of footsteps running in my direction. I edged farther back, away from the main dock.
I heard a loud report like a gunshot and saw a running man suddenly trip on a coil of rope and fall hard on the dock, just across from where I stood. Lying flat on his stomach, he turned his head toward me and our eyes met briefly. He looked young and scared. Blood trickled from his forehead.
I quickly hoisted myself up onto the nearest yacht, praying no one was on board. I dropped down and crouched in the cockpit, listening, straining to hear over the gusting wind and clanking riggings. I waited a few moments, but heard nothing more. I risked rising up slowly to take a look. The man lay still, eyes closed. No one else was around. As soon as I was sure it was safe, I would call 911 for medical help.
I ducked back down and listened intently for another two minutes. With my phone at the ready, I rose again and peeked at the spot where the victim had fallen.
No one was there.
After looking in the surrounding water and seeing no sign of him, I left the harbor, dialing Nick’s cell as I walked toward the café we’d designated as our meeting place. I gave him a brief version of what I’d seen. Since his own searching had proved fruitless, he broke it off and hurried to meet me.
It was almost five o’clock, so we decided to grab a quick sandwich before closing up Buck’s yacht and flying back to Timbergate. We sat at a sidewalk table, where I kept Ginger company while Nick went inside to place our orders. He came back with Reuben sandwiches, two Caesar salads, and coffees. Ginger immediately responded to the aroma of corned beef. Nick appeased her with doggy treats from a stash in the pocket of his windbreaker.
“Tell me the whole thing.” Nick glanced around, confirming that we were the only patrons sitting outside. “Start with what this guy looked like.”
“He was young, dark-haired, slim. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. He reminded me a little of Buck’s hull diver.”
“Gus Barba? Are you sure?” Nick’s voice rose in surprise.
“No, I’m not. That’s the problem. He also looked a lot like the picture that we were shown of Paulo Ferrera, Liliana’s brother.”
“You mean the coma patient? Well, we know that’s impossible.” Nick cocked his head at me. “I’m surprised at you, of all people. You can’t mean to tell me that all young Portuguese men look alike to you.”
“Of course not, but there are bound to be some who do.”
Nick unwrapped his sandwich. “What about the blood on his face? Did you say you heard a shot?”
“There was so much noise from the wind and the riggings, I can’t be sure.”
“But you said you heard running footsteps. How could you hear that and not hear a gunshot?” Nick asked.
“I caught some of the rapid footsteps between gusts, but mostly I felt them. Wooden docks float, and he was running flat out, causing it to rock.”
“So, you’re not sure if he was shot, or if he simply tripped on the rope and injured his head when he fell?”
“That’s right. It could have happened either way.” I took a bite of my sandwich. Nick did too, both of us deep in thought while we tried to ignore Ginger’s pleading stare.
We ate quickly, conscious of the time. When we finished, Nick asked if I felt comfortable going back to the dock where the incident had taken place. I was almost certain no one except the fallen man had spotted me there earlier, so I agreed.
Nick easily charmed a lone, thirty-something woman into letting us follow her through the security gate. We walked to the spot where I’d seen the man fall.
“There’s still a trace of blood here,” I said. “I’m going to try to retrieve a sample.”
“You’re thinking forensic evidence?” Nick pulled Ginger back from where she stood sniffing at the dark patch on the dock. “It’s been there for almost an hour. Isn’t it too late? It might be contaminated by now.”
“I hope not.” I took a small kit from my purse and used a Q-Tip to dab up some traces of the blood. I transferred it to a vial, put it in the kit and put the kit back in my purse.
Nick raised his eyebrows at me. “When did you start carrying that stuff around with you?”
“It’s been a while. I pick up a lot of ideas at work. I like to put them into practice whenever I get a chance.”
“That forensic library stuff is rubbing off on you, isn’t it?”
“Hey, you’re one to talk,” I said. “You and your secret missions, Mister Spy Pilot.”
“Why don’t we call a truce and move on? Can you point out the boat where that argument was taking place?”
I shaded my eyes and lifted my chin slightly toward the yacht. I didn’t want to make myself too obvious by pointing. “Yes. I saw them standing on the one moored at the far end of this section of dock.”
“Then let’s keep walking in that direction, but slowly. I want to be able to keep Ginger in check right away if she picks up a scent.”
We walked only close enough to the boat to see that the burgee on its bow staff displayed the ensign of the Bay Wind Yacht Club.
Nick leaned toward me. “You’re sure that’s the one where the argument happened?”
“Yes.” I did an about-face. “Let’s start back. I’m not comfortable here.”
“Too bad we can’t see the name of the vessel from where we’re standing.” Nick took my hand. “Let’s walk to the end of the next dock over, the one that parallels this one. Maybe from there we can get a look at the stern.” We strolled back the way we had come.
Before we reached the point where the dock angled to the right, we spotted a woman walking toward us. When she came closer, I recognized Kiri D’Costa. She gave us a friendly smile.
“Aimee. Hi, we meet again.” She looked down at Ginger, who was sitting at attention at Nick’s side. “What a cute dog. May I pet him?”
Nick nodded. “Sure.”
“Nice dog.” Kiri stroked Ginger’s fur gently. “What is his name?”
“Bruno,” Nick said. “I noticed he didn’t correct her mistaken assumption about the dog’s gender. Assuming he had a reason for that and the fake name, I let it go and changed the subject.
“Are you here on vacation?” I asked.
“No, just playing tourist for the weekend. I must be back at work tomorrow. Dr. Carver has generously allowed me to stay on his yacht. Hotels in this area are so expensive.”
“Yes, they are,” I said. “Well, have a safe trip home.”
“Thank you,” she said. “The same to you.”
As she continued down the dock, Nick and I lingered, trying to be inconspicuous as we watched to see which yacht she boarded. I caught my breath. It was the same one that the running man had bolted from.
“That does it,” Nick said. “We have to get a look at the name of that boat.”
We walked to the end of the parallel section of dock until we could get a visual of the stern of Carver’s yacht. The name of the vessel was God’s Gift.
“Did you buy her tourist story?” Nick said.
“More likely she’s down here to meet up with Gus Barba.” I said. “I have a bad feeling about that.”
“Not much we can do about it now,” Nick said. “I’ll talk to Buck. See what he knows.”
“We could offer her a ride home.”
Nick glanced toward God’s Gift, his eyes narrowed. “Look,” he said. “Is that one of the two men you saw arguing?”
Kiri stood on the deck of the yacht next to a dark-haired man. He reached out, handing her what looked like an overnight bag.
I shaded my eyes. “It could be, but I only saw him from a distance.”
Kiri took the bag and walked back up the dock toward the harbor parking lot. We kept pace on the parallel dock and watched until she unlocked a small blue car, slipped inside, and pulled away.
“There’s your answer,” Nick said. “She’s headed home without our help.”
I hoped he was right, but I’d feel better once I knew she was safely back in Timbergate.
After our uneventful flight home, we drove to Coyote Creek and checked in with Amah and Jack. They had heard nothing from the Ferreras’ interpreter. Nick called Harry, who had made no headway in his search for Liliana’s secret email account. I called Cleo, who told me Paulo Ferrera’s medical status was unchanged. I filled her in on everything that had happened in Marin County.
Nick touched base with Buck, asking if he knew anything about a yacht named God’s Gift. Buck said no. Nick asked how Buck happened to hire Gus. Buck answered that Gus had been recommended by another Bay Wind Yacht Club member. He didn’t recall who it was but offered to look it up.
It was bedtime by then, and we were wrung out from the mystery and all our unanswered questions. We agreed to sleep on it. Maybe if it all sat on the back burner for a while, something useful would bubble to the top.
My sleepy brain refused to give up. As I lay in the dark, one stubborn question lingered.
Liliana, where are you?