I snapped off the TV when the news anchor started in on a human-interest story about kittens. I remembered where I had seen that face. Harbor House. The photo on the wall with the three couples—Benjamin Crystal was the Hispanic man in that photo, standing next to James Long. Some things were starting to make sense.

I scooped up the papers I had found inside my copy of Bowditch, along with the coordinates from the Top Ten’s GPS, and walked out to Gorda. The alarm beeped when I punched in the code, and I slid the door to the wheelhouse open. The offshore chart for the coast from Palm Beach to lower Biscayne Bay was the best scale I could find in the chart table. My only large-scale charts were of the Intracoastal Waterway. Still, I’d be able to get an idea if I was right. I located the Hillsboro inlet on the chart. The Top Ten had been anchored south of there. Finally, I broke out the dividers and the parallel rulers and plotted the position of BAB. Latitude 26°09.52’N. I drew a pencil line. Longitude 80°04.75’W. Another line. I drew a dot on the chart where the two pencil lines intersected and chewed on the pencil eraser as I stared at it. I eyeballed the distance north of Port Everglades, and it looked just about right. I’d seen Esposito and Big Guy out there diving on what must be the Bahama Belle. The coordinates of the location of the sunken freighter were public knowledge. They knew where the boat was, so what was it that they still thought Neal could tell them?

I reached for Neal’s drawings. They reminded me a little of the reams of drawings I’d inherited from when Red built the Gorda. He’d had her designed by a professional naval architect, but Red sat in on every step of the process, bringing his twenty years of experience on navy ships to the task. He had saved all the drawings, which actually made things easier for me now when I needed to make repairs.

Neal’s drawing appeared to be of a compartment of some kind. Actually, there were two views, one overhead and one from the side. It could be a compartment in the bow of a ship. I could make out the bulkheads, the backbone that ran right up to the bow. In most ships, this part of the bow was where they stowed the anchor chain. But why hadn’t they found whatever it was they were looking for when they sank the the old rust bucket? It’s not like an anchor chain locker is a great hiding place.

I reached up and switched on the VHF radio hanging above the steering station. Taking the microphone, I waited for a break in the constant traffic and then called, “Outta the Blue, Outta the Blue, this is Gorda.”

Only a few seconds passed before he replied, “Gorda, this is Outta the Blue. Wanna switch to zero six?”

Once we were on the working channel, I asked Mike where he was. I could hear voices in the background.

“I’m just off Pompano headed south on a broad reach. I’ve got a charter of six legal secretaries celebrating one gal’s birthday. They wanted to know if it was okay with me if they sunbathed topless.” He held the transmit button long enough for me to hear his laugh.

“It’s a tough life you got, Mike. Listen, I hate to get serious on you, but I need to talk to you—but not on this open channel. Have you got a cell phone on board?”

“That’s a roger Captain Sullivan.”

“Could you call me at my place in about ten minutes?”

“Will do. This is Outta the Blue, clear and going back to channel sixteen.”

When I finally left the tug and started across the yard toward the cottage, the sound of the phone ringing caused me to trot. Just as I was about to pick it up, I thought that it could just as well be the cops calling from a phone out front. My hand froze for a moment, suspended over the phone. But I really needed to talk to Mike.

The machine clicked on and my recorded message told the caller to call back or leave a message. The machine beeped, and a young girl’s voice came on.

“Seychelle? Are you there? Please pick up if you are.” I recognized the voice, and she sounded nervous.

I snatched up the phone. “Sunny, it’s me. I’m here.”

“Like, you told me I could call you if I needed something, right? Well, I’m at the Top Ten Club, and ... I’m kinda scared. Could you come over here?”

“Sure, but what’s going on? What are you afraid of?”

“I just really want to leave. I need a ride. Please?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I can’t tell you right now. Uh, shit, he’s coming back....”

“Hey, listen up.” There was no question about whose deep voice was speaking. “I like this girl. Mmm . . .” He laughed with that deep, throaty chuckle that made me want to reach through the phone lines and strangle him. “You want to see her? Hey, maybe you the kind likes to watch.” He laughed again. He seemed to be enjoying himself. “You don’t want me to hurt Blondie here, now, do you? Then come to the club. Alone. No friends. No cops.” The phone clicked and went dead.

Cesar sounded like he had been watching too many movies. In my mind, I went over all the reasons why it would be really stupid for me to dash off and go over there alone. The phone rang again, startling me, and I grabbed it without thinking this time.

“Hello, this is your local mid-Gulf Stream substation of the retired Fort Lauderdale Police Department. What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Can you talk?”

“These ladies have had enough Outta the Blue special Pusser’s Rum punch. They won’t remember much of anything tomorrow. I’m countin’ on it. What’s up, Seychelle?”

“It’s not looking real good about now. The cops are looking for me. They’ve got a warrant out for my arrest.”

“Shit, Seychelle. How can I help?”

“What do you know about Benjamin Crystal?”

“His name does seem to keep popping up today.”

“You heard the news, huh?”

“Yep, on the radio at lunchtime. How’re you mixed up with that scumbag?”

I thought about my mother and Neal and Elysia, and how in the end I hadn’t been able to save a one. And now there was Sunny.

“I can’t tell you all about it right now, Mike. I’m not really in trouble yet, but I could be later. Listen, keep your VHF and your phone open for me all night. If you haven’t heard from me by daybreak, break out the cavalry and come looking, okay?”

“Sey, you can’t be messing around with these guys—” I slowly lowered the receiver into its cradle.

Maybe this would be my one chance to get it right, I thought as I gathered up my Jeep keys and shoulder bag and headed out the door.

XX

My knuckles were white where I clutched Lightnin’s steering wheel at ten and two o’clock, charging down Federal Highway to Seventeenth. The rain started just about the time I pulled into the Top Ten Club parking lot. My stomach felt twisted and gurgling, like I might vomit at any minute. I’d considered telling B.J. where I was going, but I knew he would try to talk me out of it.

The early-bird dinner hour on a Monday night was obviously a slow time at the Top Ten Club. The valet parking attendant was sitting on his stool under the front door awning with his Walkman headset on, eyes closed, head jerking in rhythm to the music. He didn’t even notice me as I slipped into my spot back by the dumpsters. I tucked my shoulder bag under the front seat and slipped my wallet and keys into my pocket. I wanted to be ready to run.