“Give it a try.”
I looked at her with a hint of skepticism, took a sip, and tasted the sharp bite of ambrosia. “This isn’t your ordinary cup of coffee,” I said.
“Kahlua, coffee, and whipped cream.” She held out her cup and waited until I tapped mine against hers.
“Now it doesn’t get any better.” She settled back into her seat and we listened to the gentle flapping of the sails. “I didn’t think you were going to call,” she said. “I mean you said you would the day we bumped into each other and had coffee, but after awhile I figured it was just talk.”
“I had some work done on the boat. A couple of nasty people came on board and tore it up a bit.”
“In the mooring field? I haven’t heard of any vandalism.”
“I didn’t report it. I think I told you about my friend Nick being killed? It had to do with the case he was working on. The people who did it are no longer around.”
“And the psychic’s predictions? I have to admit I’ve been curious about that.”
I shook my head and let out a little snort. “It’s been a little strange. Although I did ask my mother to put an investigator on it, I couldn’t very well tell her I got my lead from a psychic. Not only would my mother have laughed at the idea, she would have gone back to Detroit and ignored my request.”
“So what did you do?”
“I did what any self respecting son would do, I lied. I told her I had a call from an old contact in Detroit and she bought it. She hasn’t questioned me about it since then.”
“Did she find out anything?”
“That’s where it gets weird,” I said. “Turns out Myron Stewart owns a family farm in Wisconsin. There's a cave beneath the farm. Back in the fifties his family ran cave tours and the entrance to the cave is in the barn. They found Celine’s body at the bottom of the steps leading down to the cave. It looks like she may have been dead already when her father called me.”
“No shit? What about the father? Did he do it?”
“We don’t know. She might have fallen down the steps, or maybe he killed her. Either way, it looks as if he knew she was dead when he called us. The whole kidnapping thing was a lie. It seems he was covering his ass. The police are going to reopen the investigation. Maybe they can answer all the questions that have come up.”
Brenda shook her head. “What kind of a man would kill his own daughter?”
“She was actually his step-daughter. It was his wife’s family who owned the department stores. When she married Myron, he insisted that if she wanted to be a stay-at-home mother and have him run the business, they had to change the name of the chain to Stewarts. The problem he was faced with was that Celine stood to inherit the stores when she turned twenty-one. After her mother died Celine didn’t get along very well with Myron and they argued a lot. Personally, I think he killed her, and that means Elvis was right. That disturbs me to no end.”
Brenda stretched and looked out over the bow of the boat. She took a moment to adjust the jib sheets, studied the shape of the sail, and sat back down. “Did you ever tell your mother where your information came from?”
“She’d disown me if she knew I’d taken tips from a psychic. It’s funny though. Nick’s death and my helping on the investigation down here have changed our relationship. She doesn’t bug me about coming back to work, and now I call her every week.”
We sat quietly after that, each of us lost in our own thoughts, enjoying the rattle of the rigging and the splash of water against the hull. I knew the sun and wind were going to burn my face, but I didn’t care.
In the distance a large cigarette boat kicked up a wake as it flew across the Gulf and I realized I wouldn’t trade places for anything. Some people like speed. Me, I enjoy the snap, crackle and pop of sails dancing in the wind, and the company of a good woman.
“Can I get you another coffee?” Brenda’s voice broke into my reverie.
“Sure, but no Kahlua this time.” I handed her my cup and she went below. When she came back up she sat down next to me, leaned into me, and shot me a smile that dittoed everything I’d been thinking.
