that right?”
“Yes.”
“How big is it?”
“A lobster boat, maybe thirty-six feet.”
“This boat — is it in the water, dry docked, in a showroom or what?”
“It's docked, on the water.”
“Boats are very hard to work on,” Morby said. “There are so few ways to get in and out of a boat, you see. It's easy to draw a big crowd, and that can mess up an otherwise easy contract.”
'There shouldn't be anyone on the boat,” Barnaby said.
“This around here?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose I could do it.”
“Will you be able to get your — supplies in time?”
Morby said, “I keep an emergency kit here, so I'm usually ready to go for something like this.”
“Fine,” Barnaby said. “Now, we should get together, at the usual place, to go over the details.”
“You can bring the pay then.”
“I will.”
“The bonus too.”
“The job's not finished yet.”
“It'll be done right.”
Barnaby hesitated only a second, then said, before Morby could tell him to forget it, “Okay, sure. The bonus too.”
“When?” Morby asked.
Barnaby looked at his gold coin watch and said, “It's two-thirty right now. I've some other things to attend to, so — why don't we say quarter past four.”
“I'll be there,” Morby said.
They both hung up without saying goodbye.
When she learned who was calling, Edgar Aimes' young secretary lost her cold and almost impolite tone and put Barnaby straight through to her boss without further delay.
“Hello, Will,” Aimes said. “What can I do for you?”
“I'd like to see you, Edgar. We've got some important business matters to discuss.”
“Has something come up?” Aimes asked.
“More than a little.”
Aimes thought a moment and said, “I have to come out your way in about an hour, to show a property along Seaview Drive. I could stop by at say four-thirty and—”
“That won't do,” Barnaby said. “Edgar, I think this is something we need time to discuss, perhaps over dinner.”
“Tonight, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“But Lydia and I were going to—”
“Cancel it.”
“Will, I—”
“I think a dinner discussion between us is far more important than whatever you were going to do tonight,” Barnaby said. His voice was firm and left no doubt that he expected full compliance with his request.
Aimes sighed. “What's the trouble, then?”
“I don't want to talk about it now, though I will say that it involves Mr. Morby, whom we've employed in the past, if you remember correctly.”
“You employed him,” Aimes said. “I have met him only once, and I wouldn't hire him.”
“Nevertheless, you see why I'd like to have dinner with a nice, reliable couple, like you and Lydia. In a public place, where we're sure to be seen — say between eight o'clock and one in the morning, somewhere that we can have drinks and make an evening of it.”
“I understand,” Aimes said.
“How about the Kettle and Coach?”
“That would be ideal. It's what we've done in the past, on nights when Mr. Morby was working.”
“Exactly,” Barnaby said. “Shall Elaine and I meet you there, then? Say at eight-thirty, in the cocktail lounge.”
“We'll be there,” Aimes said.
Again, both men rang off without saying goodbye.
Just as Gwyn was finished with her lunch and gave the tray to Elaine, a knock sounded on the closed bedroom door. A moment later, the door opened, and Will Barnaby looked in. “How are you today, Princess?” he asked Gwyn.
She smiled and said, “Better.”
He came over and sat on the edge of her bed, took one of her damp hands in his. “I told you it wasn't as serious as you thought it was. All you needed was rest, plenty of rest.”
“I guess you were right,” she said. But his presence brought back the memory of the ghost, the footprints on the beach, the broom marks, her whole illness. She said, “Have you called Dr. Recard, Uncle Will?”
He said, “I called him first thing yesterday morning, even before you'd gotten awake.”
“What'd he say?”
“That you were to rest, really rest. If you aren't feeling better in a week, then you're to go see him. I'll take you there.”
She relaxed. “He didn't think it was serious enough to — put me in a hospital somewhere?”
“No, no,” Will said. “Just get lots of rest.”
“I've been doing that.”
“Except for your walk on the beach yesterday,” he said.
“I'm sorry about that.”
“You should be,” he said. “You knew you weren't supposed to be up and around yet.”
“I didn't mean to upset anyone,” Gwyn said. She turned her head and looked at Elaine, who was smiling down at them, holding the bottle of sleeping tablets.
“Let's forget about yesterday,” her uncle said, patting her hand. “I'm sure you won't do anything like that again.”
“I won't, I promise.”
“Good,” he said, letting go of her hand. “Now, I'll talk to your aunt for a minute, if I may, and give you a chance to recover from that feast you just finished.”
He stood and took his wife's elbow, led her through the door, closed the door after them, and walked her several paces down the hall.
In a whisper, she said, “What's wrong?”
He told her, succinctly, about the squatters at Jenkins' Niche and about his phone calls to Morby and Aimes. “So,” he concluded, “since we have to be out in public tonight, for an alibi, I thought we might as well move up the schedule with Gwyn. We'll make tonight the final act with her.”
“But we agreed, originally, that she could use another day of sleep, to wear her down.”
“If we're out of the house tomorrow night, too,” Barnaby said, “it may look a little strange. We can't very well go out to dinner with Edgar twice in a row, to talk business.”
“I guess so.”
“Therefore,” he said, “you won't be giving her another sleeping pill today. She'll have to be wide awake for the festivities tonight.”
Elaine said, “If you'd been only five minutes later than you were, I would already have given her a tablet.” She clenched the medicine bottle tightly in her right hand. “But don't worry about a thing, darling. I'll take care of
