She grabbed her glass, and I could see her hand was shaking. It was also covered with age spots. I placed her age closer to fifty-five.
'What are you trying to say, and what are you implying?'
'I don't know-that's the point I guess. What does it all mean?'
She let out a slow sigh and looked at the sky with a resigned expression.
'Doctor Adams, I don't know what you're trying to do to me, but this past month has been hard enough-'
'I'm sorry.'
'-without your raising false hopes about Walter's survival. Let me tell you quickly what happened. Then, when I've explained it, I trust that will be the end of the matter, OK?'
I nodded.
'My husband has been interested in marine archaeology for some time… say, the past eight years or so. He retired early from daily work at Kincaid Industries, although he was still chairman of the board and chief executive officer of Wheel-Lock. The daily tending of the business is in the hands of the current president. Anyway, he spent more and more time searching for marine relics along the New England coast. He bought an old coastal trawler and had it completely refitted with all kinds of electronic metal detecting equipment. Since he gave most of what he found to museums and the National Trust for Historic Preservation, he was able to finance the entire operation through a nonprofit foundation designed especially for this pastime. The foundation, and the searches, were entirely legitimate, of that you may be sure.' She slapped her hands down on her knees to emphasize the point. I nodded again, and sipped the tea.
'Almost seven weeks ago he left Gloucester Harbor on an expedition. He said he was going to take Windhover to Provincetown for a few days, then on around the router shore, stopping at Chatham before going on to Nantucket and the Vineyard. He called in every three or four nights, either by telephone if he were in port, or by the ship-to-shore radio. When ten days went by with no word, I knew something was wrong and called the Coast Guard. They searched all over the Cape and the Islands for over three weeks. Nothing.'
'I'm sorry. What do you think happened?'
She shrugged her shoulders.
'The only thing I can think of is that the Windhover struck a ledge somewhere. Walter spent most of his time around old wrecks, or places where wrecks might be. These were almost always reefs or ledges-places where a boat can get into trouble. I don't think they got lost… that'd be impossible with all the loran, radar, and whatnot on board. I think the Windhover went down, either by hitting a ledge or another boat.'
'And you don't think it's possible that your husband, or anyone else for that matter, would deliberately disguise the boat as another in order to disappear, for whatever reason?' '
Her jaw had set firm, her eyes bugged out a bit at me. She blinked rapidly and turned her head away.
'No. I think the idea is absurd.'
'Thank you. I guess I'll drop the whole idea then. By the way, who usually went on these expeditions with your husband?'
There was a momentary pause as she looked at her hands, then her nails. She was thinking of something;
She looked annoyed; she grabbed her glass and bit at it impatiently.
'I might as well tell you, Dr. Adams, since you'll find out anyway if you're curious enough-after all, it's hardly a secret-'
'I don't really want to pry.'
'Oh of course you don't, dear-' She gave me a cute smile that cut clear through me. Underneath the patina of super-rich suburban housewife, Mrs. Walter Kincaid was tough as nails.
'Jennifer might have been along too. I'm not positively sure, but I'd bet on it.'
'Really? I didn't bring the Globe's account with me and haven't laid eyes on it in several days, but I don't recall a I woman's name mentioned.'
'Girl's name, dear-she was no woman, just a girl. No, you're right. You won't come across an official listing of her a name anywhere, Dr. Adams, because even her mother and father-wherever they are-have no idea of her whereabouts. But as I said, it's certainly no secret that she was Walter's girlfriend.'
'I see. Uhhh. Well… and you think she would have been aboard Windhover when she left Gloucester?'
Laura Kincaid stared steadily at me, as if passing final judgment on the matter. Then she spoke.
'That's interesting. Because I think the chances are pretty good that she wasn't. The Globe's people are pretty thorough. They pump their sources pretty dry-leave no stone unturned, especially in a dramatic story like this one. I don't think she was aboard when the Windhover left Gloucester. I imagine only Walter was aboard. But she could have joined him somewhere else. Provincetown, Boston, even Rockport or Ipswich Bay. Walter believed in keeping up appearances. He wanted the appearance of propriety if not the real thing. Excuse me-'
She was interrupted by a beeping sound, of the electronic variety, which emanated from a small box on her cocktail table. A tiny red light was flashing in sync with the beeps. I had noticed the small contraption earlier, but had assumed it was a transistor radio. She turned quickly in the chair and clicked it off.
'Wait. I think it's the maid. Can you wait here? I'll check-'
And she hurried into the house. As soon as she disappeared inside I walked over and peered down at the contraption. It was as big as a small cigar box, and had a speaker-microphone screen and a button bar that said 'press to talk' underneath it. No doubt this was how she had burbled at me upon my arrival. Under the sensor light that had been blinking I saw the words door open. There was also another light, a big red one the size of a quarter. Under it were the words emergency: system breached. Finally, there were two small yellow indicator lights labeled front door and back door. These were no doubt set off by the doorbell. Someone, had opened the front door however, evidently without ringing. I returned to my chair and waited. The handy gadget was cordless and could be taken anywhere in or about the house. It was an intercom system and burglar alarm all in one. It made sense for a family like the Kincaids. In a trifle, she was back in her chair, explaining that the maid had stopped by to collect a coat she left behind.
'Now where were we'?'
'Discussing whether or not the girl was aboard the Windhover.'
'Ah yes, sweet Jennifer. Actually, maybe she is sweet; I never met her. They were always off galavanting over the waves together in search of buried treasure.'
'Buried treasure?'
'Certainly. Or didn't you know, Doctor? Why that's the real reason for the Windhover. Walter wanted to strike it rich-by uncovering lost pirate gold. Of course it was probably an escapist dream… a hobby more than anything, but nevertheless that's what lay behind it all: buried treasure.'
'How did he ever expect to find any treasure around New England?'
'Oh there's lots of it. Tons of it-so I'm told.'
'Really? I thought it was all buried down in the Caribbean-'
'Oh no. Take a walk inside with me and I'll show you Walter's study. On the way I'll tell you how he got bitten by the gold bug.'
We strolled up the flagstones to the back door. The kitchen was what you'd expect: huge, with work island in middle. Ceiling racks dripping with copper pans. Microwave ovens, floor-to-ceiling refrigerator-freezers, walk-in cold storage-the works. The glimpse I was allowed of the house set me reeling. I wasn't offered a tour because Laura was accustomed to her wealth and no longer impressed by it, and assumed others wouldn't be. One can always tell older money by the fact that those who have it wear it graciously, even casually, like an old cashmere sportcoat. We went upstairs and wended our way to the end of the house where a separate wing sprouted from it like an oversized limb. We opened double doors and stepped down into a two-room suite. I realized then we were above the double garage, in the old live-in maid's quarters.
'I assume that your maid doesn't live in, but shows up several times a week?'
'What? Oh, yes. Walter took over this set of rooms for his private retreat. During the past eight years, he seldom left it except to eat and work. He even slept here; the next room has a bed and bath.'
The room was paneled in dark walnut, with beams on the ceiling. A magnificent burled oak desk dominated the center of the room, which was lined with built-in bookcases. Every man's dream of the perfect study. What struck me immediately, though, was the nautical air of the place. Ship models in glass cases topped the bookcases.
