“Okay, let’s play a set. I’ll use the singles lines.”
Half an hour later, when Chuck had won six-two, they took a break and had a soft drink.
“Have you taken the boat out yet?” Stone asked.
“Just the run from the Peninsula yard on Stock Island to the yacht club. It’s tough to get much time off during the winter season—I’m so booked up with students.”
“Are you living aboard?”
Chuck laughed. “That’s the only way I can afford the boat. I can’t buy a house, too, not with real estate prices the way they are down here. I’m comfortable, though. The old boat was a lot more cramped, and every time I bought a piece of clothing, I had to throw one away.”
“What did you do with the old boat?” Stone asked.
“I sold it to the first guy who looked at it. I think I may not have asked enough.”
“I’ve heard about the Peninsula Marina. Is that where you did the work?”
“Yeah, I rented a shed in the yard.”
“Did you ever run into a guy named Evan Keating in the marina there?”
“Sure did; I sold him my boat.”
Stone broke into a broad smile. “Finally!” he said.
“Finally what?” Chuck asked.
“We came down here to fi nd Keating; I’ve got some documents for him to sign. I saw him once, but he got away from me, and we haven’t been able to find him. Do you have an address for him?”
“No, but as far as I know, he’s living aboard my old boat. At least that’s what he told me he was going to do.”
“Where is he berthed?”
“I don’t know. I know the Peninsula didn’t have a berth for him.”
“Where did you keep the boat?”
“In the same slip at the yacht club where the new boat is.”
“Did you get an address from Keating or any other information that might help me fi nd him?”
“No. It was a cash deal, so I didn’t need an address, and, like I said, he was planning to live aboard.” He dug into a pocket of his shorts for his cell phone. “I’ve got his cell number, though,” he said, and he read it from his phone. It was the number they already had.
“Do you remember what bank his check was written on?”
“No bank. He showed up at the club with a paper bag with a hundred and thirty thousand in hundreds in it. I’d never seen that much cash before.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Yesterday.”
“The same day he checked out of his hotel,” Dino said. “At least we know what boat to look for now. What’s the name?”
“
“Can you describe the boat?”
“Sure. Thirty-two-footer, white hull, mahogany superstructure, twin screws.”
“That’s pretty small for twin engines,” Stone said.
“They’re small engines, but they give you a lot more maneuverability than a single.”
“Gas or diesel?”
“Gas.”
“Anything else you can tell us about it?”
“Prettiest boat in Key West, except for
“Do you know anything at all about Keating, besides that he bought your boat?” Stone asked.
Chuck thought about it. “He has a pretty girlfriend, name of Gigi.”
“Anything else?”
“He saw me play at Wimbledon, the year I, ah, fi nished second. Seems like half the world saw me fuck it up.”
“Was Keating driving a car when you met him?”
“Oh, yeah, he was driving a Chrysler convertible; that’s a common rental here.”
“Color?”
“Ummm, silver—no, white. Oh, and he brought a guy with him to help him move the boat. I spent an hour showing them around it. The girl drove away in the convertible.”
“Can you describe his helper?”
“A little under six feet, I guess, fairly scrawny. Full beard. Oh, and Keating called him Charley.”
“Aha,” Stone said, “Boggs lied to us.”
“What did you expect?” Dino asked.
“Want to play another set?” Chuck asked.
“I think we have to go see Charley Boggs,” Stone said.
THEY DROVE BACK to Garrison Bight, parked near the sport fi sherman fleet and walked over to Boggs’s houseboat. Nobody home. Stone and Dino looked through the windows. The boat was sparsely furnished.
“Can I help you?” a voice said from behind them. They turned to find a woman on the next boat looking at them.
“We’re looking for Charley Boggs,” Stone said.
“Haven’t seen him since yesterday,” the woman replied. “A couple came and got him in a boat, and he hasn’t come back yet.”
“What kind of boat?”
“Old, pretty; white hull, mahogany everything else.”
“Right. Do you know Charley well?”
“Well enough to know that he doesn’t seem to do anything to make a living. Most of the time, he’s fishing off the back of that boat.”
“Has his houseboat been moored here long?”
“He bought it from the previous berth holder a few months back. That’s how you get a houseboat berth in Key West—you buy the houseboat.”
“Had you seen the couple in the boat before?”
“I saw them once having a drink with Boggs up on the top deck.”
“Do you have any idea where they live?”
“No idea at all. You want me to give Boggs a message when he comes back?”
Stone wrote his cell number on his card. “There’s a hundred in it for you if you’ll call me when he returns—or if you see the couple again.”
“I can always use a hundred,” the woman said, stretching out between the boats to take the card.
Stone and Dino drove back to the Marquesa.
“Evan Keating is . . . what’s the word?” Dino asked.
“Elusive,” Stone replied.
12
STONE, AS EARLIER requested, picked up Annika Swenson at a small, pretty conch house on South Street. She was dressed in white—lacy top, linen pants—with a yellow sweater thrown over her shoulders. Stone put her in the car.
“I booked us a table at Louie’s Backyard,” she said. “Straight ahead, I’ll direct you.”
Louie’s turned out to be a large clapboard house on the beach with a big deck out back overlooking the water. They took a table on the deck, ordered mojitos and asked the waitress to call them when their dinner table
