Wreckers' Key by Christine Kling Read Free Book Online Page A

wanted to captain big yachts and it was not possible to change his mind. He took me windsurfing a few times and taught me to stand up and sail a little in light winds. It just would not happen that he would get tangled with his uphaul rope or the harness line. Even I know enough to see that. If he really had been thrown into the mast by a gust, he would have been catapulted into the water and drifted clear of the sailboard. What you are describing to me sounds arranged—like a tableau. Somebody hit him in the head and then purposely tangled him in the lines of that windsurfer. They wanted to make it look like an accident, but they did not know what they were doing.”  
    “But why?”
    “You mean why kill him?”
    “Well, yes, that too, but why try to make sure the body is found with the board? Why purposely tangle him in the lines?”
    “I cannot answer that. I just know that someone did it.”  
    “It’s only that it’s so hard to believe, Cat. Who’d want to kill Nestor? The guy couldn’t have had an enemy in the world.”
    We had gone back and forth on it for several minutes, and I knew perfectly well the suspect she had in mind. A multimillionaire entrepreneur offing his boat captain? The very idea seemed so far-fetched that I left before she had the chance to say the name out loud.

    As I was tying up my dinghy to the dock in front of the Turtle Kraals Restaurant, the older waitress who had taken my order earlier that morning signaled me that she wanted to speak to me. I met her just inside the heavy wooden doors, and she handed me a piece of paper.
    “Lucky for you, I grabbed the phone right after you left this morning. Your friend was asking if I’d seen this woman, and I knew right away it was you. Told her I’d keep an eye out for you. Says she needs to talk to you.”  
    “Thanks, Glenda,” I said, reading her name off the plastic badge she wore. “You got a pay phone around here?”  
    She pointed me toward the restrooms up by the bar. Knowing full well that she’d bitch about it, I called Jeannie collect.
    “Hey, it’s me,” I said when she answered.
    “Calling collect? Don’t you know how expensive that is? I’ve given up trying to get you to buy a cell phone, but you could at least buy a calling card.”
    “Nice to hear from you, Jeannie.”
    Jeannie Black was both my lawyer and one of my dearest friends. I suppose she would be categorized as a “plus-size” woman since her weight hovered close to three hundred pounds. I would also categorize her as the smartest woman I had ever known, and I measured her worth more by the size of her brain than the size of her ass. “So what’s up?” I asked her.
    “It’s about the lawsuit.”
    “You mean the guy with the Grady-White?”  
    “Seychelle, just how many people are suing you? Of course, I meant him. The boat’s name was Seas the Day — you know, spelled s-e-a-s ?”
    “How original.”
    “I’d call it prophetic. I think the guy is trying to scam you. Probably pulled the plug on his own boat.”  
    “Really?”
    “Yeah. I’ve been checking up on him. Last year he tried to sue a McDonald’s restaurant, claiming he’d found a cockroach in his burger. Half a cockroach, that is.”  
    “Why try to sue me? I don’t have deep pockets like Mickey D.”
    “Well, your name has been in the paper quite a bit these past few years on some pretty big salvage jobs. And besides what you’ve done, there’s been a lot of press for the salvage business in general. It makes all salvers look like they’re making out like modern-day pirates, getting awards of twenty, thirty percent of these big yachts. I’ll bet this guy thinks you’re worth millions.”  
    “Maybe you’d better educate him then, Jeannie. Get on the phone and talk to him. Explain it. Maybe he’ll drop the suit.”
    “Fat chance.”
    “Why?”
    “Because even if you don’t have super deep pockets, your insurance company does. You’ve got a mighty high limit