Step To The Graveyard Easy Part 18

"He didn't suffer," Cape said, "if that helps."

"It doesn't. He's gone, and I'm here, I am suffering. Not only because of the way he died, because I-"

"Yes?"

"Never mind. It's none of your business." She looked out over the lake again. "I wish I was out there right now," she said.

"On the water?"

"Far out, in the middle. Away from here."

"Where people being sorry can't get at you."

"People, pressures, things that hurt," she said. "Out there, it's like you're on an island all your own. That's the real appeal of boats, you know."

"Floating islands. Safe havens."

"Exactly." Her gaze s.h.i.+fted to him again. "Do you know anything about boats, Mr. Cape? Boat engines?"

"A little about engines in general."

"Can you fix one that won't start?"

"Depends on the problem."

Abruptly, she was on her feet. "Come with me."

He followed her off the terrace, down to the boathouse. Fast walker, Stacy Vanowen, hips rolling and long legs scissoring. Legs as long and strong and nicely formed as her sister's. Cape looked at them, looked away. Legs that belonged to a brand-new widow. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the image of Andrew Vanowen's exploding face.

Cool, gloomy inside the boathouse. She flipped on an overhead light. Two berths, each outfitted with a curve-armed electric hoist, but only one boat sat in the placid water. A seventeen-foot, four-seat Sportliner inboard, sleek and low-slung. The housing was off the engine, an open toolbox beside it.

"It turns over, but it won't start," she said. "I looked at it, but... I don't understand mechanical things very well."

Cape stepped over into the stern, squatted to peer into the engine well. Powerful four-cylinder job, well cared for. It took him less than a minute to locate the problem, another minute to repair it with a wrench and a screwdriver from the toolbox.

"Loose ignition wire," he explained to Stacy Vanowen.

"Will it start now?"

"We'll find out."

He swung over behind the wheel. Key was in the slot. On the first try the engine farted, caught, choked off. On the second it caught easily, steadied into a low rumbling purr.

"Leave it running or shut it off?"

"Leave it running. I want to take her out right now."

"Mind if I go along?"

"Why?"

"I feel like a safe haven myself right now."

"I may want to stay out for a couple of hours or more."

"I don't have anything else to do this afternoon."

"All right," she said. "I guess I really don't want to be alone, even out on the lake."

She knew her way around boats. Quickly she maneuvered the Sportliner out of the slip and into open water, fed the engine a little gas, then slammed the throttle all the way forward. The sudden acceleration threw Cape back hard against the seat. The wind hit them head-on, hurling spray back over the upthrust bow and the winds.h.i.+eld; it stung icily on his cheeks and bare arms.

They went straight out from sh.o.r.e, running wide open, the beat of the pistons loud in his ears, the boat airborne between bucking, skimming bounces on the wind-ruffled water. Stacy Vanowen handled the wheel easily, body relaxed, hair like a fan of gold s.h.i.+ning in the sun, spray glistening on her smooth-marble face. Exhilaration built in Cape-the speed, the wind, the throbbing power beneath him, the alternation of soaring weightlessness and jarring, gliding impact. More danger, greater thrill in a skydiving freefall, but the sensations were similar. Compet.i.tion racing would be like this-boats, cars. He'd have to try one or the other of those sports, or both. As soon as he was free again.

Ten minutes or more of headlong flight, then Stacy Vanowen cut back to half throttle, shut it all the way down a few seconds later. The Sportliner skimmed and settled, began to drift once she switched off the ignition. Cape wiped his face, turned to look back the way they'd come. The distant sh.o.r.eline was a series of scalloped fingers and bays, wooded mountain slopes and snow-capped crests. Buildings were dots of various sizes on the green-and-brown background, like pins jabbed into a topographical map.

He said, "You always push it like that?"

"Sometimes. When I need to get away badly enough. Did it bother you, the speed?"

"On the contrary."

"It makes me feel alive," she said.

"Same here. The faster you travel, the more alive you feel."

There was less wind this far out, and now that they were no longer moving, the sun's heat became a weight again. She felt it, too; she unfolded a half-awning to shade the front seats.

"Floating island," Cape said.

"For a while. Then we'll run again."

"Where to?"

"Anywhere. Nowhere. It's a big lake-ten miles long, twenty-eight miles wide. We're not even close to the middle here."

"So I see."

"It's deep, too. In the middle."

"How deep?"

"Fifteen hundred feet. I wonder what it's like on the bottom out there, fifteen hundred feet down."

"Dark," Cape said.

"And cold," she said. "Cold as the grave."

She leaned back, closed her eyes. For a time Cape alternated between watching her and glancing up at the sky and mountains, out across the water. There was just enough breeze to turn the boat this way and that, changing his perspective slightly each time.

"Can we talk a little, Mrs. Vanowen?"

"Stacy," she said. "I'm not Mrs. Vanowen anymore."

"Whatever you prefer."

"Talk about what?"

"What happened last night."

"Why? I don't understand it, you say you don't."

"Not yet, but I'm trying."

"Just thinking about it makes my head hurt-I told you that."

"He tried to kill me, too," Cape said. "The man who murdered your husband."

Her eyes popped open, slanting toward him. "You can't be sure of that."

"I can be, and I am. His last two shots were meant for me."

"Why would he try to kill you?"

"Why did he kill your husband?"

"He thought Andy recognized him-"

"He isn't Boone Judson. Why shoot a man who identifies you as somebody else?"

"I don't know.... I suppose he panicked. A common thief..."

"He didn't panic," Cape said. "He was high on drugs, fidgety, but he knew what he was doing the entire time. And I'm not so sure he was a common thief."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Robbery may not have been his real motive."

She sat up, facing him now. "What're you saying?"

"I'm not saying anything. Just speculating."

"You... my G.o.d, you can't think what he did to Andy was deliberate?"

"It may've been. Your husband had a lot of enemies, I've been told."

"Not that kind of enemy. Andy was a businessman, he dealt with large companies, intelligent, sane people. The kind of thing you're implying... well, it's unthinkable."

"Not necessarily. The person responsible could be clever, ruthless, loaded with hate."

"What person? What are you saying now?"

"I don't think Rollo acted alone."

"Rollo? Where did you get that name?"

"From Tanya Judson. Odds are he's the man in the ski mask."

Disbelieving stare.

"You don't know anyone by that name?" he asked her.

"No."

"Never heard your husband or anyone else use it?"

"No. What did Tanya Judson tell you about this Rollo person?"

"Nothing much. Just that he and Boone were involved in whatever scheme brought Judson to Tahoe."

"Now I suppose you want me to believe three people, three strangers, are mixed up in a deliberate plot to murder my husband?"

"Three or more. And at least one of them may not be a stranger."

"That's ridiculous."

"For your sake, I hope you're right."

"You didn't know Andy, you don't know anything about his business or his private life." Vein of contempt in her voice now. "How can you make such irresponsible accusations?"

"Informed guesses, not accusations."

"They're still irresponsible. If the masked man was there to... to murder Andy, why would he try to shoot you?"

"Maybe because somebody thinks I know too much."

"It's all just one huge conspiracy, is that it? Now you sound paranoid."

Cape said, "How well do you know Vince Mahannah?"

"... What?"

"Well enough to have an affair with him?"

"How dare you!"

"It's pretty obvious how he feels about you. Question is, how far would he go to make a relations.h.i.+p with you permanent?"

Withering glare. For a second or two, she seemed poised to lean over and slap him. Instead she swung around, twisted the ignition key, slammed the throttle forward. She brought the boat around in such a tight turn it came close to capsizing before she regained control.