I forced a smile and kicked off my boots, winking at the grizzled old-timers. "If they pull out with Cassie and me on board, tell Chip to get the navy after them, okay?"

The men laughed but I wasn't entirely kidding.

Hoyt extended his hand to help me off the ladder, then turned to the steward. "Why don't you tell the chef to set a table on the aft deck for three? Some scrambled eggs and bacon, a fresh pot of coffee, and some juice."

The knots in my stomach were turning somersaults. Perhaps it was because I had not really eaten yesterday, but also because I worried about where Graham Hoyt had been during the storm. What if his crew were covering for him? They had no reason to be setting up a false alibi, I reassured myself. They couldn't possibly have thought that the bedraggled woman in the oversized flannel shirt and the Capri-length chinos was trying to cross-examine them.

"So this is my little folly, Alex. Let me show you two around."

I followed Hoyt and Cassie through the entrance into the yacht's main salon. The entire room was paneled in teakwood, with thick green leather sofas and wool sisal carpeting. Crystal wine goblets hung upside down over the wide bar, notched in place so they wouldn't fly off and break in the fiercest of storms.

"Come see the staterooms," he said, leading us down the aft staircase. The master had a queen-sized bed and full bathroom, and the two smaller rooms were just as exquisitely appointed, in the softest shade of sea foam.

"How big is she?" Cassie asked.

"Ninety-eight feet. A Palmer Johnson. Cruises at twelve and a half knots, holds five thousand gallons of fuel."

Cassie was more interested in the specs than I was, but the thought of the upkeep was overwhelming. It had to cost more than a million dollars a year to keep this toy afloat, with its crew of four and all that went with it.

Back on deck, I leaned over to check whether I could see how far below water the boat's bottom went. "What does she draw?"

"Six feet. We just make it in here."

I noticed a small motorboat tied up alongside us. A twenty-foot Boston Whaler. For most people, that would have been more than enough of a vessel.

I looked at the gold lettering on the rear of the Pirate 's tender: Rebecca.

I turned to Hoyt. "Daphne du Maurier?"

"You mean Rebecca? Is that what I named her for? You really see murder in everything, don't you, Alex?" Hoyt shook his finger at me.

"Happens to be one of my favorite novels."

"Yes, but my wife would never go out on the water with me, if that was the inspiration for her name. James Gordon Bennett-the first commodore of the yacht club-that's what his boat was called. She's named in his honor."

The steward came back to whisper to Hoyt that our breakfast was about to be served.

"Is there another phone line? Other than the cell, I mean."

"Certainly. We've got satellite phones on board. Todd, will you show Ms. Cooper to the cockpit?"

I wanted to talk to Mike Chapman. I wanted him to know I was on Hoyt's yacht, and confirm his whereabouts last night. This might be the only working phone I would be near all day.

I reached voice mail at his apartment and on his cell. I dialed Mercer Wallace. The captain was working on his route chart right next to me, so I explained where I was without telling the story of the previous night.

"When are you coming back to the city?" Mercer asked.

"Uh-I'm still not quite sure." I wanted to tell him as soon as the airport was open and I could find some way to get to it, but I couldn't trust the captain not to repeat that to Hoyt.

"You alone there on the Titanic?"

"No, no, no. Got one of my local friends here with me, and we're getting right off after breakfast. We won't even leave the dock."

"Well, hurry home, Alex. I'm trying to make progress. Seems that it most likely was Mrs. Gatts's brother-in-law who followed you down to the church last week. His supervisor says he signed out of court at fiveP.M, just up the street from you. Left the building in his uniform, without changing, which is not his usual pattern. Chief said he seemed in a hurry to go somewhere." That explained the navy blue pants. "And he called in sick the next day-just didn't come to work."

"Anybody keeping an eye on him?"

"They read him the riot act. If we can prove something, they'll suspend him."

"All circumstantial, but it's a start. Anything else before I lose you?"

"Yes, ma'am. Found out yesterday that Tiffany Gatts has some other family ties that might interest you," Mercer said.

"Like who?"

"Seems her boyfriend Kevin had good reason to know about Queenie Ransome and her collection of coins. Tiffany's cousin is the one who let the cat out of the bag, about valuables being in Queenie's apartment."

"I give up, Mercer. Who's her cousin?"

"Spike Logan. Know who I mean? The Harvard guy who lives up on the Vineyard."

I took another breath and thought about the intruder who had frightened me out of my home, into the wind and rain. Spike Logan lived up here. Where the hell was he during last night's storm?

35

Graham Hoyt went down the ladder to the dock ahead of Cassie and me, helping each of us off as we followed.

"When I stop by here next June, young lady," he said to Cassie, "I expect you to take the afternoon off for some waterskiing with the crew."

She gushed with delight and ran back into the mini-market to buy a disposable camera and snap some shots of the Pirate, while I thanked Hoyt for breakfast.

We shook hands and he held on to my left elbow, hesitating before he spoke. "You know, Jenna and I are spending the weekend with Dulles. Bringing him onto the boat, cruising up the Hudson and around New York Harbor to try to get him comfortable with us. Maybe, if you get back to town in time-I realize it's only a 'maybe'-but I'd like you to think about meeting us for lunch, to get a sense that Dulles is going to be okay with all this behind him."

The Hoyts were obviously intent on adopting the boy, and I was beginning to think it was hopeless for me to try to guess what would serve the child best in the long run.

"Help him understand that all this-this bad stuff-lawyers, courts, cops-that it's all behind him, Alex. Give him some closure. Give him back his childhood, his life. You represent the bridge between what's past and what kind of future he can have."

"It's a nice idea, but I'm not too optimistic we can end the emotional damage so quickly." I looked away from Hoyt, knowing that the judge wouldn't condone any further delays to dispose of the misdemeanor charges involving Tripping's son, now that the rape case had been tossed. "I may not be able to 'give' him those things any more readily than you can," I said, smiling at Hoyt, "but maybe I can return his baseball jacket. He's entitled to that."

"Yankees, I hope? They're the only thing in his life that provides pure joy. My wife already got some play-off tickets."

"Well, yes, he left his jacket at the hospital the night his father was arrested. We thought it might be his security blanket. Maybe that can be my peace offering, when I do see him."

Hoyt clasped his left hand on top of mine, shook again, and boarded the yacht. "Bet we beat you back to the city, Alex. Sure you don't want to try the high seas?"

"No thanks. Speak to you soon."

I trudged back to police headquarters through the mounds of damp sand. It was several hours until the island came to life again, as power was restored and the pavement cleared. When Chip Streeter got word that the Menemsha Crossroads had opened up, he offered to drive me home so that I could assess the damage and change my clothes.

The sunny fall day had everyone out picking up the debris around their houses. Several utility poles were still down and there were branches scattered everywhere. We pulled off State Road into my driveway, and as we came over the rise, things didn't look as bad as I had feared.