Bluewater Enigma Read online

  Bluewater Enigma

  The 13th Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series

  C.L.R. Dougherty

  Copyright © 2017 by C.L.R. Dougherty

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  rev 1.4

  07/18/2017

  Contents

  The Leeward and Windward Islands

  Martinique to the Tobago Cays

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Join my Mailing List

  A Note to the Reader

  About the Author

  Also by C.L.R. Dougherty

  1

  "I don't see her," Dani Berger said, fumbling as she rushed to enter the gate code into the keypad. "She's gone."

  "Get a grip," Liz Chirac said, nudging her out of the way and entering the code. "She's here somewhere."

  Liz swung the gate open and held it, stepping back out of Dani's way. Irritated by their flight's delayed arrival into Miami, they were impatient to be back aboard Vengeance. Liz watched her friend charge down the dock. The duffle bag slung over Dani's shoulder was bumping against her hip, bouncing as she hustled to the slip where they had left Vengeance.

  By the time Liz closed the gate and caught up with her, Dani was standing on the floating finger dock on the east side of the vacant slip. She stared at the empty expanse of water, thunderclouds forming on her brow. Liz dropped her own duffle bag on the main dock next to Dani's and stepped out onto the float. She put a hand on Dani's shoulder, feeling the tension in her wiry frame.

  "They must have moved her for some reason," Liz said.

  Dani whipped her head around, glaring at her. "Or some asshole stole her," she snapped.

  "Slow down, Dani. Who would steal a 60-foot sailboat with all these million-dollar, 100-mile-an-hour testosterone rockets next door?"

  Dani shrugged Liz's hand from her shoulder, scrambling back onto the main dock. She climbed the nearest piling like a monkey going up a coconut palm. Balancing atop it as she scanned the marina, she said, "Not here, not in any of the slips." She jumped down, landing like a cat. "She's gone."

  "But nobody steals a boat like Vengeance," Liz said. "What would they do with her? She's too slow to run with and too big to hide. They can't even sell her. She's too easily recognized."

  "It happens, Liz. She's gone." Dani looked at her watch. "The marina office closed an hour ago. Let's go find a security guard." She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, fidgeting while Liz retrieved her own duffle bag.

  "Let's walk up to the office," Liz said. "If we don't run into the guard, maybe there's an after-hours emergency number on the door."

  Dani nodded. "Yeah, okay."

  "There's some explanation, Dani. You know how rare this kind of theft is. Boats like Vengeance don't appeal to joyriders. It would take a skilled crew, and how could they avoid being spotted with her?"

  "They could have had as much as two weeks to get her out of sight," Dani said. "Drug runners used to steal boats like Vengeance all the time; she'd haul a lot of illicit cargo without attracting attention. Dope, guns, cash, whatever. Make a run or two and then ditch her before the authorities catch on. That's the way they used to do it."

  "But that was eons ago," Liz said. "Smugglers are more sophisticated now."

  "They do what works. When the law gets wise to one scheme, they try something else. Maybe they've gone full circle — back to the old ways. Miami was always a hub for that kind of thing," Dani said, as they walked up the dock.

  They stopped, and Dani rattled the office door, rapping on the glass with her knuckles.

  "There's nobody here," Liz said. She pointed at the card taped in the lower left corner of the window. "Let's call."

  U.S. Representative Horatio Velasquez opened the car door for his wife, helping her into her seat as the photographers' flashes blinded him. He ignored the reporters' shouted questions, smiling and nodding as he walked around to the driver's door and got in.

  "I'm not that fragile, you know," his wife, Miranda, said. "I'm only six months. Or was that for the press?"

  "Everything's for the press, at this point," he said. "I've got a lot of ground to cover to catch up with O'Toole before the primary."

  "Before the primary? You're a shoo-in for re-election. What's O'Toole got to do with it?"

  "Think about it," Velasquez said.

  "I don't understand," Miranda said. "O'Toole's in the Senate."

  "This isn't about my seat in the House, Miranda."

  "But I thought he was going to run for President. Are you going after his Senate seat or something?"

  "Or something," Velasquez said. "I've always been aiming higher than the Senate; you know that."

  "You're thinking about running against him for the nomination?" Miranda's eyebrows rose. "For President?"

  Velasquez grinned at her. "I've got a shot; I'm a Cuban-American and this is Florida. I'm popular with all the key factions."

  "But there's more to it than Florida, Horatio, right?"

  "Of course, there is. Don't act so dim-witted. If I can beat him on his home turf, what do you think's going to happen with the nomination?"

  She frowned. "He's marrying that Montalba woman, right? So he's got an in with the Hispanic community, just like you."

  "Not just like me. Marrying into it's not the same as being born into it. You should have learned that by now. You'll never be anything but my Anglo wife. Besides, she's from Argentina."

  "So?"

  "So, that's not the same as having Cuban or Mexican heritage. Not in the U.S. And she's filthy rich, besides. So's O'Toole."

  "I see your point about Argentina, but what's being rich got to do with anything? Isn't that a plus?"

  "It could be, under the right circumstances, but we've already tried having a billionaire for President. I don't think we're ready for another one, yet. All that money can be made to work against him."

  "Why haven't you talked to me about this?"

  "I'm talking to you about it now."

  "But Diego's about to turn one, and this one will be a babe in arms on the campaign trail."

  "I know," Velasquez said. "It's perfect. I'll be the up and coming father of young children, positioned against an old, rich, white-haired Anglo bastard." He glanced at her, taking in the set of her jaw and the creases on her forehead. "Right?" he asked.

  "It's all about you, isn't it?" she said, biting off the words as she blinked back tears.

  "Think of it, Miranda. You'll be the first lady; our children will grow up in the White House. How can you say it's all about me? I'm doing this for you and our children. Not to mention for our great country and all the generations to come. Somebody has to straighten this all out. Don't you see that?"

  "And you, Horry? You're the
one to straighten out 'our great country.' Is that it?"

  "Better me than a scumbag like O'Toole. Think of what it will mean for Diego and his little sister."

  "I am. That's what bothers me. But I don't get a vote, do I? Except in the polling place, and you can bet I won't cast it for you."

  Beverly Lennox studied her dinner companion as he prepared to taste the wine the waiter poured for him. He was breathtaking. The dim lighting threw his dark eyes into shadow. She couldn't tell if they were dark brown or dark blue, but she'd like to find out. This was the first time she'd met him; their other contacts had been by phone.

  She hadn't expected him to be so handsome. His voice on the phone had been smooth, and his manner, respectful, polite. She wasn't used to that. He wasn't at all the type who required her services. Most of the men Manny had sent her to had been repulsive.

  Horatio Velasquez was the exception, and she'd been pleased when Manny had ordered her to become Velasquez's full-time mistress. It was an easy job. Velasquez was self-centered and arrogant, but he wasn't abusive. Besides, he kept up the pretense of being a family man, so his demands on her time were limited. She'd never had such a sweet situation before.

  She'd been distressed when Manny had told her to expect a call from this man, Berto — no last name. She hid her reaction from Manny; she was skilled at that. It was part of her job. Still, she couldn't keep from asking if this meant she was no longer Velasquez's, exclusively.

  Manny had laughed at her. "You do what Berto says," he'd ordered. "He is the boss. If he wants you, then you are his. You don't get to choose, you stupid puta. I need to teach you this again?"

  Then he'd given her that special smile of his. Even now, the thought of that smile sent a chill down her spine.

  When the waiter filled her glass, she realized that Berto must have tasted the wine and approved it. She'd been watching him, charmed by his style, as he'd sniffed at the little bit of wine the waiter had poured for him to taste.

  When he'd closed his eyes and taken a sip, holding it in his mouth, her thoughts had wandered. Now, Berto was watching her, smiling as he held his glass out toward her.

  She smiled back and lifted her glass, hoping she hadn't spaced out for too long. She was clean. She didn't do drugs, and she didn't want Berto to think she did.

  "To your relationship with the Honorable Horatio Velasquez," he said. "May it be a long and pleasant one for you both." He smiled and looked her in the eye as he touched his glass to hers.

  "Thank you," she said, raising the glass to her lips and tipping it slightly, but not taking any of the wine. She needed her wits about her.

  "I wanted to meet you before I made my final decision," Berto said. "Manny is good at what he does, but some things are outside his experience. He's lacking in certain social graces." He paused.

  When she didn't try to fil the silence, he smiled and nodded. "You're perfect. I envy Velasquez, in a way. Do you have any concerns about continuing with him?"

  "No," she said. "He's easy enough to be with, and I think he's comfortable with me."

  "I'm sure he is," Berto said, reaching inside his dinner jacket and withdrawing an envelope. He passed it to her and nodded his approval when she slipped it into her evening bag without looking at it.

  "There are credit cards in your name. Don't concern yourself with limits on the cards; there aren't any. If you need cash, get an advance on one of them. Okay so far?"

  She nodded.

  He smiled and said, "There's also a passport for Velasquez, in a different name, of course. Follow the instructions in the memo that's in the envelope. You understand?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "Good. There's a number in there where you can reach me. If you have any questions or problems, call me directly. You will never hear from Manny again. He wishes you well, I'm sure. Are you all right with that?"

  "With never hearing from Manny again?" she asked, in a neutral tone.

  He smiled and nodded.

  "Yes," she said.

  "I thought you would be. And now, enough business. Let's enjoy our dinner."

  2

  "I thought you were going to jump through the phone and rip that marina manager's head off last night," Liz said, as the waitress poured fresh coffee for each of them. She and Dani were having breakfast in a pancake house around the corner from the hotel where they had spent the night.

  "Just as well for him I got it out of my system while we were on the phone," Dani said. "I still can't believe the brass of those people."

  "The marina management?"

  "No," Dani said. "Whoever it was that marched in their office pretending to be a delivery crew." She shook her head and took a sip of coffee. "I guess I can't really blame the marina."

  "He told you they had a letter with your signature on it?" Liz asked.

  "That's what he said. He remembered it because of the timing. He said he wondered why we didn't just tell him about it when we brought the boat in, instead of sending the delivery crew in cold the day after we left."

  "That timing is odd," Liz said. "Whoever it was must have known, don't you think?"

  "You mean about us? Our travel plans?"

  "Yes," Liz said.

  "It almost sounds like they were watching us, doesn't it?" Dani asked.

  "Yes, and showing up to take Vengeance while we were on the flight to New York, too."

  "I'm missing something," Dani said. "What does our flight have to do with it?"

  "If the manager had tried to call us to verify things, we couldn't have been reached."

  "I didn't think of that. You have a criminal mind, Liz."

  "You taught me well. He was going to call the police for us?"

  "Yes. He offered. There's somebody they work with regularly, he said."

  "Really?" Liz asked. "So this isn't such an unusual thing?"

  "Yes, it is. He said they'd had a few go-fast boats stolen over the years, but never a big sailboat. But there's a fair amount of petty theft. People leave stuff out in the open on deck and then get upset when somebody takes it, from what he said. Anyway, they have a detective that they work with on a regular basis."

  "What about our insurance?"

  "He suggested we hold off until we talk to the police and get copies of everything from the files in the office."

  "That makes sense. Do they have the letter that you supposedly signed?"

  "He said he put it in our file himself."

  "This seems a little too well put together," Liz said.

  "Which part?"

  "The fake delivery crew showing up the day after we put her in the slip, while we were en route," Liz said. "I keep going back to that. Somebody targeted us, specifically."

  "Or Vengeance," Dani said.

  "You mean like a theft to order?" Liz asked.

  "It's not unheard of."

  "I'm having trouble with that idea, Dani. How many Bounty replicas do you suppose there are?"

  "I don't know. More than a few, I guess. The original was built in 1934. Connie and Paul didn't have a big problem finding Diamantista II when they decided they wanted one."

  "But they're still not common," Liz said, "and each one was built to order, so no two are quite the same. It's not like a Beneteau 58 or something. If you put two of those side by side, nobody could tell one from the other."

  "No, you're right about that. Vengeance is distinctive. You or I could pick her out of a crowd, even a crowd of her sister ships."

  "That's my point," Liz said. "That's why I don't think it's a theft to order. Something else is going on here."

  "Somebody could put her in a boatyard for a week and change enough stuff so we wouldn't recognize her, Liz. At least, not at a glance."

  "But why do that?" Liz asked.

  "Somebody wanted a Herreshoff Bounty," Dani said.

  "Why not buy one, then? There are several of them listed; I checked on the web last night."

  Dani sat back, frowning, as the waitress put their brea
kfast on the table. After the woman freshened their coffee and left, Dani asked, "What are you trying to say, Liz? That somebody wanted Vengeance because it was our boat?"

  "That's the only thing that makes sense to me."

  "Unless they stole her to make a drug run or two," Dani said, cutting a piece of fried egg and dredging it through the runny yolk.

  "Then they would have just stolen her," Liz said. "Why go to the trouble of a forged letter from you authorizing a delivery crew to take her?"

  Dani chewed the piece of egg, her brow wrinkled. She swallowed and said, "I guess that could have been a ploy to buy time, but I see your point. It does appear that they wanted Vengeance, but why?"

  "I don't know," Liz said, "but I think there's more to this."

  "Did you look closely at any of those listings online?" Dani asked.

  "No," Liz said. "Why?"

  "I was just thinking. We could settle with the insurance company and replace her, if any of them look attractive."

  "I couldn't do that, Dani. She's not just another boat to me; she's home, my first love, all those trite, sentimental things. We're going to get her back. Just you watch."

  "You're astonishing," Horatio Velasquez said, staring at Beverly Lennox's cleavage as she leaned over to put his breakfast on the table.

  "I'm so glad you think so," she said, a shy smile on her glistening, dark red lips. "I have a surprise for you," she said, standing up straight, one knee flexed slightly, turning to the side to show off her figure.

  Velasquez grinned, feasting his eyes, watching every ripple of movement as she untied the belt that held the diaphanous robe closed. She gave a theatrical shrug, letting the silk slide from her shoulders as she stepped in close, her pelvis inches from his face.