“Will this make you a hero?”

“Only if we get the money back.”

“Doesn’t seem very likely. Dana’s probably got it all spent.”

I didn’t want to think about that. “How’d you feel about Wendell’s ‘death’ at the time?”

“Terrible, of course. Actually, I missed him, even with the flak I took. Strange thing is, he told me some of it. I didn’t believe him, but he tried to let me know.”

“He told you he was leaving?”

“Well, he hinted as much. I mean, he never spelled it out. It was one of those statements you can interpret any way you want. He came to me, I think in March, maybe six or seven weeks before he sailed. Said, ‘Carl, buddy, I’m bailing. This whole fuckin’ gig is comin’ down around our heads. I can’t take it anymore. It’s too much.’ Or words to that effect. I thought the guy was just blowing smoke. I knew we had big problems, but we’d been up against it before and we’d always come out okay. I figured this was just one more hairy episode in the ‘Carl and Wendell Show.’ Next thing I know they find his boat drifting in the ocean. Looking back, you think, well…when he said ‘bailing’ did he mean he’d kill himself or cut out?”

“But you were stuck either way, yes?”

“Yes indeed. First thing they did was start checking back through the books. I guess I could have walked out the door then, with just the clothes on my back, but I couldn’t see the point. I had nowhere to go. I didn’t have a cent, so I was forced to ride it out. Unfortunately, I had no idea the extent of what he’d done.”

“Was it actually fraud?”

“Oh, big time. It was major. The days went by and all this shit came to light. He’d been stripping the company till there was nothing left. In the letter he left, he claimed he’d been pouring every dime back in, but I didn’t see any evidence to support the claim. What did I know? By the time I understood just how bad it was, there was no escape. I didn’t even have a way to recoup my personal losses.” He paused and shrugged. “What can I say? With Wendell gone, there was just us chickens left. I gave ‘em everything. I copped a plea and took the jail time just to get it over with. Now you tell me he’s alive. What a joke.”

“Are you bitter?”

“Of course.” He leaned his arm against the back of the banquette and rubbed his forehead idly. “I can understand his wanting out. At first I didn’t realize the extent of his betrayal. I felt sorry for Dana and the kids, but I couldn’t do anything about it if the guy was dead.” He shrugged and sent me a rueful smile, moving with sudden energy. “What the hell. It’s over with and you have to move on.”

“That seems generous.”

He gestured carelessly. He glanced at his watch. “I’m going to have to call this a day. I have a breakfast meeting in the morning at seven o’clock sharp. I need to get some sleep. Shall I walk you out?”

I got up and set my empty wineglass aside. “I can do it,” I said. “It’s just a straight shot to the gate.” I reached out and shook his hand. “I appreciate your time. You’ll probably hear from me again. Do you still have my card?”

He pulled a corner of it from his shirt pocket to assure me it was there.

“If Wendell gets in touch, could you let me know?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

I eased my way up the galley stairs, ducking my head as I emerged on deck. Behind me, I was conscious of Eckert’s continuing gaze, his smile bemused as he watched me depart. Weird, but in retrospect, Dana Jaffe’s response had seemed the truer.

9

The walk back to my place took less than ten minutes. I was still wide awake, braced by the sea air. Instead of opening the gate and going into the backyard, I turned and headed down the street to Rosie’s Tavern, which was located half a block away.

In the old days, Rosie’s was perpetually deserted, cavernous and dimly lighted, no doubt under constant surveillance by the health police. I used to meet clients there because nobody ever bothered us. As a single woman, I could drop in anytime it suited me without attracting the unwanted attentions of bounders and cads. Rosie might harass me, but nobody else would. Recently, the place has been discovered by sports nuts, and a variety of teams seem to use it as a hangout, especially on occasions when they’ve just won a trophy and feel the need for a parade. Rosie, who can otherwise be unbearably disagreeable, actually seems to enjoy all the testosterone and hysteria. In an unprecedented move, she’s even taken to displaying their hardware on the shelf behind the bar, which now boasts a permanent exhibit of winged silver angels holding globes above their heads. Tonight, the bowling championship. Tomorrow, the free world.