The Portrait of Doreene Gray (9 page)

Suki glared at him, breathing heavily through her nose. “Sure. Photographers are always saying that. Don't worry if you miss a shot, there's always another chance.”

“Really?” Michael asked. “Because you'd think—”

“Hush, Michael,” Angus said.

*   *   *

After they cleared the table and washed their dishes, Suki insisted on going up to her room so she could back up all her photos.

Michael wandered into Angus's room carrying his laptop and sat down in a chair by the window. “I think all our windows look out on the woods. If there's something glowing out there tonight, I should be able to see it.” He opened the laptop and pushed a button. “Here are my notes on the article. So far, we're doing sidebars on possible causes for the portrait's mysterious powers, and also voodoo objects. I wish the portrait wasn't connected to a living person. We're going to have to be careful if we don't want Doreene to sue us.”

“I'll have my pet lawyer look everything over before we go to print,” Angus said.

Michael looked up from his screen. “You have a pet lawyer?”

“He's a lawyer, with pets, which I take care of from time to time. I'm sure he won't mind checking the article for obvious problems.” Angus draped a shirt over a hanger, then froze at the sound of muffled voices coming through the wall next to him. “Hear that?”

Michael left his computer on the chair and was halfway across the room when a door opened in the hallway and the voices became quite audible.

“I never promised to buy you a boat!” Doreene said.

“You said that if you had your way, I would captain my own boat!” Reynaldo said.

“Well, I don't always get my way.”

“How is this not getting your way?” Reynaldo shot back. “We met on a boat, you knew I wanted a boat, you told me you lived in a place where everyone had a boat, but I have no boat.”

“I have other expenses right now, Reynaldo.” The door slammed.

Reynaldo's feet thumped toward Angus's room. He passed the open door, apparently oblivious to their presence.

They heard his feet stomp down the staircase, followed by the slam of the front door.

“Sounds like that lad could use a confidant,” Angus whispered to Michael. “You go after him. I'll get Suki and we'll call you.”

They went into the hall and separated, Angus continuing toward Suki's room, Michael running downstairs.

*   *   *

Michael hung back until Reynaldo was about a hundred feet away, then strolled down the street behind him.

The evening was mild and clear. Here and there groups of people walked to or from the boat-festival activities.

When Reynaldo descended the municipal stairs that led downtown, Michael hurried forward to keep him in sight.

As they neared the waterfront, the crowds thickened. Deciding there was no reason to be stealthy, Michael trotted along the sidewalk until he caught up. “Hey, Reynaldo!”

Reynaldo turned and gave a halfhearted smile. “Hello.”

“I'm out covering the festival,” Michael said. “Are you interested in boats?”

Reynaldo nodded sadly. “I love boats.”

“Oh, so you have some experience?”

A spark of animation lit Reynaldo's face. “In Brazil, people hired me to captain many, many sailing boats. I am very good. When Doreene said she would … When she invited me to live here, she made it sound as if we would always be sailing in Port Townsend, but I have yet to get on a boat.” He glanced longingly in the direction of the pier, where a forest of masts could be seen between buildings.

“Well, let's go fix that,” Michael said heartily. “I'm sure people will be happy to invite a Brazilian captain aboard.”

Reynaldo's bronze complexion flushed slightly. “I think there is an admission fee and I, uh, did not bring my wallet.”

“I'll buy your ticket, and you can pay me back when it's handy,” Michael offered.

Reynaldo looked at the ground. “Thank you.”

*   *   *

Angus rapped urgently on Suki's door.

“Come in!” she called.

He came in and shut the door carefully behind him.

Suki had her open suitcase on the bed and was unpacking clothes.

“Grab a camera and come with me,” Angus said. “Michael's following Reynaldo, who just stormed out of the house after a fight with Doreene.”

“At least I get plenty of exercise on this job.” She tossed a pair of lacy red panties into an open drawer and bent to rummage through a camera bag on the floor. “Although I'm starting to think you have an unhealthy attraction to drama.”

“What part of being a reporter do you not understand?” Angus asked. “Now pick a camera and let's go.”

Suki chose an assortment of equipment, then finally slung a camera around her neck and a bag over her shoulder. “All right, let's go track the wild Brazilian.”

As she followed Angus down the stairs, Suki asked, “Do you know where Reynaldo was going?”

“We'll call Michael once we're out of the house and can't be heard,” Angus said, cell phone already in his hand. He pushed open the door to the tiny foyer and stopped dead. “Look,” he whispered, pointing out the glass pane of the door. “The white Impala.”

“Now you're talking,” Suki muttered, camera already in her hand. “Where is he? I don't see anyone in the car.”

Angus pushed the door open as quietly as he could. They stepped onto the porch, both looking from side to side.

“There,” Suki whispered, pointing.

The back of Enrico Russo's shaved head was just disappearing behind a rhododendron bush as he walked down the track to Maureene's cottage.

Suki and Angus kept well back as they followed. As they neared the cottage, they heard Enrico knock on the door. Suki took a few careful steps and hid behind two closely spaced pines. Angus stood close behind, looking over her shoulder. They peered carefully between the tree trunks.

Enrico stood on the doorstep, waiting. From inside the cottage came the sound of Hilda's barking.

The door opened, and Maureene stood there, looking suspicious.

Enrico said something too quiet to hear.

A look of astonishment dawned on Maureene's face, and then she gave an inarticulate cry and threw herself into Enrico's arms. They rocked back and forth for a moment, hugging, while Hilda sniffed around their feet. Finally Maureene pulled him into the cottage by the hand.

“Well.”
Angus took a step back and pulled a pine needle from his hair. “That was intriguing.”

Suki put her bag on the ground and unzipped it feverishly. “If they sit at that table near the window, I might be able to get a picture of his face. Depends on what light she turns on inside.”

“You can't possibly sneak up to that window without them seeing you,” Angus said.

Suki pulled a lens the size of her forearm from the bag and grinned up at him, her teeth showing white in the dusk. “Telephoto.” She lifted something that looked like an assemblage of black sticks. “Tripod. Let's find a spot while they're busy saying hello.”

They picked their way through the trees until they were parallel to the house and about forty feet away, shielded by another rhododendron bush.

“Bingo,” Suki said, pushing some leaves aside. She placed the camera on the ground at her feet and assembled the tripod.

Angus stood on tiptoe and looked through a gap in the bush. Maureene's window looked like a well-lit stage. Enrico stood beside the table, talking to an unseen Maureene, who was apparently in the kitchen. In a moment, she appeared, holding two cups. They sat down, the light illuminating Enrico's face.

“Move,” Suki whispered to Angus.

He stepped carefully aside and watched as Suki pushed herself and the tripod-mounted camera almost a third of the way into the bush. “Careful,” he said. “They might see the branches moving.”

“They can't see much out here with that light on,” she muttered, attaching a cable to the camera. She checked the viewfinder, then took her eye from the camera and pressed the cable attachment, humming quietly and cheerfully.

“Did you take a picture?” Angus whispered. “I didn't hear anything.”

“Digital cameras don't have to make noise. I just took ten pictures.” She pressed the cable attachment again. “Ten more. Take that, Doreene.”

 

Ten

The Port Townsend pier hummed with activity. People strolled between the rows of anchored boats, admiring masts decorated with lights. Musicians played under a large tent, people chatted, and a few vendors still sold food and souvenirs.

Reynaldo heaved a happy sigh, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “This is good. Perhaps I will see someone I know.”

“You mean someone on a boat?” Michael asked. “Is that likely?”

Reynaldo shrugged. “I have heard people talk about this festival before. It's very popular, and the number of long-distance sailors is not that large.”

“But I thought people hired you as a captain for rental boats. Surely the people here own these boats and don't need a captain.”

Reynaldo resumed walking. “For the last few years, yes, I have rented myself as a captain, often to people who own a share in a boat. But I have worked on the sea since I was nine. I have fixed boats, helped build boats, and sailed boats from the old owner to the new one. Once, I worked on a research boat.”

“What did it research?”

“Sailing.”

“Fair enough,” Michael said.

Reynaldo laughed. “They were testing a new hull material.”

“And how did it work?”

Reynaldo raised his eyebrows pensively. “Not good. Two weeks out, the boat developed leaks and rolled over. We had inflatable dinghies, of course, but there were some very aggressive sharks in the area, and it took a few minutes to get under way. Luckily, the boat was owned by a couple, and the woman had brought a pair of very expensive shoes for dancing. She insisted on saving them, and I used the heel of one to hit the biggest shark on the nose, many times, until it went away.”

“Wow,”
Michael said. “Were you not wearing shoes?”

“Of course I was, but it is a well-known fact that sharks respect the blow from an expensive shoe more.”

Michael laughed. “That's a great story.”

Reynaldo grinned in the darkness. “It was a valuable voyage for me. Whenever I told that story, my tips went up.”

“So is that how you met Doreene? On a boat?”

Reynaldo's grin faded to a wistful smile. “Yes. It was a weeklong trip, part of the vacation package she was on. She was very fragile, very vulnerable…”

Very postoperative,
Michael thought uncharitably.

Reynaldo shrugged. “Anyway, we fell in love, and I came here with her.”

“And do you think you'll stay?”

Reynaldo frowned and didn't answer.

“Sorry,” Michael said. “That was a very personal question. Oh, there's a boat with nice lines. What kind is it?”

Reynaldo looked to where Michael was pointing and his face lit up. “The
Rachel Diana
!”

“Seriously?” Michael said. “We've been here, like, five minutes.”

But Reynaldo had already trotted ahead.

Three people sat in deck chairs on board the
Rachel Diana
. The glow of a lit cigarette bobbed in the dusky light.

“Sissy! Paul!” Reynaldo called, and the shadowy figures rose to their feet.

“Oh, my God! Reynaldo?” a woman's voice asked.

By the time Michael reached the boat, Reynaldo had climbed aboard and was receiving enthusiastic hugs.

Some kind of safety netting surrounded the sides of the cruiser. Michael touched it hesitantly, unsure how to maneuver around it.

One of the two men came over. “Put one hand on the shroud, that's this wire here, and swing your leg over.”

Michael gripped, swung, and found himself on the boat, clutching the shoulder of his helper. Noticing that the boat was more or less motionless, he let go. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Watch where you walk.”

They picked their way across the deck to the rest of the group. In the dim light, Michael saw that they were all somewhere in their fifties, with the weathered, competent look of people who work outdoors and are completely at home in their environment.

“Paul, Sissy, this is my friend Michael,” Reynaldo said.

“Good to meet you,” Paul said, gripping Michael's hand with one that felt like tough leather. “And this is Daniel,” he said, introducing the man who had helped Michael. “We picked him up in San Francisco and gave him a lift here.”

“Have a seat, guys,” Sissy said.

Several chairs surrounded a small table with a collection of beer bottles and one ashtray. They sat.

“Reynaldo, my little sun bunny, who are you working for this time?” Sissy asked.

“No one,” Reynaldo said, “I'm staying in Port Townsend.” He hesitated. “With my girlfriend.”

“Excellent!” Paul said. “Which boat is hers?”

“She doesn't own a boat.”

There was a small silence, as if someone had mentioned the death of a friend.

Sissy broke it. “Well, you're certainly the man to help her find one. Do we know her?”

“I don't think so,” Reynaldo said. “Doreene Gray?”

“Never heard of her,” Paul said, “but the best ones are often kept secret.” He chortled. “Does she sail at all? Because we're looking for more crew for a trip after the festival. You interested?”

“I won't be able to,” Reynaldo said.

“That's too bad,” Paul said. “We'd have been glad to have you. How about you, Mike?”

Michael raised his hands. “Strictly a landlubber, but I wonder if you can help me a little.”

“Possibly.” Paul looked wary, and Michael wondered how many people asked for free sailing lessons.