Windward Whisperings (16 page)

Garrett was glad all was right in her world for awhile longer. He turned to Leviticus. “We
learned a lot, didn’t we?”
Leviticus let out a breath. “The FBI has Jovanovich. Too bad Biltmore and Bud Logan got
away.”
“Not to mention Mrs. Biltmore. What went on while I was in the Kingstown Hospital?”
Leviticus devoured another cookie and took a sip of coffee. “We went fishing. Captain Le Clerc
arranged it. Fishing is good in St. Vincent. We fished for blue marlin.”
“I understand they’re fighters and leapers. Get one?”
“Had one. It was a three-hundred pounder.”
“I always love a fish story. You must have caught something.”
“We did. Had them cleaned and cooked down at the Biabou fish shack. Delicious. They served
them in plantains and the best bread I’ve ever had.”
“I can imagine.”
“Biltmore’s development schemes on both islands are well documented. I gave Captain Le Clerc
and the guys from the FBI our suspicions about the Piermont couple’s deaths.” His words were
coming faster. “Kitzie’s parents sell Piermont Sails and their estate to Biltmore. He gives them an
opportunity to accumulate wealth all over again with their remaining funds, the real estate
investment in St. Lucia.”
“They came by the hospital to get my take on it. This is how I laid it out. The Piermonts were in
a vulnerable state. Bud told me about the celebration party held on a barge.”
Leviticus clamped his teeth together.
“It’s yet to be proved. The FBI did some bargaining with Jovanovich, and Le Clerc got back to
me on what went down. Jovanovich said he drove some investors from Santa Barbara in a Duffy
boat. The destination for this entourage was a celebration party on the barge. They were going to get
first pick for location at Paradise at St. Lucia.”
“If there was ever a boat for schmoozing, that’s it.” Garrett pictured the electric boats with
canopy covers. “Where were the Piermonts?”
“Apparently they thought it would be fun to sail out. Jovanovich followed their sailboat. There
was a plan they didn’t know about. Jovanovich’s group knew nothing about the party on the barge.
They were headed to a different party. It took place on Lido Island. Jovanovich complained that he
had to wear a tux because his guests wore formal wear. He drove the Duffy boat slowly since there
was only a light wind across the harbor. Once he crossed the Piermonts’ stern, he asked his
passengers to toast them. They lifted plastic steins of pilsner. He circled them as if he was letting
them go first. The Piermonts sailed to the front of the party barge, expecting to be met by a red
carpeted stairway. Nothing folded down from the bow.”
“Bud Logan drove the barge.”
“Yes. He plowed right into them. Courtesy of Jovanovich, the FBI has this on tape.”

“Smells heavenly, thank you.” She wasn’t sure how long he’d been up. “You look handsome in
your suit.” She brushed down his collar as she passed him. “Woody will be in at nine.”
He stood back and looked at her. “You make a stunning CEO.” He poured coffee and served
up scrambled eggs and toast. “Sit down.”
“Tell me, why did Leviticus stop by last night?” She nibbled on toast and sipped coffee. “You
look upset.”
“After what I know about Grayson Warner Biltmore, I’d bail on the Naiad assignment right now
if it weren’t for all the stockholders in this town.”
“Doctors, lawyers, merchants, the chief of police, and even the mayor own stock in Naiad. So,
tell me.”
He did, but he left out the part about her parents.

Kitzie decided the conservative suit made her look stuffy and tossed her jacket into her car. She
wanted to present herself as flexible and cooperative. Moments later, she joined Woody on the
sewing floor where they introduced themselves to the dozen or so Piermont employees. Thanks to
the rumor mill, no one’s eyes widened in surprise.

“We’re partners, Kitzie and I.” Woody casually extended an arm toward her. “Some of you
might have worked for Kitzie’s family in the past.” Woody made an impression of being relaxed
with his down-to-earth demeanor, his high, intelligent forehead, his trimmed white beard and
mustache, and his open-collared white shirt with khaki trousers. He slapped a fist into his palm.
“Your positions and wages will remain the same. We’ll be adding dental insurance to your medical
plans.” He paused. “Okay. Kitzie?”

“Thank you, Woody. For ease of communication,” she said, gesturing to the head seamstress,
“Maria Ruiz will have a desk in the executive office. She’ll spend most of her time on the floor, but
we’ll consult regularly. Like very soon.” She smiled. “After that, we’ll all gather to discuss our first
project. Maria, can you join us?”

“Pronto.” Maria began striding along an aisle of sewing stations. The pretty Latino wore a beige
dress accented with white lapels. Auburn hair curled to her shoulders, and her brown eyes were
heavily outlined.

During the next hour in their office, Woody turned his attention toward insurance, touching
base with the union, and other matters. Kitzie needed Marie’s advice to order reflective fabric for
the Starr-14 sails, and her knowledge proved useful. Maria said, “The weight of the reflective fabric
should equal the sail cloth. Otherwise, we won’t get a smooth join.”

By eleven o’clock, the two women were explaining their new project with the staff. She
encouraged Maria to do most of the talking. “The top triangle of the mainsails will be swapped with
reflective fabric,” she said. “Piermont has placed an order at Seattle Fabrics. We’ll use their light
weight, 200-denier yellow with a urethane coating. It’s a safety feature.”

“Yellow, not metallic?” someone asked.
“Good question. Metallic would be a good choice, too. The shiny fabric is even more reflective.
Hope it doesn’t blind you.” She chuckled as she took a sail in hand and then demonstrated a gentle
ripping procedure. Employees went to a large trunk that contained thirty Starr-14 mainsails and
pulled out small rippers.
By Wednesday, the new fabric arrived on a Federal Express truck. When Kitzie went outside to
sign delivery forms, she couldn’t stand looking at all the junk in the yard. It was time to get it hauled
off. Woody told her she’d need a zoning clearance for heavy equipment. She paid a visit to city hall.
After waiting around for the right signature, she gained a clearance. The slim man at the desk leaned
forward. “The only game in town for clearing land is Biltmore Enterprises. They’re located in the
same general neighborhood as Piermont Sails.”
“You mean behind us, in the industrial section? I thought the Smith family owned that.”
“Not anymore. Grayson Biltmore bought it and keeps adding earth movers to the stockpile.
From some place in Eastern Europe, I heard. No one else in town has front-end loaders or trucks
with dumpster attachments.”
“Guess I’ll have to drive over.”
Back in her car, Kitzie sat for a moment and phoned Garrett. They’d spoken earlier about her
frustration with the pile of junk, leaves, and old rusty machine parts. Her call went to his voice mail.
She left a message about Biltmore buying out Henry Smith. She started her car and took the
boulevard. As she passed the cemetery, she remembered that the number three was her father’s
lucky number. When she raced, he had ordered sails with that number.
A moment later, her phone vibrated with a ring, and the panel read
Heartbreaker
. “Garrett?”
“I remember Smith. He used to do cleanup and grading. Sounds like a Biltmore takeover.””
“From the bits and pieces I gathered from the conversation you had with Leviticus last night,
Biltmore swindled some people in a real estate deal. I don’t want to do business with a cheater, but I
need to have this mess hauled away. I don’t have a choice.”
“You do have a choice, babe.” Garrett’s voice was clipped.
“Don’t get snappy. Hey, I know your arm must hurt like the dickens.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m bumping along a rotted out blacktop road. Can I call you back? I need both hands on the
wheel.” She put her phone down and took a narrow, dusty turnoff. Up ahead, she saw an aluminum
building, now dilapidated. She was beginning to have second thoughts when she pulled alongside a
gleaming black 280-Z and switched off her engine. She squinted toward a tall blonde woman near
the entrance smoking a cigarette, and then recognized her as Cherry Sixkiller. Maybe the former
beauty queen worked there. Kitzie watched her throw the butt on the ground and grind it with the
toe of her shoe. She stepped past wrappers and other debris, heading for the black car. Within
speaking distance, Kitzie rolled down her window and leaned out an elbow. “Hello.”
“I’m on my break. Up there, Brunhilda the Croatian can help you.” The hardened blonde spun
toward her. “Or are you one of Bud Logan’s new pointy-breasted tramps? Well, if you know where
that bum is, tell me.” Cherry narrowed her eyes.
“Bud, the actor?”
“Yes, honey. God knows what your story is.” Cherry moved her shoulders as she angled into the
car. Under her breath she said, “Meth whores.”
Kitzie laughed weakly and then sat there for a moment, remembering Henry Smith’s wife and
how she’d forever sweep the steps. Once she accompanied her mother when she was in charge of
one of her many fund-raisers. A seaside estate had donated land to the town, and her mother went
around to various businesses to get donations. Mrs. Smith had handed her mother a check and had
said, “Bringing back the garden at the old Winslow Estate is a stroke of genius. The place will look
great with the gazebo restored. Nobody does a fund-raiser like you.”
Listening to the low hum of Cherry’s car as it took off, Kitzie closed her eyes. Memories of the
Smith couple reformed for her, reminding her of the simple joy of sweeping. She bit her lip, the
upper one, and then blinked open her eyes. She dialed information, asked for the number for
Greenleaf Landscape in Irvine. She connected with a scheduler.
After a discussion over the cleanup, Kitzie arranged for fill dirt to be dropped and spread. “Two
weeks is fine,” Kitzie said. Greenleaf would delay sod until they had some rain. She was back on
track, having spoken with a normal person, and planned to be organized and disciplined for the rest
of the day at Piermont. She hoped to touch base with Woody.
She zipped through the door of their hodge-podge office. Obviously her father’s office furniture
had been sold. “You know, Woody? Biltmore has taken over the . . . whoops, sorry.” He was on the
phone.
Three steel desks, selected from a used office furniture outlet because of their working drawers,
were angled in a triangle. Woody’s, hers, and the third desk belonging to Maria Ruiz faced each
other. Their three black leather chairs were new. As Kitzie settled into hers, she adjusted the tilt of
the contour seat and admired the way the sculpted metal bookcases nestled along walls. Fifties era,
the bookcases were free standing but fit perfectly and looked built-in. After seeing Gar’s sleek loft
kitchen with his Bulthaup sink and subzero fridge, she’d decided steel carried a bit of bravado.
Their battered file cabinets weren’t wide enough for legal-sized folders. Eventually, she and
Woody would replace them along with some other trappings. Naked fluorescent bulbs, cracked
linoleum tile on the floor, and industrial green paint hadn’t stood the test of time. At least the room
had been thoroughly cleaned, by her when she wasn’t occupied, and Woody hadn’t been there long
enough to scatter his paperwork all over.
She drummed her fingers on the desk. After buying Piermont, she and Woody had questions
that only Biltmore could answer. They really needed to get a hold of him. Garrett couldn’t find
answers to all of their billing questions. He wasn’t able to locate Biltmore, he’d said. She wondered if
his ambition to please the Naiad stockholders caused a certain reluctance to get involved. On the
other hand, Biltmore’s wife shot him. His stoicism was another thing that drove her nuts. He was
too private in spite of their breathless nights of passion.
The day before, she’d phoned Garrett’s grandmother, Dot Llewellyn, for decorating ideas. That
sporadic call turned into a pleasant chat that made her miss them. When things settled down,
Garrett promised to have them flown out on a charter jet. She hoped it would be more than a quick
visit. While she waited for Woody to get off the phone, she phoned Garrett. “I pulled up to
Biltmore Enterprises but didn’t go in. I found a landscaper in Irvine who can haul junk.”
“Good.” His tone was weary.
“Do you remember Cherry Sixkiller, the beauty queen? She was walking from the building to her
car. She wondered if I knew the whereabouts of Bud Logan.”
“Didn’t I tell you? Cherry was part of Biltmore’s marketing operation in St. Vincent. She and
Bud Logan schmoozed with the old timers.”
“Were they getting them into the buying mood?”
“That was the idea. Bud Logan was on the boat with Grayson and Lana when she shot me.
Otherwise, Bud would be in custody along with Biltmore’s thug, Jovanovich.”
She wondered if the man was Croatian like the woman Cherry had mentioned. “Garrett, when
will you tell me everything that happened to you?” She wondered if he’d been swept into some kind
of moral twilight. “After asking you for days, I’m finally convinced that you can’t contact Grayson
Biltmore.”
“As I said, when the FBI finds the Biltmores and Bud, they’ll get Leviticus and I involved. I
understand the dilemma for you and Woody. After a sale, a seller is in close touch with a buyer. You
and Woody won’t have that luxury.”
“We are making progress.”
“Did you get specs for the Avalon’s sails? The big race is coming up, babe.”
“Maria has put four seamstresses on the project. By Friday, Vectran sails will be folded into an
aqua canvas sailbag.”
“I can’t wait to see
The Windswept
under sail. What about a spinnaker?”
“I had to order one. With the race in just eight days, we don’t have time. Maybe some day,
Piermont will make them.”
“The regatta requires numbers on the mainsail and spinnaker. Was number three taken?”
He’d remembered. “Three was, but not thirty-three. I’ve ordered the numbers, and they’ll be
sewn on.”
“Nice. See you later.”
She turned her attention to Maria’s daily report. Seamstresses were still reconstructing mainsails
for Naiad’s unsold Starrs. Naiad would pay them when they sold, Garrett had said. With her desk
near the door, Kitzie heard a motor whirr and then jam. She turned to see Maria lean over the long
arm of a smoking machine. The stitching must have looked good because she didn’t lift the pressure
foot. She flipped on an automatic fan that cooled needles. In another moment, the machine
hummed and stopped. No jam this time. When she released the sail and held it up, she cast an
admiring look. She tested the 4-layer stitching by pulling at the join. “Perfecto.”
The worker smiled.
Kitzie was pleased as well. The slick yellow triangles at the top of the mainsails looked sporty
and would improve visibility of the sailboats. Next, the workers would enlarge windows, made of
clear plastic, to increase the skippers’ ability to see boats on their leeward side. This modification
didn’t require a significant outlay for new materials. There were bolts of clear plastic in the
storeroom. It was Friday morning, and half were finished.
Kitzie could see that she and Woody had skills that complimented each other. She knew
sailmaking and had connections. Her family went back four generations, rare in southern California.
Woody carried an aura of absolute trust and could close deals. One of his calls resulted in fifty
Linda-12 orders from a fledgling manufacturer in Irvine.
A little gold clock on Woody’s desk gave off ten soft dings. It was a gift from his girlfriend,
Millie. In another hour employees would head to the Boatworks for a sailing lesson. She was pleased
with their enthusiasm.
On the phone, Woody was chuckling, and rocking back and forth in his chair. She figured out
the person on the other end of his conversation was the owner of a sailboat manufacturing company
near Big Bear Lake. She gathered that Woody had him halfway in the boat. He raised his hand to tell
her he’d be finished soon, not to go away.
She nodded and picked up her phone to leave Coral a message. Knowing she was at school, she
left it on their home’s second line, Coral’s teen phone. It was the second message she’d left that
week. She was somewhat relieved that Coral was too busy for bike rides. She’d practically lived at
Piermont. Getting up to stretch, she wandered to the window and leaned on the sill, feeling the heat
of another hot, dry day in Landings Beach through the glass.
She heard a click when he hung up the telephone. He came out from behind his desk. “Big Bear
mumbles and speaks in monosyllables.”
“Like, ‘no’?”
“I’ll call him back in a few weeks. He’ll change his mind. Have you checked on our Vectran
order?”
“It should arrive today, Fed Ex. I’ll be here to write them a check. A big one, as you know.”
“Ouch.” His face went into a grimace.
Accustomed to Garrett pulling in the reins whenever she wanted to do something, she flinched.
“You agreed, Woody. All new sails will be Vectran.”
“I did, and I have confidence in your abilities. I have other business interests besides this one.
Besides, my girlfriend, Millie, well . . .”
“I understand.” She walked to her desk and sat on it, facing him. “How’s Millie?”
“She’s excited about a little trip we’ve planned. Can you handle things for awhile? We’re off to
Vegas for holy matrimony.”
“Holy smokes, congratulations. Where are you going to honeymoon?” She stood up and gave
his arm a pat.
“Venezuela. I talked Leviticus and his wife, Mae, into being our witnesses. They’re joining us on
our trip. While our wives shop, we’re going hunting.”
“I guess men like to hunt. What game are you after?”
“The Biltmore couple and maybe even Bud.”
“What kind of weapons will you bring?”
“Cameras, phones, and handcuffs.”