Windward Whisperings (17 page)

* * * *

 

To Kitzie, there was a difference between sailing clothes and yachting clothes. She headed to the
employee bathroom and changed into fast-dry gray shorts, a long sleeved white jersey, and red vest.
She pulled on socks and sailing sneakers, an import from Italy.

She pulled a versatile garment, a buff, over her head. In warmer weather, it protected her neck
from the sun like a bandana. In cold weather, it served as a thermal hood. Her fingerless racing
gloves had sticky palms.

When she arrived at the Boatworks’ landing, it was bustling. Anyone who wanted to learn to sail,
from management on down, had joined her class. As she corkscrewed her way toward shore, she
realized the seamstresses were acquainted with the shop floor workers. Either they lived in Terrace
Park in trailers or up in Stucco City. Maria Ruiz was married to Miguel Torres.

She liked watching their ease in launching the Starrs. Each boat sat in the cradle of its aluminum
trailer. Serving as dollies, two at a time were rolled into the water. Paddling to the dock, they tied and
then rigged them.

A man in a hundred-dollar knit shirt looked out at the water, probably studying ripples for wind
direction. He held one hand behind his back, and the other rested on the curved handle of a long
wooden tiller. Usually Garrett was more of an observer than a participant. Of late, he’d stepped
down from his ivory tower. Standing shoulder to shoulder with employees, he was fitting a tiller to a
rudder. A seamstress slid battens into a sail. He held the heavy sail while she slugged it onto the
mast.

“Nicely done, you two.” Kitzie breezed by, not wanting to get too close to him. She’d rather no
one witnessed flashes of something hot between them. This kind of thing happened when she got
too near. For the most part, living together was their secret.

People no longer stared at him as though he were an apparition. They didn’t think he was there
to lop off heads or personally hand out pink slips. They now returned simple greetings when he
smiled.

When she approached, the group gathered around her. Ordered in bulk at her own cost, she
handed out booklets put out by Orange Coast College Sailing Center,
Sails in the Sun.
“Don’t forget
to drop your centerboards. Otherwise, your boat won’t go forward. It will slide. Everyone must wear
a life jacket.”

Rigging was nearly complete, and she counted the boats. “We’ll go out in groups of three. I want
more experienced skippers with new learners. Help each other. Talk about what you’re doing and
why you’re doing it.” She felt it was a noble calling as she counted heads, one-two-three, and
watched trios head out.

Two seamstresses were about to shove off, and she joined them. “Hi, Rose. Hello, Jean. I’ll take
the tiller first, but you’ll both skipper today.”
Rose and Jean smiled with satisfaction. Kitzie pointed out some things as they shoved off. Out
on the water, she put a loudspeaker to her lips. “Folks, sail to the harbor buoy and back. You’ll go
out on a close haul and back on a reach. Switch jobs every fifteen minutes.” Putting the speaker in a
drawer at the stern, she pointed a finger toward Catalina. “The wind is coming from the northwest,
the direction of the island. You can’t sail directly into the wind. We’re going to steer toward that
buoy, about fifty degrees off. Jean, you’re first on the tiller. It’s a fair wind. I know you’ll do fine. I’m
here if you need me.” She took the main sheet, the rope attaching to the horizontal boom of the
mainsail.
Rose held the jib sheet. “I think I remember how to trim the sails. You let it out until it flutters
at the luff.” Rose nodded toward the outer edge of the sail called the luff. “You haul in until it
doesn’t.”
“That’s exactly right, Rose.”

* * * *

Garrett had joined her at home for dinner, but now, he needed to draft a letter to stockholders
at the office. After the asset sale, Piermont Sails and property, Naiad’s overhead costs were greatly
reduced, making them profitable. A stockholders’ meeting was scheduled at the start of the second
quarter. “I can let them know Naiad is operating in the black.”

“You can. Did you know tomorrow is April Fools Day?”
“I hadn’t thought about it. You did call me a fool once.” He smiled.
“Garrett, I’m glad to see your success. You have accomplished what you set out to do. I guess

you just have to think of Biltmore as another stockholder.”
“Look, Biltmore’s crimes are alleged. I’m not at liberty to mention suspicions with the
stockholders. I’ll operate as if nothing is amiss. I’ll let them hear it from the chief of police or the
mayor.”
“Have you sent reports to Grayson Biltmore?”
“Yes, via the fax number he’d given me. It goes to an officer at the Aruba National Bank. I
haven’t received any word back and under the circumstances wouldn’t expect to. The trio is on the
run. Leviticus has a stakeout at Bud Logan’s condo here in town. No activity there.”
“With no word back, Biltmore doesn’t know of your turn-around.”
“Correct.” He opened the door. Leaving it ajar, he disappeared from her line of vision. Soon the
taillight of his Beemer faded.
Thor brushed against her legs, and she bent down to pet him. “Where’s your buddy? Does
Snowball have roaming tendencies?” With the cat missing, Thor wanted her attention. “Come, Thor.
We’ll play fetch.” She left the front door unlocked while she tossed the Frisbee in the yard. People
strolled along the street on their way to a dinner party across the street, but Thor paid no attention.
Somehow his canine mind decided the people were friends.
Back inside, she locked up. Thor carried the Frisbee around in his mouth for awhile and then
disappeared through the doggy door. The house felt strangely empty. The grandfather clock chimed
the quarter hour past seven. She glanced at dirty dishes on the dining room table. Humming to cheer
herself, she threw linens into the washing machine and brought glasses, plates, and flatware to the
sink.
Out the kitchen window, the one that wouldn’t quite shut, she could see the black water on the
harbor. The air carried a dry, parched scent that made her thirsty. She turned on the tap and held a
glass under the faucet. As soon as water swirled to the rim, she drank it, filled it again, and carried it
with her.
She walked into the living room and closed the plantation shutters. The best thing about the
cottage was its privacy. Garrett sometimes walked around in his boxers. She liked looking at the
brown hair on his chest and the long lines of his legs and back. It was never long until she saw the
dark hair of his groin. Even with his bandaged arm, he indulged her with more passion than she’d
expected.
She wasn’t sure when all this would turn into a memory. Something this good couldn’t last,
could it? He’d bought the cottage but could easily sell it. She’d bought his boat, but it didn’t make
him hers. Pleasant weather could go on forever in southern California. She’d go on, too, like before.
For the first time in a decade, she’d found herself. Garrett had helped, had made it possible.
Running Piermont gave her hopes and dreams. She thought of her parents more. How they were
before they had died had become less fuzzy. They were anticipating something happy, she knew that
now.
Her house phone rang in the living room, and her caller ID identified Coral. “Coral, is this really
you?”
“Hey, Kitzie.”
“Tell me, have I been replaced by Brent?”
“Afraid so.” She giggled. “I’m calling about the regatta, the one for the
big
suckers. Saw the
roster. I like your boat name,
The Windswept
.”
“Yes, I bought an Avalon. Your family has one. Is your dad racing?”
“No, we just use it for pleasure sailing. I’d like to crew for you. I want to show you my new
prosthetic. It fits in a boat shoe.”
“You’re on, and I’d love to see it. Actually, I’ll need one more crew. So far, I have you and a guy
who crewed for me years ago. His name is Garrett. He has an injured arm, but his weight on the
high side will be useful. Do you know of anyone?”
“Brent can pop a spinnaker like no one else. We’re available to practice this weekend.”
“On Saturday, the wind is forecasted as brisk. Can you meet us at noon tomorrow at Woody’s?
I’m buying lunch.”
“I’ll tell Brent. And, Kitzie? Let’s sail to win. We’ll make
The Windswept
scream like a banshee.”
“Glad your heart is in it, Coral.”
Kitzie knew two important things about winning races. The boat must be fast. She believed
Vectran sails would give her an edge. Second, whoever knows the wind, will win. She knew how to
take advantage of wind shifts when tacking upwind to a mark.
Back in the kitchen, she brought her glass to the sink. She heard noise outside, soft crunches in
dry grass. She turned out the light in order not to be seen. She squinted through the window.
Snowball stirred in the yard.
She settled onto a sofa in the living room and read from her Mobipocket reader until Thor made
strange noises. A bark was followed by a yelping whine, and then a bark again. Then, she
remembered the party across the street. Maybe when the music and laughter quieted down, her dog
would, too. She peeked through a slat in the plantation shutters.
She wasn’t the only one watching the partiers. A bulky figure of a man stood, elbows akimbo,
jacket hanging loose. Under the sycamores, the man had the bodyguard stance of Louie.

* * * *

“Have you just stepped out of the pages of
GQ
?” She found herself staring. He’d always been
handsome, but more so in his mature state with his chiseled jaw line. Goosebumps erupted on her
flesh, and then disappointment ran havoc through her system. It was Saturday, and he wasn’t
dressed for sailing.

“Naiad stockholders have scheduled another meeting, prompted by the updates I sent out.

They’ve put a label of emergency on this one.”
“This takes precedence, of course. You won’t make our practice on
The Windswept
.”
“I’ll be tied up. Forgive me.” He slid into a suit jacket, brushed down a lapel, and looked right

past her toward his briefcase. It sat in front of the grandfather clock, and he moved a leather wingtip
forward.

She ran a hand down the smooth fabric of his sleeve. “By the way, I saw Louie. You know, your
courier
from New York? He was creeping around the yard last night.”
“He must have startled you. I should have mentioned it. He arrived yesterday by commercial
airline. I asked him to watch over you when I’m not around. It bothered me when you drove over to
Biltmore Enterprises.”
“What exactly did Leviticus tell you about Biltmore’s real estate scheme? Who in this town did it
involve?”
“I’d say everyone with disposable income. I’m sorry Louie frightened you.”
“Can he crew?”
“No. He does fly helicopters. Don’t make me feel guilty. When a client’s involved, everything
else has a minor importance. That’s the way it is.” He glanced at his watch. “I can give you five
minutes.” He took a detour around his briefcase and sank into the sofa. He bent forward, put his
elbows on his knees, and raked his hands through his hair.
“Are you going to blast me with a one-sided conversation about stockholders expecting a certain
image?”
“Has it been like that, all stockholders all the time? I need to have the upper hand, make sure
their impression of me isn’t associated with Biltmore’s charlatan ways.”
“Your logic on that topic makes perfect sense. Believe me. I know word of mouth carries a
noble worth.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“My gut feeling tells me Woody and Leviticus would like to hang Biltmore out to dry.”
“I’m not protecting Biltmore. I want to protect you.”
“It strikes me as silly that Louie is here. Moving on from that subject, what’s the stockholder
emergency all about?”
“Board members complain their chief executive officer is not on site to conduct business.
They’re calling for Biltmore’s retirement, especially the police chief.”
“Most of the stockholders live here, and they have a lot at stake.”
“I’ll entertain their financial questions.” He glanced at his briefcase.
She smiled politely. He didn’t have time for an argument with his career foremost in his mind.
“It’s good we sleep under the same roof. Otherwise we’d rarely see each other.” He
concentrated on getting his cuffs straight and then kissed her on the lips.
She followed him to the front door and leaned her forehead against the frame. “If they ask
about Biltmore, what will you tell them?”
“I’ll tell them the FBI is looking for him.” He stared down with his hand on the doorknob. He
stood there for a moment. “It’s an FBI matter. I’m concentrating on saving Naiad rather than losing
my mind.”
As if she wasn’t. She ached inside, wanting Biltmore to be exposed for what he was, the sooner
the better.
He bent down and kissed her again. “We’re like passing ships.” The door clicked behind him.

* * * *

She, Coral, and Brent had practiced on the open water for hours. Their sailing exercises went
like clockwork. Her breath caught at the sight of the long shadow of
The Windswept
’s sail on the
water. She flipped open her cell and checked the time. “It’s almost six. Let’s head home, guys.”

“Aw.” Coral pushed up her sunglasses and gave her hair a rumple. “Kitzie, are we as good as I
think we are?” She trimmed the mainsheet with the Avalon’s electric winch.
Kitzie felt gratitude. “You two are incredible. I’m lucky. The race is next Saturday, and we’re
ready.”
Brent stirred. “We’ll be going downwind. How about I rig the spinnaker one last time?”
“Sure. We’ll come around on a reach. This will be a perfect opportunity to practice our jibe, and
then you can pop the spinnaker.”
Compared to tacking into the wind, the opposite was more unnerving. On a starboard broadreach, their mainsail, full of wind, was far out. In a jibe, the swing of the boom, from one side to
another, covered a substantial arc. As helmswoman, it was her job to communicate. “Haul in the
sails, Coral. Remember to keep your heads down. Prepare to jibe.” She double-checked wind
direction and selected a reference point to steer for after completion of the jibe. “Ready?”
Coral checked the main sheet device, making sure it’d be ready to haul in. “Ready.”
Brent held the working jib sheet. “Ready.”
To warn of the swinging boom, Kitzie called out, “Jibe ho.” She turned the wheel. Brent let the
jib sheet go. The stern passed through the wind, and the boom swung.
As soon as the boom crossed the boat, Coral sheeted out the main. In seconds, Kitzie had them
on a fast run. Brent popped up the aqua and white spinnaker, and it filled with wind. “She’s
screaming like a banshee.”