“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Something I’d like you to do.”
“Shoot.”
“Tomorrow, I want you to write a check for twenty-five thousand dollars on my trust account, made payable to the estate of Elizabeth Allison Manning, and send it to a law firm in Palm Beach.” He gave her the address. “Cover it with a letter saying that the money was sent at the direction of Mrs. Allison Manning.”
“Pursuant to what?”
Stone thought for a minute. “Just say what I told you; nothing else.”
“Okay, but we don’t have a lot more than that in the trust account.”
“I made a twenty-five-thousand-dollar deposit.”
“That CD of yours that came due this week?”
“Right.”
“We’re going to need to pay some bills the first of the month.”
“Woodman and Weld owes us some money; call Bill Eggers and rattle his cage. Tell him we need it right away.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Take care, then.”
“When you coming home?”
“Next week; I’ll let you know when.”
“You going to get that lady off?”
“Jesus, I hope so. If I don’t we can kiss that twenty-
five grand good-bye.”
He hung up feeling both better and worse.
Chapter
38
Stone finished up his work feeling thirsty, and he headed down to the bar for something cold. A young man in whites and shoulder boards was having a drink, looking bored. Stone sat down a stool away and ordered a rum and tonic, then he turned to the young man.
“You the skipper of the yacht that just came in?”
“Yep,” he replied, “she’s called Race.”
“There must be a reason,” Stone said. “What sort of speeds will she do?”
“Sixty knots in reasonable seas; seventy in a raging calm.”
“Whew! Who builds them?”
“She’s a one-off, designed by a guy out of Miami who does racing boats and built at the Huisman yard in Holland.”
“What brings you into St. Marks?”