I studied her profile, wondering how much information I could pump her for. “Do you mind if I ask about the logistics of Wendell’s disappearance?”
“Like what?”
I shrugged, not quite sure where to start. “What arrangements did he make? I don’t see how he could have managed it alone.” I could see her hesitate, so I tried a gentle coaxing, hoping she would open up. “I’m not just being nosy. I’m thinking whatever he did then, he might try again.”
I didn’t think she’d answer, but she finally slid a look in my direction. “You’re right. He couldn’t pull it off without help,” she said. “I single-handed my ketch down along the coast of Baja and picked him up in the dinghy after he abandoned the Lord.”
“That was risky, wasn’t it? What if you’d missed him? The ocean’s a big place.”
“I’ve sailed all my life, and I’m very good with boats. The whole plan was risky, but we pulled it off. That’s the point, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.”
“What about you? Do you sail yourself?”
I shook my head. “Too expensive.”
She smiled faintly. “Find a man with some money. That’s what I’ve always done. I learned to ski and play golf. I learned to fly first class traveling around the world.”
“What happened to your first husband, Dean?” I asked.
“He died of a heart attack. He was actually number two.”
“How long has Wendell been traveling on his passport?”
“The whole five years. Ever since we took off.”
“And the passport office never checked?”
“They slipped up on that, which is what gave us the idea in the first place. Dean died in Spain. Somehow the papers were never processed here. When his passport expired and the time came to renew, Wendell filled out the application and we substituted his picture. He and my husband were close enough in age to use Dean’s birth certificate if the documentation was ever questioned.”
We reached Cabana Boulevard and turned right, the marina visible, with its forest of naked masts, to our left. The day was thickly overcast, a mist floating on the dark green waters of the harbor. I could smell brine shrimp and diesel fuel. A strong wind was blowing off the ocean, bringing with it the smell of a distant rain. Renata turned into the marina parking area and found a space in the tiny lot just outside the kiosk. She parked the Jag and the two of us got out. I led the way since I knew where the Captain Stanley Lord was slipped.
We passed a funky little seafood restaurant with a few outside tables and the naval reserve building. “Then what?”
She shrugged. “After we got the passport? We took off. I would come back at intervals, usually by myself, but occasionally with Wendell. He stayed on the boat. I was free to come and go as I pleased since no one knew of our connection. I kept an eye on the boys, though they didn’t seem to be aware of it.”
“So when Brian first got in trouble with the law, Wendell knew all about it?”
“Oh, yes. At first he didn’t worry. Brian’s run-ins with the law seemed like childish pranks. Truancy and vandalism.”
“Boys will be boys,” I said.
She ignored that. “We were off on a round-the-world cruise when things got out of hand. By the time we came home, Brian was in bigger trouble than we knew. That’s when Wendell really went to work.”
We passed a yacht brokerage and a fish market. The navy pier extended to our left, a big marine travel rig in place. A boat had just been hoisted out of the water, and we had to wait impatiently while the long-legged mobile rig crept across the walkway and down the short avenue to our right. “Doing what? I still don’t understand how he managed it.”
“I’m not sure myself. It had something to do with the name of the boat.” The breakwater was nearly deserted, the threatening weather probably driving boats into port and people under cover. “Not directly,” she went on. “From what he told me, Captain Stanley Lord was always blamed for something he didn’t do.”
“He ignored the SOS from the Titanic, is what I heard,” I said.
“Or so people claimed. Wendell had done a lot of research on the incident, and he felt Lord was innocent.”
“I don’t get the connection.”
“Wendell was in trouble with the law once himself. …”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember. Somebody mentioned that. He’d graduated from law school. He was convicted of manslaughter, wasn’t he?”