Sea Change

Florence stood and leaned over and raised the centerboard. It feltfree to her. The boat slid slightly sideways. She let the board down.

The boat stabilized, and came hard about, and the boom swung overthe small cockpit and hit her a numbing blow in the chest andknocked the wind out of her. She pitched over the side into the blackR O B E R T B . P A R K E R

water. It was painfully cold. She went under, gasping for breath,inhaling some of the water, choking on it. She struggled toward thesurface. When she broke water she could see the sailboat turning andcoming back for her. She struggled to breathe, to stay afloat, to focus.

In the far distance where Paradise rose up from the harbor she couldsee, on the top of the highest hill, the steeple of the oldest church intown. The sailboat was coming. She treaded water desperately. Onlyanother minute at the most before the boat reached her. Hang on.

Hang on. Through the gray rain, she could see the little white boneof spray at the prow, the brass turnbuckle of the mast stay, the darkprotective paint on the belly of the boat, as it leaned hard to the side,straining against the wind.

In a moment it would head up into the wind and sit, its sail luff-ing while she got hold of the rail. She was treading water. She wasafloat. She was getting her breath. The boat didn’t head into thewind. It came straight on and the bow hit her in the chest and forcedher under as the boat passed and sailed on. Barely conscious, shestruggled to the surface. The boat was past her, sailing away. Shetried to scream but she choked on the seawater. And then she wentunder and choked some more and lost consciousness.

Running before the wind with its sheet full out, the little sailboatheaded home without her.

2

1

T he bouncer at the Dory was holding a wet towel against his bloody nose when Jesse

Stone arrived. Suitcase Simpson was with

him. Simpson was in uniform. Jesse was wearing jeans and a white short-sleeved oxford shirt. His gun was on his right hip and his badge was tucked in his shirt pocket so that the shield showed.

“You usually win these, Fran,” Jesse said to the bouncer.

The bouncer shrugged. His right eye was nearly closed.

“Too big for me, Jesse. You guys may have to shoot him.”

“We’ll see,” Jesse said.

Jesse pushed into the crowded bar. There was no noise. A R O B E R T B . P A R K E R

big man was standing on the bar drinking from a bottle of Wild Turkey. The bottle had a pour spout on it and he would hold it away from his open mouth and pour the whiskey in.

The bartender, whose name was Judy, had ducked out from behind the bar and was standing near the door. She had blonde hair in a ponytail and wore sneakers, shorts and a tank top.

“You call us?” Jesse said to her.

She nodded.

“He was drunk when he came in,” she said.

Jesse nodded.

“He made some remarks,” Judy said. “I told him I wouldn’t serve him. He made some more remarks, Fran tried to help . . .” She shrugged.

“You know who that is?” Simpson murmured in Jesse’s ear.

“Carl Radborn,” Jesse said. “All-Pro tackle. Shall we get his autograph?”

“Just letting you know,” Simpson said.

Jesse slid through the quiet crowd with Simpson behind him.