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afternoon we got a call from the
Coast Guard that the boat had blown up and sunk with all hands. Not a
trace. They say the explosion was so loud it woke everybody in Gig
Harbor, which was the better part of five miles away. Supposedly a
fuel leak. They recovered two . . . parts of two . . . bodies.
Brought them back here."
    She
was having trouble maintaining her facade now.
    "One
was Nicky . . . Dental records. No question. The other body was
female. That's all they could say for sure without something to
compare it—the remains—with."
    "And
Heck didn't think it was them?"
    "Nicky's
for sure. Even Heck couldn't dispute that. Heck didn't think she was
on board, though."
    "Any
particular reason?"
    I
sensed that I'd asked the wrong question again.
    "Guilt.
It had to be the guilt. Heck felt guilty for not listening to me
about that little bitch. I think he was punishing himself for being
so damn stupid. I think he needed somebody to blame. He needed to
feel he was doing something. First he couldn't face Nicky's illness;
then he couldn't face his death. As long as he kept this ridiculous
thing going, he didn't have to face the facts." She swallowed.
"So childish.
    "What
I really think is that my son is dead, and my husband may well be a
vegetable for the rest of his life, and that none of that macho
bullshit is going to bring either of them back to me."
    "So
there was nothing tangible about his suspicions?"
    "There
was the missing money and the mortgage on the boat."
    "I
thought Heck refused to mortgage the boat."
    "He
did. That's where it gets sticky. Nicky mortgaged the boat
during the two weeks before they left on the honeymoon. Never said a
word to Heck or me. Very out of character for Nicky. Five hundred and
seventy-five thousand dollars. He also cleaned out his trust fund.
Another three hundred fifteen thousand. Altogether that's the better
part of a million dollars missing."
    "Missing?"
    "Thin
air." She snapped her fingers. "The bank said they couldn't
tell us anything. Some privacy law. Just that the accounts were no
longer active. Nicky was over twenty-one, and it was a joint account
with Allison. Right now, their deaths are officially accidents.
We need a court order to get the bank records."
    "So,
if it wasn't Allison on the boat, who was it?"
    "Heck
hung around the terminal for weeks, pestering everybody.
Eventually he became convinced it was some wharf rat he'd seen
hanging around the marina while they were working on the Lady Day."
    "That's
all? Wharf rats come and go. Heck knows that. Doesn't sound like much
to me,"
    "When
he couldn't stand hearing that from me anymore was when he moved
aboard. It was ridiculous."
    "Why
call me, then?" She was ready for this one.
    "I've
been asking myself that for days, and I think I've finally come to an
answer. It's because I need this finished. I need some sense of
resolution, of closure. If this wild goose chase turns out to be the
last thing Heck ever does, so be it, but it needs to have an end. I
need to feel I've done everything I can."
    I
understood completely. This need for closure was what kept me in
business. It permitted those who were faced with disaster and guilt a
cushion of hope and allowed those who were left behind to eventually
turn the page and get on with their lives.
    I
thought she was finished, but she suddenly continued.
    "And
because there's just too many questions left, Leo, even for a
pragmatist like me. Where's the money? Nicky could have had whatever
he'd wanted. All he had to do was ask. And . . . there's her . . .
that bitch. I don't know how to—" She shrugged. "Then
there's the ATM card."
    I
waited.
    "On
the day of the accident, just before midnight, Heck took five hundred
dollars in cash out of the company account with his ATM card."
    "So?"
    "He
never used the card. Not once. He liked to go into the bank. He had a
card for the better part of ten years, and in all that time, that
morning was the first and only time he'd ever used it."
    "Where
did