Read Once a Widow for Free Online

station. I—uh—I’m afraid we have bad news for you.”
    “What is it?” Richard asked sharply.
    “We’ve found the boat, Mr. Barry—beached on the rocks near Catawba. She’s pretty well smashed up.”
    “But my wife—what about her?”
    “There was no one on board.”
    Richard waited a suitable moment before he said hoarsely, “Where is she? What happened to her?”
    “We don’t know. She may have fallen overboard, and you said she couldn’t swim…” Prentice coughed delicately.
    “You mean she’s—drowned? How could that happen? She was always careful around boats, and near the water—especially careful, because she couldn’t swim. I can’t believe…”
    “It may have happened during the squall we had around noon—we can’t tell how long the boat has been beached.” Prentice coughed again. “Try not to worry about it too much, Mr. Barry. We’ll let you know as soon as we have anything to tell you. What do you want done with the boat?”
    “To hell with the boat. Just find my wife.”
    “We’ll do our best.” Prentice paused, and then added, “If you like, we’ll see that the boat is moved to the station yard. You can come and look it over later.”
    “All right, thanks, but you can understand how I feel.”
    “Certainly. We’ll be in touch.” Prentice hung up.
    It was a little after two in the afternoon. Richard went to the kitchen and as he drank a glass of cold water he gazed out of the window. The storm was over and the sun was shining on the gently rolling water. He could not sleep any more and he paced the house slowly, carrying a bottle of bourbon, smoking and taking an occasional nip. He felt fine, a little jittery, maybe, but it would soon be over. Even if he were suspected, there was no possible way anything could be proven. Around five o’clock he shaved and took another shower, mostly to pass the time, and changed into white linen slacks and a tight, dark-blue, short-sleeved polo shirt which accentuated his powerful shoulders and muscular tanned arms. He thought of calling the house in Cleveland again, but decided not to over-do it. Around seven he broiled a medium-sized sirloin from the freezer, heated some frozen French fried potatoes and made a pot of coffee. He had his dinner at the kitchen table from where he could see the terrace, the beach below and the undulating expanse of lake tinted red by the sinking sun. Far out on the horizon the smoke from an ore barge made a dark smudge against the evening sky. When he had finished eating he rinsed his few dishes, carried the coffee to the living room, lit a cigarette and sat down to wait.
    They came at dusk, two of them, a young fresh-faced man and a tall older one wearing khaki, a silver shield, a broad-brimmed hat and a cartridge belt bearing a Colt .38 in a black leather holster. Richard opened the screen door and let them in. The young man said he was Lieutenant Prentice of the coast guard station and introduced the tall man as Harry Lambert, the sheriff of Island County. Richard shook hands with both, invited them to sit down. They sat, but politely declined Richard’s invitation to have a drink. Whisky, beer, coffee? Prentice spoke first. He regretted that Mrs. Barry had not been found, but urged Richard not to give up hope. The boat was a wreck; perhaps the motor and some fittings could be salvaged. He had brought Sheriff Lambert because there was a possibility that Mrs. Barry had been aboard the cruiser when it cracked up on the rocks and had gotten ashore. If so, she might—uh—be somewhere in the vicinity, perhaps injured. The sheriff’s men were conducting a search along the shore in the area. Would Mr. Barry mind if the sheriff asked a few questions?”
    “Certainly not,” Richard said.
    The sheriff cleared his throat. “You understand, Mr. Barry, that we’ll do everything we can to find your wife, and that the questions I’m going to ask are merely routine?”
    Richard nodded in a grave cooperative