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search. "You should look
in the attic. I kept several boxes of Don's paperwork that he
stored at home. Maybe you can find an old invoice."
    Sabrina needed the breakthrough. She located
the boxes and after opening one, inhaled the aroma of cherry
tobacco, Old Spice and paper. She recognized the carved mahogany
pipe that her grandfather clenched between his teeth in every old
photograph. She held an old handkerchief to her cheek, reveling in
the cologne that still clung to the linen fabric.
    She created piles, sorting the papers into
stacks of invoices, receipts, lists and business correspondence.
The earliest invoice for the selling price of a Zephyrus, $5,000,
was dated March 1969, paid in full by someone named Blair.
    It's a start , she thought, and tucked
the invoice into her pocket. Later, again on the Internet, she
searched the online telephone directory for any Blairs living in
Rhode Island. She quickly narrowed her search to those living along
the coast. She assumed that anyone with a boat needed a place to
put it.
    She found forty listings and printed the
list.
    She started with the Blairs (she assumed it
would be a man) who lived closest to Warren, where the Zephyrus had
been built. On her seventh call, she reached an elderly man. Having
polished her speech, Sabrina launched into a quick
introduction.
    "Hello, my name is Sabrina Windham. My
grandfather, Don Windham, designed the Zephyrus sailboat. I'm
trying to locate a Mr. Blair who may have purchased one. Do you
know anything about this boat?"
    She paused. After a second or two, the
querulous voice responded. "Sailboat? Eh? You looking for Don
Windham's sailboat?"
    Finally a lead in her quest. Sabrina's heart
raced. "Yes, do you know anything about a Zephyrus sailboat?"
    "Sailboat, eh? Yes, I have one. It's in sorry
shape, girly. You don't want this one."
    Excited, Sabrina paced the sitting room
ignoring his comment about the boat's condition. "You have a
Zephyrus? May I ask you, which year?"
    "Eh? Speak up, girly. I don't hear so
well."
    "Sorry," she raised her voice. "What year was
the boat built?"
    "Why, the first year, girly. Don Windham owed
me money for a truck and trailer, so he traded me a new boat for
it."
    Sabrina pumped her fist excitedly.
    "Mr. Blair, I would like to visit you and
look at this boat. Is that okay? Will you allow me to see it?"
    "Sure; I don't mind. She's been sitting by
the barn for nearly twenty years now. Put 'er in storage after I
retired. Kids didn't want it, and I'm too old to sail a fast
boat."
    Sabrina confirmed his address and told him
she would be in Rhode Island on Saturday. Again using the Internet,
she made a hotel reservation near Mr. Blair's zip code. Then she
hurried to the hospital to update Rose.
    "I don't know, Grandmother. This could be
it," she said, her cheeks flushed.
    Rose raised a weak hand, which Sabrina
grasped.
    "I hope so, dear. Mr. Blair? I don't remember
him, but I do remember Don coming home one night with a dreadful
truck and trailer. The thing was a rust bucket; it had a dragging
muffler and it backfired when he revved the engine."
    Rose closed her eyes and smiled, as if
reliving the joy of an argument with her long-gone husband. "Don
had just started building boats, and he said he needed a truck to
move them to the dock. I don't remember if he traded the first one
they built."
    "I'm going to see Mr. Blair this weekend. He
lives near Warren, Rhode Island.
    That's where you and Grandfather lived, isn't
it?"
    Rose nodded. "Yes. It's a small town on the
Warren River, north of Narragansett Bay. Not many people lived
there, but it was close to Providence, as well as Newport and
Bristol. And, we could afford the rent."
    "May I use your car, Grandmother?"
    "Certainly, dear. I'm not going
anywhere."
     
    * * *
     
    Friday approached and she decided to keep her
dinner date with Robert Hall. She felt a bit guilty, going out
while Rose lay in the hospital, but the old woman insisted.
    "I don't want you rattling around