exerpts from the novel
The Electronic Windmill
By Pete McKinley
Chapter I
About when Pilar Jones was invited by Myron Brown, President of McWhorter Brown, to a dinner celebrating the completion of the Brown’s new home down the peninsula. Pilar first asked Larry Carver to take her, but Larry had an appointment in Sacramento that couldn’t be cancelled, so with some diffidence she asked Cole Rain. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Cole, but she felt it would be an imposition on his time to ask him to devote an evening to her away from whatever he did with his evenings. Actually, Cole was happy to be with her. Except for business, and this mostly in the company of two or three other people, Cole had had very little contact with Pilar since Bob Jones’ death. He had wanted to know her better, but found their business association a hindrance to promoting a social relationship.
The home was situated in the Coast Range rising a thousand feet above the Santa Clara Valley. Cole parked the car on a middle level between the knoll where the house was, and a pool shimmering below. They sat for a moment taking it all in, the valley orchards in bloom and the bay beyond.
“I think we’re early. Could we walk down by the pool?” Pilar asked. “I’d like you to see some of the special tile that Rain, Carver, Shu-li and Jones designed for the area.”
They walked down the broad steps to a deck where the tile had been slightly roughened to prevent bare feet from slipping. Each one had been placed within a larger pattern, and the colors reminded Cole of fall leaves in New England; burnt orange, yellow, green and a tinge of red. The pieces lining the pool shaded from a blue-white bottom to an intense blue just under the coping at the water line.
The setting blended into the landscape so subtly and he was so completely engrossed that he didn’t notice Myron Brown’s approach.
“I’m glad you arrived in time to see the colors in the sunlight. Pilar, it’s nice to see you. You’re the only girl I know who can compete with the beauty you’ve created here.”
Pilar’s smile revealed teeth almost too white in a golden tan face and her green eyes filled with delight. “I’m happy you like the work and most of all I appreciate the free hand you gave me in spending your money. Oh, this is Cole Rain.”
“Mr. Rain, I’ve been wanting to meet you,” Myron Brown said as they shook hands. “Pilar tells me you’re the author of ‘The Criminal Mind Versus the People’.” Cole admitted that he was.
“Studying crime, especially organized crime, has been my avocation for years, whenever I can spare time away from the ceramic business.” Brown paused and then seemed to come to a decision. “I’ve got something I’d like to discuss with you before the evening is over, if you don’t mind.”
“Fine,” Cole said. “We seem to be a little early, perhaps now would be as good a time as any.” A tall slender woman was approaching down the steps.
“Pilar brought Mr. Cole Rain, dear. This is my wife, Margaret, Mr. Rain.”
“I’m so glad you could come, Mr. Rain,” she said extending her hand in welcome. “Would you two be terribly upset if I took Pilar with me? I need her opinion on something I just bought.”
“We’ll excuse you if you don’t keep her away too long, and Margaret, would you ask Roy to bring our drinks here? What would you like, Cole? I’m having scotch and water but Roy can concoct almost anything.”
“If you have it, I’d like a glass of sherry.”
“We have a cellar full of wine that Myron never touches,” Mrs. Brown said. “I’ll select one for you and have Roy bring it down.”
As the two left, Brown turned to Cole. “Women never cease to amaze me their preoccupation with whatever it is they’re always buying and the need for approval from another woman. A man’s opinion doesn’t amount to a damn.” Pausing only momentarily he went on, “But that isn’t what I wanted to talk about. Let’s sit over here.” They went to a marble bench and sat down, and Brown continued, “We have an embarrassing not to say a serious problem at McWhorter Brown. I don’t know how much you know about our company, Cole, but briefly, we produce a wide range of clay products - conduit tile to roof tile, including what you see here,” and he swept his hand in a half circle. “For this kind of production, we use a lot of clay and for years we’ve been importing it from Mexico. We have our own ship making continuous runs between Mexico and the United States, picking up clay in Mazatlan and bringing it to our plant in San Francisco. For some time now I’ve had reason to suspect that our ship is being used to smuggle illicit drugs.” Brown looked at Cole and Cole looked interested. “The ship itself has been searched half a dozen times from top to bottom with no results. The custom officials are positive nothing has left the ship either through the cargo, crew or passengers, but the narcotics people aren’t completely satisfied. I think we need outside help to resolve the suspicions one way or another.”
“What led to the suspicions in the first place?” Cole asked.
“In the past eighteen months there’s been an influx of heroin into the Bay Area. A user, an addict supposedly, had part of the story and insisted that the stuff was coming from Mexico by a ship on a regular run - not a small boat. We seem to fit the story best, and there have been other circumstantial things pointing to us.”
“But, how could I help?” Cole wanted to know.
“Having read your book and knowing your interest in this sort of thing, I thought I’d ask your help either to expose whoever is doing the smuggling, or at least furnish us with a clean bill-of-health. I need assurance that our ship is not being used as a smuggling device. But if it is, I want to know and I want it stopped,” Brown said agitatedly. Then more calmly, “Of course, money is no object. I’d be willing to pay almost any amount to get this thing settled.”
Cole thought for a moment. “This is all very flattering, but most of my work has been done in research and writing. Don’t get me wrong - it’s an attractive challenge. I’ve always wanted to use my knowledge practically and actively.”
“Now’s your chance,” Myron Brown urged.
“It’s appealing at the moment because I’m not doing anything so important that it couldn’t be postponed for a while,” Cole said reflectively. “I’ve just completed an “Investigative Procedures Manual” to be used by municipal police departments, and I had intended to take a few weeks off, but this sounds exciting; could I ask a couple more questions?”
“I’ll give you any information I have. Of course, this is strictly confidential, our people are not aware that they have been singled out for smuggling.”
“Why do the narcotics people continue to suspect the ship?” Cole asked.
“Well, after they were unable to locate any evidence at all, they did feel confident our ship wasn’t involved. But then about ten days ago the Mexican coast guard picked up a French sailor off the coast near the port of Zihuatenejo. He had left a Greek ship in a small rubber life raft and had been trying to make the mainland. Evidently he had shoved off in a hurry and was further from shore than he thought, because when he was found, he didn’t have any food or water and was taken aboard the cutter in a coma. The only thing he had in the raft with him was a pound of pure heroin. The Greek freighter that he had left was sailing from the south of France and was scheduled to touch at the port of Mazatlan. The sailor later claimed that the drugs came from a cache he had found on board ship. He had taken some and headed for the mainland, evidently planning to go into the drug business on his own.” Brown paused to light a cancer carrier before going on. “He told the Mexican authorities that the heroin he had discovered on the ship totaled some hundred pounds of the purest stuff and that it was to be transferred to an American freighter making periodic runs between Mexico and the United States carrying a bulk cargo. So - if he knows what he’s talking about it almost has to be the Crescent Moon since we’re the only one making a regular run; although he didn’t name us.”
“The tie-in seems pretty strong,” Cole admitted. “One more question; you said the custom officials searched the crew and the passengers. Do you always carry passengers on this ship?”
“Well, yes, we normally do have passengers on board. But these passengers are made up of clients, people who purchase our products. To explain the set-up, the area in Mexico where our clay comes from is also noted for its fishing and hunting. Our sales department takes advantage of this to entertain their customers with an ocean voyage. We have a man who handles the details of these junkets and always makes the trip.” He paused as a waiter came down the steps carrying a tray of drinks. “Oh, here’s Roy. I hope you like the sherry, I know very little about wine; Margaret is the connoisseur.”
Cole tasted the sherry and expressed his approval. “I’ve always wondered about the fun of selling, but I guess it’s a job if you do anything for a purpose.” He took another sip of the wine and placed the glass on a low marble table. “I’m thinking about what you’ve just told me, but I still don’t see how my help can be as good as the help you have available.”
“I think we need a new approach,” Brown said. “Someone from outside with a completely fresh viewpoint. I don’t want anyone from Customs or the Narcotics Bureau, but someone who could make a trip on the Crescent Moon as a normal guest without being obvious as to his purpose. I hoped that if you were willing to do this, you might see some unusual or even commonplace thing that would give us a clue as to how this thing is being done - if it is being done.”
“Another thought just occurred to me,” Cole broke in. “Why wouldn’t the real smugglers be worried about this seaman, who absconded with part of the cache, talking and divulging their methods of getting drugs into the United States?”
“After the Mexicans got the story from the sailor, they never announced that he had been picked up. They merely put him in one of their maximum security penitentiaries and forgot about him. When the freighter arrived in Mazatlan, the captain reported that after their departure from Zjuatenejo, they had lost a man overboard. It was assumed he was lost about a hundred miles off the coast near San Blas and further assumed that he had been drowned. the smugglers on the Greek freighter had only the problem of transferring the drugs to a United States-bound ship while they were in port at Mazatlan, and the Crescent Moon just happened to be there when they arrived.” Myron Brown drew a long breath and continued, “Not only your background, Cole, but the very questions you ask convince me that you’re the man for the job.”
“I can’t say I am not interested, but you think this is a continuing thing? That these people will go on with whatever method they’re now using to get drugs into San Francisco?”
“I’m sure they will. It’s too profitable to give up and has been too easy for them in the past. I’m hoping they’ll get a little careless and overconfident and we can get a line on the procedure they’re using to get the stuff ashore. Remember, they haven’t been alerted in the slightest. As far as they know, the seaman fell overboard and was drowned.”
“The transfer from ship to shore has to be their biggest problem,” Cole mused. “Let me think about it, Mr. Brown. If I believe I can be helpful, I’ll call you in the morning.”
“I appreciate that, Cole.” Brown looked relieved, as though he had expected a ‘yes’ answer. “Let’s go on to the house. I want to introduce you to Mike Crowder and his wife. By the way, Mike is the man I was telling you about who sets up these hunting and fishing trips for our customers; he’s the permanent tour guide.”
As Cole started to get up from the bench, Brown restrained him with a hand on his arm. “Oh, and Cole, I can’t stress this too much - all that we have discussed must be kept strictly confidential. So far I’m the only one in the company that knows of our ship’s problem. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“I understand, Mr. Brown. On any assignment, I would normally discuss it with my partners, but if I decide I can be of help you have my assurance it won’t be mentioned to anyone without your express permission.”
“Thanks, Cole. How about calling me Myron.”
Cole met the Crowders, who appeared to be an average couple dedicated to a corporation and the way of life it demanded. Mike Crowder seemed anxious to please the boss and was determined to be affable to anyone who seemingly had the boss’ ear. Renee Crowder told endless stories of Mike’s exploits and how they benefited McWhorter Brown. Cole excused himself to go in search of Pilar.
There was no formal plan for the showing of the house. People wandered from room to room. The first door Cole opened revealed a room of mirrors with a lady seated on the stool. Noting Cole’s mild surprise she said, “Sorry. I couldn’t find the lock. You’re next.”
“Thanks.” Cole closed the door gently and turned through a swinging door into a kitchen. Roy, who had served the drinks, saw Cole’s hesitation and said, “Come on in. I’ll pour you another sherry.”
Trays of hors d’oeuvres were being arranged and shell fish predominated: Alaskan king crab, Guaymas prawns on shaved ice accompanied by a bowl of remoulade sauce, half shelled oysters and tiny Mexican white angulas with black staring eyes marinated in wine vinegar and herbs. Cole accepted a cocktail of the small eels and Roy handed him a drink. He tried to decide whether the subtle flavor came from the herbs and vinegar or from the eel itself. As he ate, he watched the trimming of thick steaks for barbecuing. Turning to leave, he bumped into Pilar coming through the swinging doors.
“Hi, I thought the food would trap you. Have you seen everything?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I have - all the interesting things.” He told her of the marvels of the kitchen, but didn’t mention the scene in the mirrored bath.
“Well, O. K.,” she said. “Let’s go out on the terrace and bore the people and in our turn be bored.”
The party was better than he had expected. The drinks were excellent, and the host and hostess sincerely wanted everyone to admire their new home as much as they did. Pilar was sensational. He couldn’t imagine how he had thought of her only as an intelligent pretty female partner. Their brief conversations had always been about business and even had a competitive flavor. But that evening, she changed suddenly and she was different. Pilar had always known she was a girl.
After the first couple fell into the pool and everyone decided to go swimming, Pilar held back. But, with some urging, (not by Cole) she finally borrowed a bikini from one of the Brown’s daughters and astonished him with a diving exhibition that cleared all the drunks from the pool. He hadn’t known that marriage at eighteen had terminated her Olympic aspirations. But this was not the only revelation. There were others, and it didn’t seem there was any logical reason for her abrupt change.
The late dinner was served and afterwards the evening was spent in conversation with people with whom Cole had nothing in common, and he was generally willing to keep it that way. The males of the species herded together, talking business and discussing where each fitted into the hierarchy of industry. Cole wandered aimlessly from group to group. A professor from one of the local universities, who lived down the mountain from the Browns, suddenly became vocal. As Cole passed by, he was saying:
“There was a time when we tried to maintain the separation of our capitalistic system from our democratic government, but that was when the economy was young and consisted of many small and specialized business enterprises. Today we have segments of industry that are truly autocratic economic principalities. The princes of industry reign supreme over man and machines without recourse to the democratic process. Their terms of office are predicated upon their ability to maintain and increase profits. Our industrial empire is welded together by knights of management whose economic lives, including the lives of their families, are subject to the corporations’ demand for total allegiance.”
The professor went on and on and Cole listened and listened, then inevitably became involved. Twenty minutes later, he was saying, “So you see that man doesn’t have to be an intellectual giant; he has to be a leader, merely intelligent enough to become aware that to survive, he has to be flexible and change.” As Cole finished speaking, he was aware of Pilar’s hand on his elbow.
“Hello, Doctor Winters. You two seem to be very intent, but would you mind if I took Cole away from you for a moment?”
“Don’t ask him that. He’s been waiting for an excuse to break off my monologue for the last fifteen minutes.”
Dr. Winters protested that he was very interested in what Cole was saying and mumbled something about getting together sometime to continue their discussion.
Pilar took Cole’s arm as they walked toward the terrace. “Have you noticed that most of the other guests have left? Maybe we should find the Browns and say good night.”
Cole agreed and they went through the wide open doors to the terrace and were dazzled by the glittering spread of lights a thousand feet below.
They drove back to the City on Skyline Drive and Pilar immediately fell asleep, resting her wet head on Cole’s shoulder. He touched the damp curls, and remembered she had dived without a cap. He recalled that when she had left the pool, she had dried her hair on a towel and after shaking her head a couple of times and brushing here and there, she had looked as though she were ready for the first take on a movie set.
Cole’s thoughts drifted to Professor Winters and his put down of corporations and big business. The four people who constituted Rain, Carver, Shu-li and Jones had combined together and accepted the legal device of the corporation to allow themselves operating room within its entity and yet still to be able to act more freely as individuals than was possible in any of the thousands of business combinations with which he was familiar, including other corporate set-ups, partnerships, companies, associations, co-operatives, communes, or what have you.
His thoughts reverted to his driving as they came into the City on Junipera Serra Boulevard, picked up l9th Avenue and cut across Golden Gate Park to Park Presidio. When they entered the tunnel which crossed the United States Military Reservation, the bright lights in the vaulted ceiling and changing sound awakened Pilar.
She put her hands to her hair, then touched Cole’s damp shoulder. “ummm - I must have over-relaxed. Where are we?”
“Yes, you did - but more like a hypnotic trance. This is the fifth day. Thank goodness, you’ve come out of it.” As she looked around, he continued, “We’re just going through the Holland Tunnel and will be in New York City on the other side in a minute.”
Pilar looked at him gravely, then said with a small gurgle, “Did I miss anything exciting along the way?”
“Well, not really. It was a pretty uneventful trip, except I was worried about you Most things were easy for you to do, but for some reason you were unable to take your pill.’’
“I’m sorry I caused you all that worry and trouble. What did you do about it?”
“Don’t you start worrying; I solved the problem. I’m taking the damn things myself.”
“I’m not worried. I’ve never taken the pill. I was just wondering where you get your supply and was sorry I missed being there when the doctor gave you your prescription.”
“Oh, the doctor objected, but I insisted on my legal rights not to be discriminated against because of sex.”
“Are you referring to your drive or your gender?” As she spoke the car entered the Marina. “Do you remember where I live?” she asked.
Cole smiled confidently and, without answering, made the wrong turn, and drove two blocks out of the way before ending up at her building where there was no parking space.
“Will you come in for some of my famous instant coffee with a dash of brandy?”
“Thanks, I doubt if the gendarmes would appreciate my double parking. Anyway, you need sleep and I really don’t need anything more to drink. May I have a rain check?” he asked.
She hesitated for a moment, thinking about all the men she hadn’t invited to her apartment. She wanted the evening to go on; being with him had been natural and easy. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so comfortable with a man - maybe never. She thought of denying her sleepiness and asking him to please come in for just a moment. There was a need to be domestic and not to be alone.
“Thanks for taking me to the party,” she said. “I hope you weren’t too bored-”
“Thanks for asking me, and please invite me for coffee and brandy another time.”
As the door closed, Cole turned and walked slowly to the car. To touch her hand, to hold her - why the hell hadn’t he kissed her good night? But his hunch was that it couldn’t have ended there, that any slight involvement with Pilar Jones would become total - and total involvement was not for him. It wasn’t needed or wanted.
He drove up into the hills from the Marina and could see the lights of the city reflected back from the low wind-driven fog. Parking the car in an area reserved for 3-C, Rain, he locked the ignition and walked down a half-flight of steps.
Apartment 3 was one of four partitioned off in a turn-of-the-century pile of cut rock. The old house was on a lot that sloped down from street level. Cole’s quarters were in the rear of the converted house, offering privacy, a small garden and a few of the house tops below. The room he entered had at one time been used for billiards; it was now a combination living room, dining room and kitchen; French doors led to a balcony-patio. There was a smaller sleeping room with the same exposure. The bathroom had been built for guests using the swimming pool. The pool had since been filled in and was now a part of the garden, but the bath still had three showers, three washbasins and three cubicles with stools.
Cole got most of his clothes off as he moved through the bedroom to the bath. He brushed his teeth, started the water for a warm shower, stepped in and gradually cooled it, but not too cool. When he shut off the water he grabbed a towel and walked slowly back to the bedroom while drying and then, dropping the towel on the carpet by the bed, he sort of rolled the covers around himself and went to sleep.
Chapter II
Cole called Myron Brown the next morning to tell him he would be interested in making the trip to Mexico on the Crescent Moon. “But,” he cautioned, “I’ve got to go on a plausible basis.”
Brown seemed relieved that Cole was willing to undertake the job. “The ship is scheduled to sail Sunday night at eight o’clock, and on the chance that you would decide to go I mentioned it to Mike Crowder. You met Mike last night, he handles all arrangements for the sailings. At the moment there are only ten passengers booked, including Mike. It should work out fine because one of our biggest out-of-state customers, a man and his wife from Portland, had to cancel. You can take over their stateroom. I suggested to Mike that it would probably be better not to try to find anyone else at this late date to fill the extra space, so you’ll have the cabin to yourself - it might make it a little easier to work,” he concluded.
“That sounds 0.K. But what reason did you give Crowder for having invited me?”
“Bill Spence called me directly from Portland when he learned he couldn’t go. I told Mike you were an avid duck hunter and fisherman, and if he had no one else in mind, you might be an interesting addition.”
“Damn it, I never shot a duck in my life,” Cole groaned, “and I haven’t been fishing since I was a kid.”
“You could tell Mike I was mistaken - you always wanted to hunt ducks and you haven’t had the time to do anything lately. By the way, do you have a shotgun?”
“No, the only thing I have are a couple of hand guns and a .22 target pistol I’m good with those, maybe that’s the way I should hunt and give those Mexican ducks a breather.”
“Well, no matter. I’ve got plenty of guns and equipment you can borrow and since most of my pants are getting a little tight for me, you’ll be able to get by with just cinching the belt a little. The deep sea fishing tackle is all on board, unless you have some you wish to bring along.”
“I don’t have any equipment. I’ll use the tackle available.”
Arrangements were made for shotguns and hunting gear to be delivered Saturday morning to No. 10 Black Pearl Road.
“I can give you an advance now, or you can bill me when you return,” Brown offered.
“That won’t be necessary. As I told you, I’ve been thinking of taking some time off. You’ll only be billed if I’m successful in resolving the problem.” Myron Brown had insisted on paying, so Cole explained further: “We have a somewhat different setup in our company. With the exception of Kang Shu-li, our secretary-treasurer who handles our investment program and the little administrative work we have, the other three of us go our separate ways taking on any assignment we like. Fees for this individual work are payable to the corporation. The four of us draw a fixed salary.
“That’s very interesting, do you have time to talk about it for a few minutes?” Brown asked. “Better yet, if you’re free, why don’t we have lunch?”
They made arrangements to meet on Fisherman’s Wharf. Cole arrived fifteen minutes early, left his car at a station to be serviced and strolled over to observe the fishing fleet. Myron Brown was standing at the wooden rail throwing oyster crackers to the sea gulls.
“Are you sure you wanted to know about our corporation, or was that just an excuse to take the afternoon off?”
“Hello, Cole. I guess it was a little of both. I certainly want to hear about the things you young people are doing, but I could use an afternoon off or a month. Are you hungry? Let’s go order.”
A bottle blond girl with low-cut blouse seated them at a table overlooking the fishing fleet. Brown ordered a martini and Cole a half-bottle of Grey Riesling.
“If you’ll have wine with lunch, I’ll make that a bottle,” Cole said.
“Fine, that sounds good with bouillabaisse.”
Cole ordered a cup of chowder and a prawn Louis, both broke off crusts of sour-dough bread and buttered it before they continued.
“As I understand it, the RCS&J Corporation is privately and equally owned by four people: you, Pilar, Mr. Carver and Mr. Shu-li. If each of you draws the same salary, but the corporation receives varying amounts of money for your individual work, how do you reconcile the disparity between what you draw and what you earn for the corporation?”
“At the end of our fiscal year anyone earning in fees an amount over and above his draw takes this difference in preference stock. The extra money remains in the corporation to fund our investment program. Preferred stock disbursements are on a sliding scale reflecting the highest interest rates that could be obtained from a bank or savings and loan.
“To get back to my fee on this present assignment, there won’t be any charge without results. If I can determine for sure that the ship is being used for smuggling and am instrumental in bringing the smugglers to trial only - not conviction - or if I can give the ship a clean bill of health to your satisfaction, then we’ll make it a nominal fee, two hundred fifty dollars a day, plus expenses. Of course, in this case, the expenses are taken care of. After the trip, whatever time might be necessary to complete the job would be prorated, plus expenses.”
“It’s a deal, Cole, and I appreciate it, not only because you’re unwilling to charge unless you get results, but because you’re willing to tackle the job at all.”
They spent the rest of the lunch hour discussing ways to make crime pay. Myron Brown paid the bill, and just before they parted assured Cole, “I’ll have the hunting equipment plus shells for the shotgun brought to your office tomorrow morning.”
Cole picked up his car from the station thinking about how he should prepare for his introduction to duck hunting. He had rated Expert in gunnery school firing at moving objects being towed by the United States Air Force. He wondered if shooting at pulled targets from a flyins platform would help him hit ducks.
On Saturday morning the elaborate hunting gear was delivered to No. 10 Black Pearl Road. Cole was alone in the office and selected an over-and-under twelve gauge shotgun and a Remington pump gun of the same gauge. The clothing fit well enough, although the trousers were a little loose. The lightweight size twelve wading boots were perfect. After setting aside what he would take, Cole spent the rest of the day playing tennis in Golden Gate Park, and flew to Monterey for a date Saturday night.
Late Sunday afternoon, he flew back and hangared his plane at a small strip near Half Moon Bay, picked up his car and met Kang Shu-li at the office. They packed the gear Cole had selected the day before and loaded it, along with a case of special shells, into the trunk of Kang’s car. Brown had insisted Cole take the shells even though Cole learned later there was plenty of twelve gauge ammunition aboard the ship. They ate dinner at Borgia’s, drank picon punches while watching Cole’s extra-thick pork chops being cut and broiled. While the chops acquired a dark brown crust, asparagus spears were sauteed in butter and seasoned lightly with salt and pepper. Kang’s veal scallopini was synchronized with the broiling chops. Mushrooms were added to the scallopini and were flipped in the air to land on the bottom of the black skillet and bubble in butter.
Giuseppe, who had been behind the bar, saw Kang and waved. He came hustling over to the bread block, pulled down a round flat loaf 8 cut it in half, set one half on edge, and chopped slices within an inch of complete severance. He slapped the bread on a platter, slid it in front of them and, turning to the waiter squeezing by, called, “Hey, Tony, bring some more wine here.”
“Where’s the boss?” Kang asked. “We haven’t seen her around this evening.”
“Lucretia? She’ll be here at eight. Is everything O. K.? Hey, Tony, more butter here.” He lowered his voice. “You going hunting or something?” he asked conspiratorily. “I saw you loading your car.”
“I’m not. Cole’s taking an ocean voyage.”
Giuseppe wanted to know all about the trip, and Cole told him what he could, promising to bring back ducks for everyone. Giuseppe explained with gestures Lucretia’s old-country duck recipes.
An hour and a half later, they left the restaurant and arrived at the ship with three minutes to spare.
