Paperwhite Narcissus by Cynthia Riggs Page B

she wants to know. She’s doing some police work.”
    “Yeah?” Curtis’s eyes were bright.

    “Both of us handled his lines,” Chuck said.
    “Why did he need two of you?” Botts asked.
    Chuck flushed. “It was pretty quiet. Mr. Fieldstone took a couple girls on board who didn’t have experience.”
    Botts took his notebook out of his shirt pocket and his pencil from behind his ear.
    “Do you know anything about the girls?” Victoria asked. “How old were they?”
    Curtis said, “They’re juniors at Hyannis Academy.”
    “Seniors next year,” said Chuck.
    “You didn’t happen to get their names, did you?” Victoria asked with a smile.
    The two looked at each other uncertainly.
    “Answer Mrs. Trumbull’s question.” The harbormaster turned to Victoria. “Harbor staff are not permitted to fraternize with boaters.”
    “Yeah,” said Curtis reluctantly. “Tiffany and Wendy.”
    “Phone numbers,” the harbormaster demanded.
    “ Did you get their phone numbers?” Victoria asked.
    “Well, yeah. We did,” Curtis said. “We thought we might, like, go off Island for a game or something, you know.” He brought a green Gore-Tex wallet out of his back pocket, opened it with the ripping sound of Velcro separating, riffled through dog-eared cards, and found a harbor receipt with the two names written illegibly across the front.
    “Let me see that,” said the harbormaster.
    “But you said …” Curtis protested.
    “Fraternizing I can overlook. Numbered harbor receipts I’ve got to account for.”
    “Do you have a receipt for Mr. Fieldstone?” Victoria asked.
    The harbormaster jerked his head toward Chuck. “Look it up for Mrs. Trumbull.” He held out his hand. “And give me that receipt you wrote all over.”
    Chuck leafed through the card file.

    “Let’s get back to the girls,” Victoria said. “Were they friends or relatives of Mr. Fieldstone’s?”
    “They missed the ferry to Hyannis,” said Curtis. “I seen them running up to the dock, but the ferry already cast off.”
    Chuck turned away from the card file. “They came to the shack. Asked could we help them.”
    The harbormaster rolled his eyes, stepped outside, leaned against the railing, and lit a cigarette.
    Victoria said, “So you told them Mr. Fieldstone was about to take off to go fishing and suggested he might give them a ride?”
    “Yeah,” said Curtis. “He’s okay. I mean, he was. He told them, like, Hyannis wasn’t really out of his way.”
    “Here’s Fieldstone’s receipt, Mr. D.,” said Chuck, handing it to the harbormaster.
    Domingo pointed with his cigarette. “Show it to my friend here.”
    The receipt listed the boat’s name, S’Putter , Fieldstone’s name, and the time of departure as three-fifteen P.M. The estimated time of arrival back at Oak Bluffs and charges were left blank.
    “Isn’t that late to go fishing?” Victoria asked.
    The boys looked at each other and shrugged.
    “From what I understand, he was planning on staying out two or three days,” said Domingo.
    “Did he buy gas?” Victoria asked.
    The harbormaster turned and faced the hotel at the head of the harbor and tossed his cigarette into the water below. The cigarette went out with a hiss.
    “His boat had diesels,” said Chuck. “He only fills up three or four times a season.”
    “Did he say where he was going?” Victoria asked.
    “Just that dropping the girls off was no big deal.”
    Domingo turned, one elbow on the railing. “You knew, didn’t you, that his boat washed up on Tuckernuck Island? Due south of Hyannis.”

    Both boys nodded.
    Victoria turned to the harbormaster. “I need to find the girls.”
    Botts tore a piece of paper out of his notebook and the harbormaster copied the girls’ names and phone numbers in an elegant script, his cigarette between his lips, and handed the paper to Victoria. Domingo faced the two dock stewards. “Get back to work.”
    “Can we have the phone numbers?” said Chuck.
    The