LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Seven

      Tony Rolf sat in the small salon of his sailboat home. An empty box of Just For Men hair color sat on the chart table before him. He had returned to the boat after his encounter with the woman, making one stop at Walmart on the way. There he bought a baseball cap, the hair dye—a medium brown—and a tanning lotion to use on the exposed portions of his body. Now he studied the results in a handheld mirror. An entirely new person looked back at him. He added a Tampa Bay Rays baseball cap to complete the new look and smiled at the result.

      Across the marina Harry walked slowly toward his boat. He had invited Vicky to come with him, offering to cook her dinner, but she had declined, telling him that she needed to be alone, needed time to think everything through.

      As Harry neared his boat a voice called out: “Hi, stranger.”

      Harry followed the sound and found Meg Adams sunning herself on the forecastle of her sailboat. She was wearing a bikini small enough to make Harry forget—at least for the moment—all the unpleasantness of the day. “You look absolutely fetching.”

      “That was the intention,” Meg said. “Want a drink?”

      “Very much, thank you. Do you have something strong, like Jack Daniel’s?”

      “Only wine, I’m afraid. But good wine, if that makes a difference.”

      “I have Jack Daniel’s . . . your boat or mine?”

      “I like yours. It’s roomier.”

      “Then grab a bottle of wine for yourself and come join me.”

      Meg stood, making the bikini she was wearing even more alluring, and slipped on a T-shirt that went almost to her knees. It was a tease, he thought, one that forced him to remember what lay beneath.

      Harry waited while Meg collected her wine, and together they boarded his boat and made their way to the galley. Harry poured a heavy dose of Jack Daniel’s over ice, then held up Meg’s wine to the light.

      “Châteauneuf-du-Pape,” he said. “You weren’t kidding when you said a bottle of good wine. I’ve seen this go for $350 a bottle.”

      “This isn’t quite that good a year,” she replied. “But it wasn’t a bad one either. I think this set me back about fifty-nine bucks.”

      “So you’re serious about the wine you drink.”

      Meg waited while he uncorked the bottle and allowed it to breathe. “Wine is one of the things I take very seriously,” she said.

      “What are the other things?”

      “You discovered one a few nights ago; now you’ve learned another.”

      “And . . . ?”

      “And now you’ll have to wait and see what else you can learn.”

      Meg took her glass and entered the salon. When Harry followed he found her tucked into one end of the sofa with her legs curled beneath her.

      “Let’s play house,” she said teasingly. “How was your day, darling?”

      “You don’t want to know.”

      “That bad? Then sip your drink and forget about it.”

      Harry paused a beat, then said, “You pay pretty close attention to what’s going on in the marina. Have you noticed anyone paying close attention to me?”

      “Other than the women I’ve seen checking you out?”

      Harry ignored the tease. “This would be a man, slender, about five eleven, medium build, blond hair, extremely pale complexion.”

      “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

      “Deadly serious,” he said. He filled her in on the deaths of Mary Kate O’Connell and Lilly Mikinos.

      “And this guy works for the Church of Scientology?”

      “Yes, he works for the office of church discipline. I’ve heard that the church keeps close watch on its members and have people whose job it is to confront those who stray across the line, whatever that line is.”

      “A few years ago I took one of their courses, sort of on a lark, and I didn’t see any of that. Of course, all the people in my class were like me—they were just beginners.”

      Harry struggled to hide the alarm bells that had suddenly gone off. “And you didn’t go on with it after that first class? Scientology, I mean.”

      “No, although I admit there was quite a selling job by church members. They really push you to take the next level of courses. And I’ve got to tell you, they are pretty pricey. But it just wasn’t for me. It was too rigid, too dogmatic. The members that I met were so insistent that the church’s way of life was the only way you could live, and I’m too free a spirit to ever buy into that.”

      “How about the other people in the class, did many of them go on to another course?”

      “Oh, yes, I’m sure many of them did—at least half, I’d say.” She watched Harry’s eyebrows rise. “Most of the people I met were very needy. They were searching for something that was going to turn their lives around. And that’s what Scientology promises to do.”

      “Hey, I’d like to turn my life around . . . especially after today.”

      “Then sign up.” She offered up an impish grin. “After a year you’ll have more wisdom than Buddha. It’s guaranteed.”

      * * *

      Regis Walsh sat behind his oversized desk, his chair tilted away from the only illumination in the room. He heard a light knock on the door and pressed a button on his desk that buzzed it open.

      Tony Rolf stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

      “Take a chair, Tony.”

      Rolf’s eyes darted around the darkened room.

      “You’re always so cautious, Tony.”

      “That amuses you?”

      There was an edge to Rolf’s voice that Walsh did not like. He chose to ignore it for the moment. “It doesn’t amuse me, it surprises me. This should be the one place that you feel safe.”

      “I don’t feel safe anywhere.” Rolf paused, then added, “Or with anyone.” He stepped forward slowly and sat in the chair he’d been offered.

      “That’s a very disturbing statement. You should know that you’ve always been a very valued and trusted member of our small family. We’ve all relied on you during difficult times.”

      Rolf stared at him but remained silent. Walsh found it unnerving, something he was unaccustomed to feeling in his own office. “Don’t you have anything to say?” he demanded.

      “I’m just thinking.”

      “Thinking about what?”

      “About all the criticism you heaped on me when things didn’t go perfectly.”

      “It was only the death of the girl and the shooting of the retired police officer

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