A moment later, the customs officer emerged from the shack in the company of two police officers, one of them of rank, judging from his uniform. The three men marched rapidly back toward the blue yacht and went aboard, disappearing below. Stone watched with interest to see what would happen next. Ten minutes passed before the young woman skipper appeared on deck wearing a cotton dress. Accompanied by the three uniformed officers, one of them carrying a small nylon duffel,she walked toward the police shack and disappeared inside.

What the hell was going on? Stone wondered.

He kept an eye on the police shack all afternoon. Finally,sometime after five o'clock,the woman left the shack in the company of two uniformed policemen, got into a waiting car, and was driven away. Stone didn't know what sort of trouble she was in, but he felt for her, alone in a foreign place, at the mercy of the police. He had seen many people in custody, and he had never envied any of them.

Stone showered, shaved, and got into some of his new tropical clothing-a short-sleeved silk shirt, Italian cotton trousers, and woven leather loafers, no socks. He found it an unexpected pleasure to dress so lightly in January; there was much to be 'said for winter in the tropics.

As the sun set he wandered across a wide green lawn toward a wide thatched roof covering a bar and restaurant open to the breezes. It was early, and there were few customers. A black bartender stood behind an expanse of varnished mahogany, idly polishing a glass. A television set over the bar was tuned to CNN, the sound muted.

"Evening to you, boss," he said amiably, with what sounded to Stone like a Bahamian accent.

"Evening," Stone said.

"And what might be your pleasure this fine evening."?"

"Oh, something tropical, I guess, to celebrate my first evening in warm weather."

"A pina colada, mebbe?"

"Sounds good." Stone looked up at the television and saw a woman in a heavy coat standing on what looked like a New York City street corner. A blizzard was raging about her. "Could you turn the sound up on the TV for a minute?" he asked the bartender.

"Sure thing, boss."

"… was predicted for later this evening, but it started around noon, and we already have a foot of snow on the streets, with at least twenty inches expected by the wee hours of tomorrow morning. Kennedy, La Guardia, and Newark Airports closed at midafternoon, so nothing is flying into or out of the city until further notice. The Port Authority predicted that no flights would be moving until noon tomorrow."

"Shit," Stone said aloud. "Okay, you can turn the volume down again."

"What you care, boss?" the bartender asked, turning down the TV. "You already here."

"Yeah, but my girl isn't. She was due to leave at four this afternoon."

"Bad luck, boss," the man said.

"Where are you from?" Stone asked.

"Born right here on St.Marks, boss."

"Funny, you sound Bahamian. You shining me on with that accent?"

The man grinned. "You're too good for me, pal." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Thomas Hardy, like the writer." Now the accent was more island British, with an extra, familiar layer.

Stone shook his hand. "Do I hear a little New York in there somewhere?"

"Lived in Brooklyn a long time; worked all over the city."

"I'm Stone Barrington; I'm on a charter yacht over at the marina."

"That's kind of a familiar name," Thomas said.

"Don't know why; it's my first time in St. Marks."

"Were you ever a cop?"

Stone blinked in surprise. "I was, mostly in the Nineteenth Precinct. Have we ever met?"

Thomas shook his head. "No, but I heard about you. I was walking a beat in the Village when you left the force; everybody was talking about you, said you got a bad deal."

"I can't complain," Stone said. "I left with the full pension after fourteen years."

"Yeah, but you took some lead with you, huh?"

"They got it out. What are you doing in St.Marks?"

"I was born here, like I said. My mama moved to New York when I was a kid. I joined the force, did my twenty,and brought my savings and my pension down here and put it to work."

"This your place?"

"Lock, stock, and liquor license."

"How long you been at it?"

"Six and a half years."

"Business good?"

"Not bad; a little better every year. That blizzard in the Northeast is going to cost me, though. A lot of people will guess be in your girl's shoes."

"I guess so." Stone sighed. "I was looking forward to a more romantic week than this. Where can I make a phone call?"

Thomas reached under the bar, pulled out a phone, and set it on the bar. "I charge the tourists a buck a minute, but for an old cop, I'll just put what they charge me on your tab. Got a fax machine, too, if you should need one."

"Thanks." Stone called his home number.

"Hello?"

"I guess you're not going to make it tonight, huh?"

"You heard? I tried to call you at the charter office, but I didn't get an answer."

"They get CNN down here."

"I'm sorry, baby. It started to come down around midday; and let me tell you, it's really something. I'm a southern girl; I've never seen snow like this."

"CNN says the airlines will be flying again tomorrow afternoon. See what you can do."

"I'm already rebooked on tomorrow's flight, assuming it goes."

"Good. What are you up to now?"

"I'm having dinner with Vance and some friends of his. He actually found a Range Rover somewhere, and he's picking me up."

"Where are you dining?"

"Wherever's open, I guess."

"I miss you, babe."

"And I miss you, my darling. I was looking forward to that first pina colada

"I'm drinking it for you right now. Say,let me give you this number."

Thomas shoved a card in front of him.

Stone read off both the phone and fax numbers. "Keep me posted on the flight situation, will you? The boat is moored no more than a hundred yards from this phone."

"I will, baby."

Stone said good-bye and hung up."Well, Thomas,it looks like you and me." He sipped the pina colada. It was perfect-cold, sweet, and pineapply

"Let me know when you're ready for dinner," Thomas said. "I'll keep a table for you." Customers were drifting in now, and a waiter was seating them.

Stone watched as a large black man dressed in a white linen suit, and in the company of a beautiful cafe-au-lait woman, entered and was shown to a prime table overlooking the harbor. "Impressive-looking fellow," he said.

"That's Sir Winston Sutherland, the minister of justice," Thomas said.

"A mover and shaker?"

"He both moves and shakes. And if his own opinion holds, he just might be the next prime minister."

Stone heard a car door slam and turned to look. The blond woman from the blue yacht, Expansive, had left a police car and, alone, was making her way across the lawn toward the marina.

"Very nice, huh?" Thomas said.

"Very nice indeed. She spent the afternoon with the local cops, though. I wonder why." "Word is, the lady left Europe with a husband but arrived in St.Marks without him."

Stone turned and looked at the bartender. "I didn't see anybody else on board when she came into the harbor."

"That's because she was all alone on that big boat."

"You mean she sailed it all the way across the Atlantic?"

"Well, not all the way," Thomas said. "Her husband was along for part of the time."

"Is foul play suspected?"

"On this island, foul play is always suspected," Thomas replied. "That lady is going to have to convince a number of people"-he pointed at Sir Winston Sutherland-"that man first among them, that she is as innocent as a newborn lamb."

"And how' difficult is that likely to be?" Stone asked.