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Looking for Rachel Wallace
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Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA • Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) • Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panscheel Park, New Delhi–110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), Cnr Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London, WC2R 0RL, England Copyright © 2005 by Robert B. Parker
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Parker, Robert B., date.
Sea change / Robert B. Parker.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-7865-7713-4
1. Stone, Jesse (Fictitious character)—Fiction.
2. Police—Massachusetts—Fiction.
3. Police chiefs—Fiction.
4. Massachusetts—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3566.A686R33 2005
2004043150
813'.54—dc22
Book design by Meighan Cavanaugh
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For Joan il miglior fabbro
T hey were out of the harbor, off Stiles Island, in the weather. The day had turned bad. The sky was dark. The wind had gotten hard, and a thin rain slanted in front of the wind. They had drunk all the wine and talked most of the talk and now it was time to get home.
The person at the tiller said, “It feels as if there’s something foul-ing the centerboard, could you check it?”
Florence stood and leaned over and raised the centerboard. It felt free to her. The boat slid slightly sideways. She let the board down.
The boat stabilized, and came hard about, and the boom swung over the small cockpit and hit her a numbing blow in the chest and knocked the wind out of her. She pitched over the side into the black R O B E R T B . P A R K E R
water. It was painfully cold. She went under, gasping for breath, inhaling some of the water, choking on it. She struggled toward the surface. When she broke water she could see the sailboat turning and coming back for her. She struggled to breathe, to stay afloat, to focus.
In the far distance where Paradise rose up from the harbor she could see, on the top of the highest hill, the steeple of the oldest church in town. The sailboat was coming. She treaded water desperately. Only another minute at the most before the boat reached her. Hang on.
Hang on. Through the gray rain, she could see the little white bone of spray at the prow, the brass turnbuckle of the mast stay, the dark protective paint on the belly of the boat, as it leaned hard to the side, straining against the wind.
In a moment it would head up into the wind and sit, its sail luff-ing while she got hold of the rail. She was treading water. She was afloat. She was getting her breath. The boat didn’t head into the wind. It came straight on and the bow hit her in the chest and forced her under as the boat passed and sailed on. Barely conscious, she struggled to the surface. The boat was past her, sailing away. She tried to scream but she choked on the seawater. And then she went under and choked some more and lost consciousness.
Running before the wind with its sheet full out, the little sailboat headed home without her.
2
1
T he bouncer at the Dory was holding a wet towel against his bloody nose when Jesse
Stone arrived. Suitcase Simpson was with
him. Simpson was in uniform. Jesse was wearing jeans and a white short-sleeved oxford shirt. His gun was on his right hip and his badge was tucked in his shirt pocket so that the shield showed.
“You usually win these, Fran,” Jesse said to the bouncer.
The bouncer shrugged. His right eye was nearly closed.
“Too big for me, Jesse. You guys may have to shoot him.”
“We’ll see,” Jesse said.
Jesse pushed into the crowded bar. There was no noise. A R O B E R T B . P A R K E R
big man was standing on the bar drinking from a bottle of Wild Turkey. The bottle had a pour spout on it and he would hold it away from his open mouth and pour the whiskey in.
The bartender, whose name was Judy, had ducked out from behind the bar and was standing near the door. She had blonde hair in a ponytail and wore sneakers, shorts and a tank top.