Graveyard Plots by Bill Pronzini Page B

down at the table next to Pa. One look at him was enough to tell us that he'd come with news.
    "Just been talking to Lloyd Simms," he said as Jennie poured him a cup of coffee. "Who do you reckon just made a reservation at the Camaroon Inn?"
    "Who?" I asked.
    "Roger Vauclain himself. Lloyd talked to him on the phone less than an hour ago, says he sounded pretty hard-nosed. Booked a single room for a week, be here on Thursday."
    "Only a single room?" Jennie said. "Why, I'm disappointed, Abner. I expected he'd be traveling with an entourage." She's a practical woman and when it comes to things she considers nonsense, like all the hoopla over Vauclain and Smuggler's Island, her sense of humor sharpens into sarcasm.
    "Might be others coming up later," Abner said seriously.
    Davey said, "Week's a long time for a rich man to spend in a place like Camaroon Bay. I wonder what he figures to do all that time?"
    "Tend to his island, probably," I said.
    "Tend to it?" Pa said. "Tend to what? You can walk over the whole thing in two hours."
    "Well, there's always the caves, Pa."
    He snorted. "Grown man'd have to be a fool to go wandering in those caves. Tide comes in while he's inside, he'll drown for sure."
    "What time's he due in on Thursday?" Davey asked Abner.
    "Around noon, Lloyd says. Reckon we'll find out then what he's planning to do with the island."
    "Not planning to do anything with it, I tell you," Pa said. "Just wants to own it."
    "We'll see," Abner said. "We'll see."
    Â 
    T hursday was clear and warm, and it should have been a good day for salmon; but maybe the run had started to peter out, because it took us until almost noon to make the limit. It was after two o'clock before we got the catch unloaded and weighed in at Bay Fisheries. Davey had some errands to run and Handy had logged enough extra time, so I took the Jennie Too over to the commercial slips myself and stayed aboard her to hose down the decks. When I was through with that I set about replacing the port outrigger line because it had started to weaken and we'd been having trouble with it.
    I was doing that when a tall man came down the ramp from the quay and stood just off the bow, watching me. I didn't pay much attention to him; tourists stop by to rubberneck now and then, and if you encourage them they sometimes hang around so you can't get any work done. But then this fellow slapped a hand against his leg, as if he were annoyed, and called out in a loud voice, "Hey, you there. Fisherman."
    I looked at him then, frowning. I'd heard that tone before: sharp, full of self-granted authority. Some city people are like that; to them, anybody who lives in a rural village is a low-class hick. I didn't like it and I let him see that in my face. "You talking to me?"
    "Who else would I be talking to?"
    I didn't say anything. He was in his forties, smooth-looking, and dressed in white ducks and a crisp blue windbreaker. If nothing else, his eyes were enough to make you dislike him immediately; they were hard and unfriendly and said that he was used to getting his own way.
    He said, "Where can I rent a boat?"
    "What kind of boat? To go sport fishing?"
    "No, not to go sport fishing. A small cruiser."
    "There ain't any cruisers for rent here."
    He made a disgusted sound, as if he'd expected that. "A big outboard then," he said. "Something seaworthy."
    "It's not a good idea to take a small boat out of the harbor," I said. "The ocean along here is pretty rough—"
    "I don't want advice," he said. "I want a boat big enough to get me out to Smuggler's Island and back. Now who do I see about it?"
    "Smuggler's Island?" I looked at him more closely. "Your name happen to be Roger Vauclain, by any chance?"
    "That's right. You heard about me buying the island, I suppose. Along with everybody else in this place."
    "News gets around," I said mildly.
    "About that boat," he said.
    "Talk to Ed Hawkins at Bay Marine on the wharf. He'll find something for you."
    Vauclain gave me a curt