Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel by Tess Gerritsen

and I’m gonna fly a new one. Got a logo on it. A green dragon, really striking. So anyway, I’m walking out to the dock, carrying my new spinnaker, and I see what looks like a mannequin floating out in the water, kinda snagged up on one of the rocks. I get in my rowboat to take a closer look and hell, if it ain’t a woman. Damn nice-looking one, too. So I yelled for some of the other guys, and three of us pulled her out. Then we called nine one one.” He took a gulp of his vodka and drew a breath. “Never occurred to us she was still alive. I mean, hell. That gal sure looked dead to us.”
    “Must have looked dead to Fire and Rescue, too,” said Crowe.
    Skip laughed. “And they’re supposed to be the professionals. If they can’t tell, who can?”
    “Show us,” said Gabriel. “Where you found her.”
    They all walked out the lounge door, onto the pier. The water magnified the sun’s glare, and Gabriel had to squint against the brilliant reflection to see the rocks that Skip now pointed out.
    “See that shoal over there? We have it marked off with buoys, ’cause it’s a navigation hazard. At high tide, it’s only a few inches deep there, so you don’t even see it. Real easy to run aground.”
    “What time was high tide yesterday?” asked Gabriel.
    “I don’t know. Ten A.M. , I think.”
    “Was that shoal exposed?”
    “Yeah. If I hadn’t spotted her then, a few hours later, she might have drifted out to sea.”
    The men stood in silence for a moment, squinting off over Hingham Bay. A motor cruiser rumbled by, churning up a wake that made the boats rock on their moorings and set halyards clanging on masts.
    “Had you ever seen the woman before?” Moore asked.
    “Nope.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “A gal who looks like that? I’d sure as hell remember.”
    “And no one in the club recognized her?”
    Skip laughed. “No one who’ll admit to it.”
    Gabriel looked at him. “Why wouldn’t they?”
    “Well, you know.”
    “Why don’t you tell me?”
    “These guys in the club . . .” Skip gave a nervous laugh. “I mean, you see all these boats moored out here? Who do you think sails them? It’s not the wives. It’s the men who lust after boats, not the women. And it’s the men who hang around here. A boat’s your home away from home.” Skip paused. “In every respect.”
    “You think she was someone’s girlfriend?” said Crowe.
    “Hell, I don’t know. It’s just that the possibility occurred to me. You know, bring a chickie here late at night. Fool around on your boat, get a little drunk, a little high. It’s easy to fall overboard.”
    “Or get pushed.”
    “Now wait a minute.” Skip looked alarmed. “Don’t you go jumping to
that
conclusion. These are good guys in the club. Good guys.”
    Who might be banging chickies on their boats, thought Gabriel.
    “I’m sorry I even mentioned the possibility,” said Skip. “It’s not like people don’t get drunk and fall off boats all the time. Could’ve been any boat, not just one of ours.” He pointed out to Hingham Bay, where a cabin cruiser was gliding across the blindingly bright water. “See all the traffic out there? She could’ve tripped off some motorboat that night. Drifted in on the tide.”
    “Nevertheless,” said Moore, “We’ll need a list of all your members.”
    “Is that really necessary?”
    “Yes, Mr. Boynton,” said Moore with quiet but unmistakable authority. “It is.”
    Skip gulped down the rest of his vodka. The heat had flushed his scalp bright red, and he swiped away sweat. “This is going to go over
real
well with the members. Here we do our civic duty and pull a woman out of the water. Now we’re all suspects?”
    Gabriel turned his gaze up the shoreline to the boat ramp, where a truck was now backing up to launch a motorboat into the water. Three other vehicles towing boats were lined up in the parking area, waiting their turns. “What’s your nighttime security like, Mr. Boynton?” he