Read Online By The Sea, Book Four: The Heirs by Antoinette Stockenberg - Free Book Online

called a press
conference. Dr. Frederick Greene couldn't come; he was busy
operating on the fractured tibia that would pay the July mortgage
on his overly large Victorian house. Quinta Powers couldn't come;
she was dividing her time between her sister's house, where Jackie
was overdue and in a perilous state, and Intensive Care, where her
father lay broken and grieving. Cindy Seton couldn't come. She was
dead, and besides, she was in Nevada, taking in the shows at the
casinos while her lover fenced a few emeralds. Mrs. Cyril Hutley,
shocked beyond expression by her protégé's suicide, certainly
wouldn't come. She would have nothing further to do with the
Setons. And she couldn't bear Alan Seton anyway; he was so
hopelessly single-minded. Of all the principals in the Saturday
night drama, in fact, only Mavis Moran had the leisure and the
inclination to go and see what Alan Seton had to say for
himself.
    Not that the Newport National Guard Armory
was empty. The historic granite building, which by tradition was
converted to press headquarters for the duration of the America's
Cup trials as well as the final races, was filled to overflowing.
The media were there, naturally, and so was anyone else lucky
enough to have wrangled a guest pass for the summer—crews and
members of the four U.S. and seven foreign syndicates; local
officials responsible for avoiding chaos whenever possible; and the
usual smattering of politicians, crashers, and hangers-on.
    This wasn't very fair to the residents of
Newport—it was more or less their Armory, after all—but those who
really cared could always tune in to the local radio station for a
fairly complete broadcast. And since this press conference was not about the Aussies' secret winged keel; since it was not about which yacht club advised which measurer on what
date; since it was about a juicy, scandalous piece of news
that everyone could understand—most Newporters, and quite a few
non-Newporters, did tune in to listen. There was no doubt about it:
the combined events of the last few days had had everyone in
Newport reeling.
    The average townie shook his head and said,
"It isn't right. Neil Powers is a good man who puts in long hours
on the Christmas toy drive. For him to be run down by some damn
socialite high on drugs just isn't right."
    Society shook her head and said, "What a
tragic pity. Cindy was pretty, charming, bright. If her parents had
lived, who knows how high she might have flown? She might have
bowed at the Palais Schwarzenberg. Fate was too cruel to her. First
her parents' car crash, then this fellow wearing dark clothing on a
dark road on a dark night. Too cruel."
    The butler murmured to the housekeeper,
"There'll be trouble if he's not reinstated. Never heard of such a
thing, dismissing a man like Bob—never sick hardly in twelve years,
steady as the day is long—and why? Because that security outfit
fell flat on their faces and Mrs. Cyril Hutley was looking for a
scapegoat, that's why."
    The press, ecstatic over the bumper crop of
stories, packed away hearty, cheap breakfasts at Handy Lunch and
told one another gleefully, "Best Cup summer in a hundred and
thirty-two years. A Cup assignment used to be about as exciting as
watching paint dry, but damn if this isn't fun. This'll be
the death blow to Alan Seton's campaign. Guaranteed. "
    So far Mavis Moran had successfully avoided
the media men who flocked to the waterfront like seagulls to
dumpsters. She had given a report of the theft to the police, and
then, after the silver Mercedes was discovered on Newport Bridge,
she had given it again. She had been interviewed by the insurance
company more than once, but to the media she had said not a
word.
    Now she stood quietly in the back of the
crowd, dressed in flat sandals, nondescript khakis, and a cheap
navy polo shirt. Her thick auburn hair was hidden under a
visor-bandanna combination, and a pair of enormous light-adjusting
glasses broke up the Celtic curves of her face.