Saturday AfternoonSince I used just a modicum of Iris plant, illness comes slowly. But it comes just as Fishers Island Sound is within sight.
“Reggie, you don’t look well!”
“You are perceptive as always, Liz. We’ll get there, but I think I will be throwing lunch overboard along with the anchor.”
Reggie proves to be a good prognosticator. As I lower the main sail, he struggles to navigate. I am heartened to see a paucity of boats in the popular cove which in summer is littered with crafts small and large.
“Think I better lie down,” his words making my heart leap.
I have to help with the anchor.
“Reggie, you appear green. Don’t heave anything in the cabin. You’ve got the whole ocean you can spoil.”
“Yes, I’m going to have to toss some chum overboard.”
With that he steps to the stern, leans over, and to the sounds of vomiting, my fastidiously prepared salad joins the waters of Fishers Island Sound.
“Oh Reggie, now you should lie down. I better get you something.”
I must compliment myself on my acting. Cassandra Neville would be impressed. Cloaking my smile of self satisfaction I assist Reggie down into the cabin.
“And I have such a nice dinner planned. Cold lobster with mayonnaise dressing.”
Of course mentioning food does not help matters, but does add to the fun as I take control and Reggie moans with the thought of rich food entering a stomach brought to extreme queasiness.
“I’ll be right back.”
To the cockpit, I note the GPS coordinates and silently text message Monica. With her army training, finding our boat will be a snap. She and Nurse Peggy await in nearby Groton Connecticut in a rented power boat. As dusk looms I suspect our timing will be perfect. We will need the cover of darkness. Meanwhile, a dose of fentanyl awaits. With Reggie’s stomach conveniently emptied by the emetic, I can safely anesthetize him and he will not choke if the powerful narcotic induces nausea.
Reginald Augustus Bouvier, the noted wealthy socialite and playboy, is about to disappear.
“Have just the thing for you Reggie...”