Chapter 101
THE COMMAND’S SPRING PARTY was supposed to be held at the Greers’ house, but Paul had come home a couple days earlier and announced, apropos of nothing, that it would be at the Italian Officers’ Club instead.
The club was an old nineteenth-century villa that sat on the Via Ammiraglio Carlo Mirabello and faced the water.
At one time it had been the summer home of someone fancy, but unlike the Villa Webber, which had been allowed to fall into disrepair, this building wound up in the hands of the Italian government and had been renovated several times.
The night of the party, I had barely checked my coat when Bev grabbed my hand and whispered, “Come with me.”
“I don’t have a drink yet,” I complained.
“There will be time for that,” she said as she led me to a small ladies’ lounge, really an antechamber, on the way to the bathroom, where Laura and Rita were already sitting on a narrow sofa.
“You’re going to want to sit down,” Bev told me, and the two of them scooched over to make room for me.
When we were seated, she checked that the stalls in the next room were empty, then pushed an upholstered ottoman in front of the door.
“What’s all this about?” I asked.
“Nancy Drew’s been sleuthing,” said Rita, and Beverly gave a small bow.
“The Greers are out,” said Bev.
“What do you mean, out?” said Laura. “Their tour’s not up until this summer.”
“There’s a sub,” said Bev, “that just came in a week ago. The Chartridge. It’s based out of New London.”
“Okay,” said Rita.
“Well, you know Betsy McLynn, who lives in Santa Teresa?”
We nodded.
“She just came from New London, and a bunch of her friends are still there, including some gals who’ve got husbands on the Chartridge.”
“You are really dragging this out,” I said.
“I am telling this the shortest way I know how,” said Bev.
“A couple of days ago, Betsy starts getting all these calls from her gal pals in New London, and they’re all freaking out because their husbands are telling them there’s some sort of issue with the sub, and it’s possible their patrol’s going to be extended. ”
“I forgot Betsy had a phone,” said Rita with a sigh.
Bev rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, she lives a half-hour drive from Palau, so you win some, you lose some.”
“What’s going on with the Chartridge?” said Laura, trying to get us back on track.
“The rumor flying around New London is that the sub ran aground.”
“Where?” I asked.
“Right here in La Madd.”
I could feel my pulse quicken. “If there’d been a grounding, wouldn’t we all know about it?”
“No way,” said Rita with a laugh. “Most of them don’t get reported. Not if the navy can possibly help it.”
“What does this have to do with the Greers?” asked Laura.
“Wait for it,” said Bev, holding up a finger.
Laura groaned.
“So the next day, Betsy goes to Siobhan.”
“Why Siobhan?” I asked.
“Oh, I see where this is going,” said Rita. “Siobhan’s husband, Mike, is a tugboat operator.”
“Mike told Siobhan that the Chartridge was moored alongside the tender, but that last Saturday night, the sub was given orders to do a berth shift because another sub was coming in and needed some kind of quick resupply.”
“There’s no such thing as a quick resupply,” said Rita.
“Maybe they were reloading missiles. Who knows? In any case, the commodore decides that the Chartridge needs to go out to sea for a couple of hours while this other sub gets taken care of. But it’s hard to rustle up the Chartridge’s crew because a bunch of them are on liberty, including the CO, who had rented a vacation house over in Moneta with a couple of other officers. ”
“Who told you that?” I asked.
“One of the guys in Tim’s department rents the house next door.”
“You really have been sleuthing,” said Rita.
“Thank you,” said Bev with a small curtsy. “I’m guessing the CO either couldn’t be reached or wasn’t sober because, according to Mike, the commodore decided he was going to captain the boat.”
“Can he even do that?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure. He’s obviously qualified. But in this case, it was a bad idea.”
“Beverly Bamford, are you telling us the commodore grounded the sub?” asked Rita.
“That’s what Mike said. He had to tow it in.”
“How bad’s the damage?” I asked, thinking only of the reactor, which sat in the center of the boat.
“No idea,” said Bev. “But if crew members are calling their wives in New London and telling them that they’re going to be stuck in La Madd for the foreseeable future, it’s got to be pretty bad, right?”
I wondered whether Teo knew anything about the accident. He couldn’t possibly, I decided, because if he did, there’d already be coverage in La Spedizione, and the entire archipelago would be rioting.
“This all happened last Saturday night?” asked Laura. “As in six days ago?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Bobby got called in that night.”
I thought about it for a minute. “Paul did, too.”
“So, there you go,” said Bev. “It must have been pretty bad if Shore Patrol dragged everyone out of their beds. Plus, I swear, the reason we can’t find the Greers anywhere is because Bill Greer’s about to be court-martialed.”
“You think so?” said Laura.
Bev shrugged. “If he ran a two-hundred-million-dollar submarine aground, then yeah, I definitely think so.”
“It would explain why we’re at the Italian Officers’ Club right now and not their house,” said Rita, and we all acknowledged that this was true.
“I just can’t believe the command went this whole week not saying anything,” I said.
“Eileen,” said Rita, like I was a small child. “Why in the world would they say anything?”
I was about to argue that the Italians deserved to know, when there was a knock on the door and Bev flew across the room to answer it.
It was a new girl named Donna, who was just looking for the bathroom. “Yup, this way,” said Bev as she kicked the ottoman out of the way.
We all stood. “To be continued,” said Bev, but before we could make our escape, Rita asked if we’d hang on a minute.
“Look, girls. I’ve got something to tell you that I’ve been putting off for the last couple of months.”
“Oh my God,” said Bev. “I think I know what this is.”
“Is it already that obvious?” Rita asked.
“You’re pregnant?”
She gave us a crooked smile, then looked directly at Laura. “I didn’t want to make a big announcement after everything you’ve been through. But I’m using rubber bands to keep my pants buttoned, so I figured I had to tell you soon.”
Laura looked physically wounded.
“It was an accident,” said Rita, trying to make it better, and I winced on Laura’s behalf.
“You know they make these things called contraceptives,” said Bev, “which are designed to prevent pregnancy if you don’t, in fact, want to become pregnant.”
Rita laughed a little and then began to cry. “So I hear,” she choked out.
“Come here,” said Bev, and pulled her in for a hug. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I’m going to have four kids under six.”
“You’ll figure it out,” said Bev as she pulled away to get a good look at Rita. “But you really do need to tell J.R. to get snipped after this.”
“That’s going to be the first appointment I make, as soon as we’re stateside. I swear to God.”
I gave Rita a squeeze. “Congratulations,” I said, because what else was there to say?
After that, we couldn’t help it, everyone looked at Laura, who seemed to recognize that it was her turn to say something. She cleared her throat. “It’s such happy news,” she said. “Really.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?” said Rita, and Laura nodded, a little too ferociously, if you asked me.
“Please don’t worry about me,” she whispered, and I could tell she was trying hard not to cry.
God, did I feel for her. “Let’s get you a drink,” I said as I wrapped an arm around her and steered her back into the dining room, where the band was—I kid you not—playing the opening notes of “Be My Baby.”