Second Chance Gold (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 4) John Cunningham (the rosie project TXT) 📖

you could speak with him—in fact, he said I reminded him of Remy. I’m a pilot, you can probably see my plane from here.”

“What do you fly?” she said.

“A Grumman Goose.”

Her eyes lit briefly. “Another old flying boat? That must be what all treasure hunters fly.”

“We’re not treasure hunters,” I said. “We’re here to find out what happened to Jerry Atlas.”

“Mmhmm.” She sipped her water, but her eyes never left mine. “I have my pilot’s license but not a seaplane rating—pointless here because it is not legal to land in the water … So Marius says you remind him of Remy? I’m not sure if that is a compliment or not.”

I laughed. “He did allude to the fact that we both followed our hearts.”

“Remy was a rogue.” A faint smile lingered. “I do know Marius. I’ll call him and check on your story.”

“Do you mind if I ask what the other men said when they came here that made you ready to shoot us?”

Her smile vanished.

“The Dominicans came and I wouldn’t let them in the door, so they asked if Remy left any papers behind that they could look through. I said no, and they kept whispering, then asked again to come inside. I refused and slammed the door. They tried the handle, but the lock held.” She told the story calmly, but I could see her eyes blinking rapidly. “They went around to the back of the villa and tried to enter through these doors, but by then I had my gun. They said they were searching for the treasure of the Concepcíon and would pay me a share if I could help them. I asked what I would possibly know about such a thing, and they told the same tale about Jacques Cousteau.”

“You’d never heard it before?”

She stood and moved around the room, adjusting a lampshade, moving a picture.

“I have little recollection of my grandfather,” she said. “My mother spoke fondly of him and his many escapades, the movie stars at Eden Rock…”

“How long did he own Eden Rock?”

“He purchased it for two hundred dollars in the early fifties and built the original inn there. People came from all over the world—in fact, Greta Garbo almost never left.” She smiled.

“But no stories about treasure?”

“Not one. If there had been any treasure, he could have used it when the balance between his successes and failures tipped the wrong way.”

Truck sighed.

I put my elbows on my knees and propped my chin in my hands. I had to admit it seemed like a dead end.

That left Jerry Atlas.

“Any idea why the men from the Dominican Republic would hurt Gisele? Or why they might think she’d know anything about the Concepcíon?”

“I have no idea.”

She turned toward the open doors and waved her hand for us to follow. Truck and I glanced at each other and hurried over to where she stood on the outside edge of the deck. From there, the beach and all of St. Jean looked like a postcard.

She smiled, then pointed toward the coast.

I saw she was pointing at Eden Rock. The small peninsula it was built upon jutted out into the crystal blue waters, its red-tiled roofed villas small as ladybugs from this distance.

“Their only connection was the hotel, and just after the sale it was largely destroyed in a series of hurricanes,” she said. “Remy got out just in time.”

And Jerry’s timing couldn’t have been worse.

Nicole might not recall any mention of the Concepcíon or details related to the sale of the Eden Rock, but she’d made it clear that while Jerry didn’t own it for long, his efforts to expand and modernize the hotel were a meaningful step toward what it was today. It was the hurricanes, his inexperience with real estate development, and his stubborn determination to do most of it himself that resulted in his giving up and selling at a loss.

Another trust-fund recipient turning millions into thousands. Sure, he could have waited for his next slug of cash, but Nicole said it was clear to everyone that he was in over his head—better to just walk away.

Yet fifteen years later, he had eight figures on deposit at BNP. How did that happen? Lou said he gave him three million a year. What a life.

“So her grandfather didn’t find any treasure,” Truck said.

“Not as far as she knows, provided she’s telling the truth. Maybe it was just her hesitation, but I feel like she was holding something back. Still, sounds like the old man was cash poor by the end, so even if he did find some treasure, it didn’t last.”

“So what about Jerry Atlas?”

“People must assume that if Remy knew something, then either Jerry did too or he learned it after he bought the hotel from Remy—whoa!”

“Whoa what?” Truck said.

“Nicole. I’m thinking.”

Marius had told us Remy retired to the Dominican Republic after selling the Eden Rock. Odd that Nicole hadn’t mentioned it, since it was Dominicans who came by to hassle her?

“Feisty one, huh?” Truck said.

“To say the least.”

“Good-looking too. Funny, she didn’t warm too quickly to your usual charm, cuz.”

I pulled out onto the main road and turned left.

“Isn’t our hotel back the other way?” Truck said.

“Yeah, but I have an idea—I want to go see Bruno Magras.

“Who’s he?”

“The president of St. Barths.”

“Say what?”

I smiled and a moment later turned right into the rental car parking area at the airport. I steered the Jeep into an open spot.

“Why we stopping here?”

“Because Bruno also owns the St. Barth Commuter, an inter-island airline.”

“Hmm, just like Remy.”

We passed by the car rental counters—no customers now, but since planes arrived every thirty minutes this time of year, that wouldn’t last long. Out in the open-air terminal, there were only a couple of check-in counters shared by the various airlines that served St. Barths from St. Martin, the Dominican Republic, Guadeloupe and others.

A deeply tanned agent with sandy blond hair was sifting through a pile of paperwork at