Crystal Blue (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 3) John Cunningham (psychology books to read TXT) 📖

“You don’t watch the news, Reilly?”

“I’ve been too busy doing your job.”

He curled his lip. “He had a suite on Peter Island, swanky, exclusive resort in the BVI—”

“I’ve been there, Booth.”

“Of course you have.” His sneer made me smile. “Few afternoons ago he ordered a big lunch for him and his agent, hot little number doing more than just getting him movie deals, if you know what I mean. Room service shows up thirty minutes later and he’s gone. Room’s a mess and there’s a note says he’s dead if a million dollars isn’t paid within forty-eight hours.“

“Paid where?”

“That’s the thing, it didn’t specify further instructions, and there’s been no follow up.” Booth sighed. “His studio offered a hundred-grand reward to anyone who can help find him.”

No mention of Adoption AID or the concert. Weird. Maybe they were unrelated.

“Peter Island’s pretty isolated,” I said. “Anybody see boats coming or going during that time?”

“There were a few, but the room service order was placed from his cell phone, not the phone in the suite.”

“So maybe he was already gone.” I thought for a few seconds. “Did he ever check in?”

“Oh yeah, the night before. Big deal, guests went crazy, he made a stink about the first suite not being big enough. Then demanded champagne and caviar on the beach. Typical Hollywood prick.”

“So if he’s not hidden in some other villa—”

“The Royal Police went door to door, he’s not there.”

“Then he must’ve left by boat,” I said. “What about the eyewitness on St. John who saw Thedford leave Cruz Bay aboard a speedboat?”

Booth’s expression didn’t change. He just stared at me.

“A red Cigarette, to be precise.”

“News to me, Reilly—”

“Officer Deaver from the Park Police mentioned it, and I talked to the witness.”

“A drunk.” Booth spoke into his food and when he looked up wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Can’t be taken seriously.” He then launched into the semi-insider’s version of radical pro-life and pro-choice fringe groups. These were the people who bombed abortion clinics at one end of the spectrum and supported late-stage abortions at the other. “Radical” didn’t really cover it.

“Are there any of those types of groups active down here?” Something Crystal mentioned occurred to me. “What about anti-adoption groups?”

“Historically, no activity here,” Booth said, “and the anti-adoption types have been peaceful so far, but given that this show is being broadcast world-wide, it’s not limited to local groups.”

“Really?” Crystal never said it was that big. Good grief!

“Don’t get me wrong, Reilly. These islands may not have the concentration of crazies like your beloved Key West, but they’ve got plenty of nuts. One such loon calls himself Reverend Hellfire and he’s right here on St. Thomas.” Booth laughed, but I didn’t have the luxury of dismissing potential leads.

“Not your typical Christian pastor’s name. Is he a sole proprietor?”

“Something like that. Even down here people start religions for tax purposes, but this guy’s off the proverbial deep end.”

Booth didn’t look like he seemed too concerned about the potential antagonists he’d been describing. He mopped up the remaining ketchup with his last piece of wheat toast and stuffed it in his mouth.

“How about the international groups you mentioned?” I said. “Why would they be pissy about Adoption AID?”

This got me his most pedantic expression.

“Black marketeers are the biggest businesses abroad, Reilly. They don’t like anything to rock the status quo. Not that I think they have anything to do with a little feel-good charity concert, but don’t think the big boys sit back and allow market forces to change without being the ones to manipulate them.”

I gave him a long, long look. “Market forces?”

“If adoption is more readily available, the prices for babies would drop.”

Silence followed.

“Why do I feel like you’re not telling me everything?”

His eyes narrowed. “What I came here to ask you, face to face, is whether Crystal Thedford has come clean with you yet.”

My stomach sank. “About what?”

“About when she lived in L.A.”

“Said she worked for City of Hope.”

“You’re a sap, Reilly. Not who she worked for, who she lived with.”

A flash popped in my head. “She mentioned she’d lived with an actor.” He smiled, but his eyes kept the squint.

“That’s right, hotshot. Crystal Banks, her maiden name, lived with Stud Mahoney.”

I nearly spit coffee all over Booth.

“Now her husband and former lover are both missing.”

When Jack Anderson told us Stud was missing, the one word she’d said was “Shit.”

“Watch your ass, kid.”

I leaned forward. “So she’s under suspicion?”

“Damn straight, but we know she was home in Maryland when her husband disappeared, and with you when Mahoney vanished.” I didn’t take the bait, my mind still spinning too fast. “Now go get your FAA permission slip off the fax machine, fly over to Tortola so they can laugh their way through inspecting that lobster trap of an airplane, and start island hopping until you find me something useful.”

He stood. I was amazed to see him in tropical weight khakis and with his blue button-down shirt untucked. He almost looked relaxed, which bothered me.

“I have a meeting with the Task Force Against Gang Activity now, so if you’ll excuse me.”

I watched him walk through the patio and into the main building. He had Federal Agent written all over him, and no interest in hiding it.

Crystal knew Stud Mahoney? Lived with him?

Crap.

Based on the directions I received earlier, I knew the Criminal Investigative Bureau was somewhere on the other side of Water Island. I studied the shore, looked past the seaplane base to the west, where the University of the Virgin Islands was situated. Booth had been uncharacteristically helpful, albeit brutal. It then hit me that he said he didn’t know anything about the red Cigarette, but also said they guy who reported it was a drunk. He clearly was still holding back.

I had to learn more, and fast.

Could I beat Booth to Lieutenant White?

THE FAA FAX DIDN’T say much, but I figured it was a