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

sending the money, dammit. I just continued per her Last Will and Testament after she died.”

This was more sordid Atlas family history than I cared for.

“Nice that you got Gisele out of the hospital,” I said. “From what I can see, she’s broke—at least, she has no access to her husband’s money sitting in the local bank.” I waited a couple of seconds, then said. “Are you going to change—or allow her to change—the pre-marital agreement she and Jerry—”

“Don’t be telling me how to handle my family’s affairs, Reilly.”

I turned to face the inside of the hospital.

“Did Jerry have an attorney here in St. Barths? Someone I should talk to?”

“Probably one to get him out of the drunk tank, but nobody I know of. Now what have you got to tell me about Jerry’s disappearance?”

“Are you asking if the treasure had anything to do with it, Lou? What are you really after?”

“Goddammit, Reilly! I’m sorry your friend got beat up, but don’t turn this into some kind of conspiracy theory. You want to fly that plane of yours back to Key West, be my guest—”

“Truck’s in the hospital, so I can’t.”

“Then go sit your ass on one of them nice beaches there and try not to piss away the whole twenty-grand I’m paying you—which, by the way, you haven’t given me a hell of a lot for.”

“All right, Lou. Consider this your daily check-in call. If I find out you’re lying about the Concepcíon —”

“That sounds like a threat, boy!”

I took a deep breath and bit my tongue. Lou would never tell me the truth, and getting into a pissing match with him now would get me nowhere.

“I’ll continue to look around until Truck can travel, then we’ll see where we are.”

A loud crackling sound caused me to pull the phone away from my ear.

“Fine. Hope your pal’s okay. Keep me posted, Treasure Hunter.”

Click.

I lowered the phone. Did he not know Jerry’s attorney, or did he not want me to know? Lou Atlas hadn’t become a billionaire by being open and trustworthy, that’s for damned sure.

Since I’d ridden in the ambulance with Truck, my Jeep was back at La Banane. I walked down the hill into town and turned left at the small circle on the northwest corner of the harbor. Restaurants were packed with lunch patrons, and traffic had picked up into a midday flurry. The Yacht Club disco was locked tight, but just past that was Master Ski Pilou, the boat and Jet Ski rental business Jerry had used.

I stepped into the small office where a nicely dressed woman eyed me up and down.

“We don’t need any boat hands,” she said.

“Good, because I’m not here for a job.”

She looked back up from her computer monitor to once again assess me. Her brow wrinkled.

“I’m not here to rent a boat, either,” I said. “Lou Atlas asked me to come to St. Barths to learn more about his nephew’s disappearance.” I produced Lou’s letter. She read it and handed it back.

“We’re very sad about Jerry,” she said. “He was a great … friend.”

“Customer, yeah, I understand. Is Bernard here? I was told to ask for him.”

“I’m his partner. How can I help—”

“Were Bernard and Jerry friends?”

“You could say that.” She pressed a quick-dial key on her cell phone, then explained in fast French that someone was here on behalf of the Atlas estate. I realized she was tense. If a billionaire was looking to blame someone for his nephew’s death, the company who rented him the Jet Ski would be a good target.

The door sprang open and in walked a deeply tanned lean man in a white polo shirt with the Master Ski Pilou logo on his breast.

“Allô?”

I introduced myself to Bernard, and once he’d read the letter I followed him out to where they had a dozen Jet Skis on rubber floating docks.

“Sorry about your loss—Jerry, that is. I was told you guys were friends.”

He shook his head.

“Sad, yes. Jerry ran hard and fast, usually with one eye open, but he was a friend, as you say. Things have been very different without him.”

“Did he always use a Jet Ski, or did you take him out on boats, too?”

“It depended on what he was doing. He liked to dive, but hadn’t done as much the past few years. He enjoyed running over to Anguilla and on calm days would use the Jet Ski. Otherwise me or one of the captains would take him in one of our speedboats.”

“Why Anguilla?”

Bernard laughed. “The Dune Preserve is there, one of his favorite beach bars. Plus it allowed him to go where nobody knew his name.”

“Except Bankie Banx?”

“Bankie may have been one of his best friends. They went boating together, just cruising around the deserted islands. Jerry didn’t have many close friends, mostly bartenders, waitresses, people here on the dock.”

I nodded. “When the Jet Ski was recovered, did you get it back?”

Bernard nodded and pointed toward a blue Jet Ski off to the side.

“That’s it right there.”

The sight of it gave me a chill. If only it could talk.

“What kind of shape was it in when it was recovered?”

“Fine, no scratches, nothing. Key was in it. It was out of gas, though. No automatic shut-off on this model, so it kept running until it was dry.”

“Do they have GPS? So you can track them?”

“Some do, not this model. It’s a little older, but Jerry liked to use the same one, so we kept it aside for him.”

Bernard’s voice was flat. He was handsome, had smile lines around his eyes. But the life went out of his face the more we spoke of Jerry.

“Was anything missing when it was found?”

He sighed. “Jerry.”

I walked back up the street, Bernard’s information rattling inside my head. Were it not for the beating of Gisele and now Truck, foul play would have seemed unlikely. And those beatings were about something Jerry had nothing to do with. User error was