Crystal Blue (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 3), John Cunningham [top fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

all pregnancies are unplanned, and of them, nearly fifty percent are terminated.”

Ah, Choice. “So this is against—”

“It’s not against anything,” she said. “But one of our goals is to promote adoption to increase grace for people facing unplanned pregnancies.”

She’d said this was John’s passion, but I didn’t buy that story about her college roommate, figured she might have her own reasons too. I also had a sinking feeling that while this all sounded progressive and well-intended, it could create resentment from radical elements on either side of the Choice issue. Were any of those groups crazy enough to kidnap John and try to grab Crystal?

“You need to understand, Buck—Society judges women for their choices. So do their jobs, friends, even family. Abortion in the States outnumbers domestic adoption by twenty-to-one, and not necessarily because women prefer that. It’s because you can hide an abortion—society still forces secrecy. As a choice, adoption is the path least taken.”

“So you talk about changing society,” I said. “How might that lead to John’s disappearance?”

“Because we’re calling for a social revolution.”

I glanced toward her. “Revolution?”

“For society to accept and support women facing unplanned pregnancy? Trust me, that would be revolutionary.”

The hours had passed quickly, and soon it was time to prepare for our approach to St. Thomas. I thought of the contraband treasure maps locked below my seat, and sweat broke out on my brow. My life’s work was far less noble. I may not have resumed my hunt for treasure since e-Antiquity failed, but I hadn’t totally distanced myself from the possibility. I glanced at Crystal, now watching Puerto Rico as we flew over it. Her profile reminded me of Audrey Hepburn.

Focus, Reilly.

I still hadn’t learned for certain why the Thedford’s efforts had produced threats, but at the moment I had a water landing to deal with. I hadn’t flown to Charlotte Amalie for several years, and the sight of cruise ships and boats buzzing around the harbor like water bugs required my attention. The police were expecting us, so I hoped we’d get up-to-date news on John’s disappearance.

After that, we’d see where we stood.

AS WE HEADED TOWARD the busy seaplane base at the foot of Charlotte Amalie I tuned out everything but our route to the splash zone. Seaborne Airlines operated several deHavilland Twin Otters on floats that made frequent daily landings, so the people operating ferries and boats around the harbor were accustomed to seaplanes. Since water landings were no longer allowed in the British Virgin Islands and St. John, the base was one of the busiest in the Caribbean.

Crystal was subdued as we made our approach. When we set down smoothly into the light chop, water flew up above our side vent windows and sprayed off the props. I’d quickly come to appreciate the weight and mass of the Goose—compared to Betty, my former Widgeon, the Beast had much greater stability and felt far more solid on the ground and in the water. Once repainted, fully reupholstered, and the renovations complete, the Beast would be a treasure to operate, but for now the mismatched paint on the fuselage and wings drew curious glances. Maybe they thought we were South American smugglers here to make a drop.

By the time we taxied up to the dock, a handful of police in blue pants and white shirts stood stone-faced to greet us. That wasn’t a surprise, but I hadn’t anticipated the camera crews and reporters behind them.

“We have company, Crystal.”

“I hope they have some news.” Her attention was on the law enforcement officers.

“I’ll help you any way I can, okay?”

“Would you come speak to the police with me?”

I nodded and waited until the props stopped rotating.

“Let’s go.”

Noise from the traffic on the road next to the seaplane base competed with the high-horsepower outboard motors on boats around the harbor. But it was shouts from the reporters that caused Crystal to wince. One of the policemen turned and pushed the more aggressive camera crews back. A gray-haired cop walked forward to meet us as we stepped onto the dock.

“Ms. Thedford?”

Crystal nodded.

“I’m Lieutenant White of the Virgin Islands Police Department.” He paused and glanced at me. “And you are?”

“Buck Reilly. I’m Ms. Thedford’s pilot.”

“Have you found my husband, Lieutenant White?”

The officer squinted. “Not yet, ma’am, but we’re doing everything we can.”

Her shoulders slumped.

“With all the other activity here—related to your show, that is—our force has its hands full coordinating with authorities on Tortola, but I want to assure you that this is a top priority for us.” The lieutenant had an island accent and a habit of putting his thumbs in his gun belt, which made me think he’d seen a lot of old Westerns.

“Where can we reach you if we have news—or questions?” White said.

“We have a room booked at Frenchman’s Reef.”

The lieutenant glanced at me.

“And you, Mr. Reilly?” he said.

“He’ll be at the same hotel,” Crystal said. “Can I reach you on the number you gave me yesterday, lieutenant?”

“Yes, ma’am, same one.”

They agreed to touch base in the morning, gave us their cards, and Crystal and I walked up the dock toward the camera crews waiting by the street.

She suddenly turned into the small building where Seaborne’s offices were located. I followed.

“Ms. Thedford?” A tall, sandy-haired man stood up behind the small counter. “I’m so sorry to hear that your husband’s missing.” He extended his hand. “I’m Jerry Butler, the flight manager for Seaborne here on St. Thomas.”

“Yes, Jerry, I’m here to check logistics with you. Have you been—”

“Ah, well, Ms. Thedford, we have a little problem. Actually, a not-so-little problem.” He took in a deep breath. “We’ve grounded our fleet and won’t be able to help you any longer.”

“Why on earth!”

He looked from Crystal to me, then back to her.

“Bomb threats.”

“Bomb threats?” we said in unison.

“Afraid so. Specific to your event, in fact.”

The color drained from her face.

“How will the performers get around the islands?”

“This morning we had multiple phone calls stating that if any