Second Chance Gold (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 4), John Cunningham [polar express read aloud .txt] 📗

He shrugged. “A few days after Monsieur Atlas disappeared.”

“Did you share this with his uncle? Or the FBI when they called?”

His eyebrows arched at the mention of the FBI and he crossed his arms.

“His family here, his wife, was informed of the discovery.” He uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his hips. “What she tells Monsieur Atlas is her business, and as for the FBI, we responded to their inquiry and stated that Jerry had disappeared. They asked to be contacted if there appeared to be foul play. Falling off a Jet Ski and drowning is not considered foul play here on St. Barthélemy.”

A hint of the renowned French haughtiness flashed in his voice as he relayed this information. A flash of adrenalin hit me in anticipation of the response I expected after my first report to Lou Atlas.

Job done, come home.

I exhaled a long breath and remembered what the bartender at La Plage had said about Jerry renting equipment.

“Had he rented the Jet Ski from Master Ski Pilou?”

He looked up, a new light in his eyes.

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Did they say where he’d been going, or if he was alone?”

Commander Grivet pursed his lips. “He was alone, except for the bottle of rum he had taken with him, and no, he did not tell Bernard where he was going. Jerry used their Jet Skis frequently and went any number of places, mostly beach bars, but occasionally further, and often around the entire island.”

“Was there anything on the Jet Ski—or any sign of trouble?”

He shook his head. “A half-full bottle of rum and his wallet full of Euros and credit cards.”

“Was Jerry a regular customer of yours, Commander?”

He nodded slowly. “He was no stranger to us here.” His eyes were cold as he glanced at his watch. “Will there be anything else, Monsieur Reilly?”

Hell, I could file my report before lunch and be on my way this afternoon. Almost too fast, dammit. Would I still get paid?

“One other question, Commander. How are Jerry’s wife and kids?”

He slowly rubbed his chin between his index finger and thumb.

“Financially in trouble—Jerry left them with nothing, all his wealth serving no purpose other than making interest for bankers.” He curled his lip. “There is an agreement she signed before they were married.”

His tone made it clear what he thought of such agreements.

Protect the money was rule number one amongst the rich. Family, wives and children were replaceable. Money was not.

“They’d been staying with her family in Toiny after Jerry disappeared, but now …”

I waited.

“But now what?” I said finally.

“Gisele—Jerry’s wife—is in the hospital.”

“Why?”

“She was attacked. Beaten brutally, last week.”

“Because of Jerry?” I said. “Do you know who—”

“We don’t know who or why. Gisele is from St. Barthélemy, her family has been here for generations. They are well-liked members of the community. Jerry’s death was … unfortunate, but we have found no connection to this incident.”

“What’d Gisele say about her attackers?”

“She has no memory of it. Her young daughter found her in their driveway, behind their car.” The muscles in his jaw rippled as he pursed his lips. “These things do not happen here. We have a population of six thousand, which comes with all varieties of domestic issues, but this incident was different.”

“And she remembers nothing?” I said.

He shook his head. “Not that she will tell us.”

I left the station and mentally ticked the second box on Lou Atlas’s list of people to speak with. What would he say about these revelations? Would he care? Or would he only give a shit about the money sitting in Banque Nationale de Paris down the street?

“Yo, Reilly, you all right?” Truck was standing in the shade of the large tree out front of the police station.

I looked past him.

“We need to go to the hospital.”

Truck argued against going to see Gisele as we crossed to the other side of the harbor and drove up the steep hill to l’Hopital de Bruyn, which overlooked the Caribbean from the peak of the western side of Gustavia harbor. The way he saw it, we’d earned our fee and the right to take the rest of the week to chill. I disagreed with his logic. Lou Atlas wasn’t known for being that generous—I wanted to make sure we pursued every lead.

Pursuing this one involved a lot of convincing, from reception to the nurse on the ward and finally Gisele’s doctor, who read the note from Lou Atlas and threw it down like it was an audit notice from the French equivalent of the IRS.

“Fifteen minutes,” he said.

Gisele Atlas was indeed beautiful, that much was obvious, though not entirely at the moment. The left side of her face was swollen, her left eye still closed, her left cheek yellowed and purple from bruises. There was an IV tube attached to her wrist. She was asleep under a taut sheet, face up and arms at her sides.

I debated whether to wake her. Finally I leaned in close, the antiseptic scent strong around her.

“Gisele?” She didn’t stir. “Gisele?”

Still nothing. I glanced back at Truck, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Gisele?” I touched her shoulder.

Her good eye blinked open and her whole body went rigid. She struggled to raise her arms but they were pinned beneath the sheet.

“It’s okay! Ça va !” I held up my hands. “I’m here on behalf of Jerry’s father, Lou.” The statement was sour on my tongue. Lou had barely mentioned his daughter-in-law and grandchildren. “My name’s Buck Reilly, and this is Truck.” I pointed my thumb behind me. “We’re here to help you.”

She frowned. “Has Monsieur Atlas come?” Her voice was scratchy.

I glanced around, saw a pitcher of water, filled an empty glass, and held it up to her lips.

“No, he sent us.” I glanced at Truck. “What happened to you? Who did this?”

She turned away, her swollen eye fluttering. She murmured something in French—I picked up the words love and children, but that was it.

“I miss my