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

“We’re here on behalf of Lou Atlas.”

“Ahh, Jerry. No prodigal nephew, that one.”

“How well did you know him?”

“He came by often.”

“Drinking?”

“Now and then, but usually on his way to the bank around the corner.” He nodded toward the harbor. “Jerry went there a couple of times a week to meet with the manager.”

“The manager?” That surprised me. Would he be checking on his money?

“We just went and saw his wife all beat up in the hospital,” Truck said.

Marius winced. “Bad, bad, bad. Not right, you know?”

“Any word of who or why?“

He leaned forward. “There’ve been some men here, hunting for treasure.”

I felt as if all my blood had rushed to my feet and left me cold.

“What?”

“A sunken Spanish galleon called the Concepcíon.”

Couldn’t be. I glanced around to see if anyone was listening. The mention of sunken treasure always garnered attention from eavesdroppers. Even Truck was leaning in close, his attention fixed on Marius.

“I’m familiar with the Concepcíon, but the Dominican Republic’s five hundred miles away,” I said. “Why would they be here?”

“Easy, because of Remy de Haenan.”

The silence that followed seemed long. And unnecessary.

“I’ll bite,” I said. “Who’s Remy de Haenen?”

Marius sighed. “One of the greatest men ever to live in St. Barths. In fact, you’re much alike, Buck. He was an aviator as far back as the forties and the first to land a plane here in the fifties.”

I watched as Marius’s eyes grew distant.

“Remy was fearless. Went from smuggler to airline owner to mayor of St. Barths for fifteen years—even president Chirac came here from Paris to see him!” Marius glowed. “Ah, Remy de Haenen. How I miss him.”

“What does any of that have to do with the Concepcíon —or more important, Jerry Atlas?” I said.

Marius took a sip of his Orangina. “Back in either the late sixties or early seventies, Jacques Cousteau came to St. Barths—”

“The Jacques Cousteau? From the TV show?” I said.

“Oui, he came aboard his ship, the Calypso, to get Remy. They searched the waters off the Dominican Republic for laConcepcíon.”

“But why Remy?” I said.

Marius blew out a long, slow breath.

“Remy had covered the islands like no one before him—his airline, the first in the Caribbean—he knew everybody and everything. Cousteau needed him.”

I didn’t remember any mention of Jacques Cousteau from my research. Based on the date, it would have been before Webber found his artifacts in 1978. My fingers tingled in the same way they used to when I found an undocumented detail about a treasure I was hunting for.

Would Jack know about this?

“What’d they find?” Truck’s voice was a whisper.

Now Marius shrugged and looked away.

“Nobody knows. Rumors say they found gold—and if they did, well, it wouldn’t surprise me that Remy kept it a secret. The Dominican government would want their share …” Marius waved his hand away as if to dismiss the idea as nonsense.

We sat in silence. The hustle-bustle of the bar faded into the background as I processed the information. If Remy and Jacques Cousteau did find some of the Concepcíon treasure, what became of it?

I shook off the thoughts of treasure.

“And what does any of this have to do with Jerry Atlas?”

Marius smiled. “Remy sold the Eden Rock hotel to Jerry back in the nineties.”

“What? Jerry owned the Eden Rock?” It was probably the most exclusive boutique hotel on the island.

“Not for long,” Marius said. “I’ve been hearing rumors about men in town looking into the Concepcíon, so I’m only guessing, but that could be the connection.”

“How is that a connection?” I said.

The tinny outdoor speaker cracked and the female chef’s voice said: “Nombre sept.”

“That’s us,” I said.

Truck sauntered over to the outdoor kitchen window to gather our plates, and a local man stopped by to talk with Marius. The possibility of a connection to the Concepcíon here on St. Barths had my mind spinning. The wreck was 500 miles away! What could Cousteau have known—and why would Remy de Haenen be of help all the way from here? Just because he owned the Eden Rock—and later sold it to Jerry Atlas—so what? Lou certainly hadn’t mentioned that detail, and it didn’t seem to fit Jerry’s drunken trust-fund brat image. The mention of the Concepcíon and treasure hunters here from the DR had my head spinning.

Marius put his palms down on the table.

“I have to go. Doctor’s appointment. My eyes—one’s dead and I just had surgery on the other.”

“You look great—”

He laughed. “You’ve always been full of shit, Buck. I’m old and tired. I’ve been blessed, but my days are drawing down.”

We stood. I gave him another hug and he kissed me on both cheeks.

“You’ve piqued my interest, Marius. We’ll be back.”

Marius’s smile drifted away, and through his dark glasses I could see his eyes were narrowed.

“Just watch yourself, Buck. Plenty tricky currents here now. It’s not the same any more.”

When Truck returned with our plates, Marius was gone, though not before sending two fresh beers over to our table. We inhaled the double cheeseburgers and salty fries in near silence, still rocked by the news of the Concepcíon.

Truck kept glancing past my shoulder while he ate, so I assumed there must be an attractive woman behind me. When he swallowed his last bite, he leaned closer.

“Couple of dudes in the bar been watching us.”

I washed down the remaining fries with the last of my beer, took a deep breath, and sat back. “Is one of ‘em a skinny but muscular white guy?”

“No, man. Look kind of Latino to me.”

“You ready?” I said.

We walked out and headed up the street. At the second set of open doors into Le Select, I glanced back inside. Two big men—Latino, like Truck said—stood watching us. They turned away when they saw me look their way.

At least neither of them was Jack.

We continued at a casual pace up the street to where our Jeep was parked across from the Rhum St. Barth store. We hadn’t looked back, but when we pulled out I saw the same men getting