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

willing to discuss certain details with you. Particularly those associated with his wife, Gisele.”

I leaned forward. “What’s the likelihood that she can overturn the prenuptial agreement?”

He shrugged. “Quite good, actually. They were married in the United States, and French law follows the matrimonial regime passed at the Hague in 1978—which, in essence, provides loopholes for a surviving spouse unless the agreement was updated and reaffirmed by the court in their place of residence, in this case a French court. Jerry had never chosen to do that.”

I bit my tongue—another detail we’d been unaware of.

“Being a small island,” Pierre said, “we found this out six months ago, when Gisele began to quietly investigate her rights to have the regime overturned. And, while Jerry chose to act as if he was unaware, we followed her progress through discrete discussions with colleagues at the firm she had retained.”

Wow.

“He must have been upset.”

“Yes, well, they had been married for many years, Gisele provided him with three lovely children, and he fully intended to waive his rights anyway, but he was curious as to how she would raise it with him.” Another blast of smoke billowed our way. “Jerry’s social life—the bars, the philandering—had festered into a sense of guilt that was eating away at him.”

“You can’t change your past,” I said.

“But you can change your future. And Jerry was letting that play out a little before he did so.”

“How did you feel about Gisele’s efforts?”

He laughed. “The wives of French men, or men who have acquired French tendencies, is often a complicated affair. Given Jerry’s great wealth and her lack of access or protection—his will had not been updated either—who could blame her? Now that he is dead, I am simply doing as Jerry instructed me to do before. Wait and see.”

Good grief. The more I learned about Jerry, the clearer it became that he wasn’t the person I’d been led to believe.

Nor was Gisele.

I glanced at Truck, who had his arms crossed and was staring at me. Time to switch gears.

“Were you Jerry’s attorney when he acquired the Eden Rock from Remy de Haenen?”

Pierre laughed. “No, but that is how we met. I represented Remy in the transaction. Jerry hired me to help him sell it later.”

The phone rang. We waited while Pierre had a quick conversation in French. I could hear his assistant’s voice out in the reception area.

Pierre stood.

“My next appointment will be here soon, gentlemen. If you speak with Monsieur Lou Atlas, you can let him know that I was helpful. If he needs assistance here on St. Barths, we no longer have a conflict.”

“One last thing, if you don’t mind. Given your understanding of Gisele’s situation, I’m guessing you know she was beaten and hospitalized.”

His face darkened. He reached down to stub out the cigarette but did not respond.

“There are men on St. Barths looking for treasure from the wreck of the Concepcíon,” I said. “Did Jerry ever mention this to you?”

Pierre’s brow furrowed. “Treasure? Jerry? No, why should he have?”

“How about Remy de Haenen, did he ever mention the subject?”

He held both hands out to his sides. “Treasure? No, neither man mentioned anything of the kind. Is it purportedly connected to the Eden Rock? That was their only tie.”

I studied his face, which had acquired deep contours and wrinkles.

“That’s the word on the street,” I said.

He shook his head. “I don’t believe it. If it is true, neither man ever uttered a word to me, and I knew them both very well. Now that you mention it, I do remember Remy going off with Jacques Cousteau on some treasure hunt decades ago. He came back with nothing but stories of wine and seasickness.”

My gut said he was telling the truth.

“And while Jerry Atlas liked to play dumb, he was dumb like a fox. He told me everything—at least, I believed he did.”

Given everything that had happened, I wanted to check the Beast. Since she was tied down on the private aviation tarmac, we didn’t need to go to the main terminal—the access road was on the other side of the runway.

I waited for a gap in traffic and darted forward in the Jeep. A roar caused Truck and me to flinch—a St. Barth Commuter plane dropped in over the twin peaks, just twenty feet above the open Jeep.

“Damn!” Truck said.

We slowed to watch the plane float down until its wheels skidded on the scarred tarmac, which sent up plumes of smoke. A horn shrieked behind us and we jumped again. I popped the clutch and turned right toward the private aviation lot. A concrete wall with an iron fence above it, along with a private aviation hangar, blocked our view until we turned the corner.

My heart sank.

I jammed on the brakes. Truck followed my gaze.

“Hey, looky there, your plane went and had a baby,” he said.

Parked next to my Grumman Goose was the Grumman Widgeon I’d seen in New York and Punta Cana. It was Jack Dodson who’d flown in last night at dusk.

A sudden numbness passed through me. Jack would assume I’d ignored his warning and was also on the trail of the Concepcíon.

Son of a bitch.

We walked to the Beast, me in a fog. The Widgeon was tied down adjacent to my plane. Jack must know about Remy de Haenen—why else would he be here?

“Why you so pale?” Truck said.

I realized I was holding my breath.

I could either let Jack know why I was here and promise to stay out of his way, or wait until our paths crossed and decide what to do then. I’d damn sure love to beat him to the Concepcíon treasure, if it was really here.

“They look so cute together,” Truck said.

The Beast was still locked—no notes or obvious messages from Jack. I slowly circled the plane.

“The hell you doing?” Truck said.

“You see the tail numbers on that baby plane?”

Truck glanced back. “CU-N-1313. What about it?”

“CU stands for Cuba—”

Truck jumped back. I wasn’t