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

shells that have a second set of jagged spikes? How do you explain them?”

“Midlife crises or trauma, of course.” He rubbed his fingers along the surface. “The outside is hard and coarse like your external persona, but the inside is pink and smooth like the essence of your soul.” Ray was staring at the shell while he talked. “If you count the protrusions and nubs, there’s usually around forty on a good-sized shell. I’m still contemplating how they correlate to life years.”

“Did you just come up with this epiphany?”

“I call it the Conch Paradigm.”

“Interesting,” I said. “I have a change of plans.”

Ray looked up from the conch. “I heard you agreed to take Crystal Thedford to the Caribbean.”

“How did you—”

“She came into the FBO and asked Stephanie a few questions about you.”

Stephanie Baldwin and I had a lukewarm relationship, she being the manager of the Fixed Base Operation, me being the trouble-magnet who flew the bucket-o-bolts and was always late paying bills.

“Crystal asked, so I took her out to see the Beauty.”

Ray and I had different points of view about the old Grumman Goose.

“And?” I said.

“I explained that she’s a work in progress but very sound mechanically. She was happy it had nice new seats and was big enough to hold several people. Wait till you see her, Buck. She’s hot!”

“Wipe your chin, Ray.”

He brushed his hand across his chin, stopped, narrowed his eyes and grimaced. “And smart, too.”

“She’s married.”

He deflated a little. “Since when has that stopped you?”

I spun on my heel to face him.

“I have never knowingly gone after a married woman.”

“What about that blonde at Fantasy—”

“I said knowingly, Ray. And when I found out she was married, the fun and games were over. Not my thing, taking another man’s wife.” I didn’t add that since my ex-wife Heather had left me for a fat-cat Hedge Fund guru, it pissed me off if a married woman came on to me.

He followed me out to the Beast where I stowed my bag, checked the lock under my seat to make sure the stash was safe, went through my storage compartment to check the anchors and supplies for the flight, then the fuel supply. Ray followed me around, spinning the conch shell in his hands like it was a football.

“Can you do me a favor and ask Flight Services to vacuum her out tonight, put a shine on the seats and top off the tanks?”

“Want her spic-and-span for your beautiful charter customer?” He pumped his eyebrows.

“Don’t let your imagination go where I won’t.” I checked my watch. “I’ve got to run.”

“How come you can’t ask Flight Services to do that stuff?” he said.

“Because I’m meeting Crystal for dinner at Louie’s.”

“I knew it!”

I left with Ray’s Conch paradigm in the back of my mind. I speculated where was I on the journey—still in the midst of the “stress spikes?” Or did my increasingly frequent experiences have me closer to death?

Thanks, Ray.

I NEVER TIRED OF dining at Louie’s Backyard. Set on the water at a quiet notch of the island, the outdoor patio provided an expansive view of the straits looking south. From there I’d seen waterspouts in the distance and watched meteor showers at night. And the people-watching was just as good.

I’d arrived early and was savoring some Zacapa rum on the rocks when Georges, the maître d’, escorted a stunning brunette from inside the dining room down the stairs that bifurcated the patio. Even from the distance it was clear that Ray hadn’t exaggerated. I enjoyed watching her come toward me before she knew who I was.

“Here he is, Mrs. Thedford.” Georges pursed his lips. “Buck Reilly.”

I stood and took her firm hand. Our eyes locked in a confident connection.

“Thanks, Georges,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow and pivoted away with a half-smile on his face.

“Ms. Thedford, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Crystal, remember? I’m not the formal type.”

Her smile was warm as she slid into the seat that faced the water. I wanted her to enjoy the view.

“It’s nice to finally have this day just about over,” she said. “I’ve been on the move since four-thirty this morning.”

“Why so long?”

“Had some details to handle in Miami, but I started out in Bethesda, Maryland.”

I mentioned that I used to live in Virginia. Her mouth tightened.

“I’m familiar with your past. My husband used to be a federal prosecutor before he quit to start I Support Adoption. That’s the name of our nonprofit.” She must have seen my eyes flinch, because her lips pulled into a smile.

“I have no problem with your, ah, previous line of work. As a matter of fact, my parents invested in e-Antiquity when you first went public.”

Oh jeez, not another—

“Don’t worry.” She patted my hand. “They sold at a nice profit a year before your troubles began.”

“Always nice to meet a happy former client.”

She held her smile. Her candor felt genuine. She could pause, look into your eyes, and make you feel as if you’d known her forever.

“Adoption? Children, I assume.”

“That’s right. We’re a global nonprofit focused on adoption.” She paused. “And what we’re doing down in the islands may lead to major changes—social changes, that is. But we’ll have plenty of time to talk about that on the flight to St. Thomas. And I’m sure you’ve heard about the event on TV.”

“If it’s not on the Weather, History, or Discovery channels, I wouldn’t have seen it.”

“There’s a lot of celebrity participation, so the networks, newspapers, and magazines have been hyping it—plus we have a great publicist.”

The waiter appeared with menus, took our drink orders—another Zacapa for me, sparkling water for Crystal. We’d be leaving early, so this would the last rum for the night. As of tomorrow, I was working.

She explained her background in fund raising and executive management for the City of Hope in Los Angeles, a large charity organization focused on cancer. She’d been in Washington addressing a congressional panel on cancer care when she met her husband.

“I