Second Chance Gold (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 4) by John Cunningham (tohfa e dulha read online TXT) 📗

Crap! What had she told him? Had she asked about the Concepcíon?

I pointed to an old black and white photo of Eden Rock taken long before its current grandeur.

“This picture, for example. Any idea when it was taken?” I held my breath.

“Ah, bien sur, that is from when Remy had a small yet exclusive operation here in the 1960’s. Much smaller than it is today.”

“And what year did Jerry Atlas buy it from him?”

“The mid-1990’s. Remy was finished with politics by then and had left for the Dominican Republic.” His smile had faded. “Monsieur Atlas, well, he was looking for a project. Nicole knows all of this, of course.”

Dammit. I knew she was holding out on me.

“Nicole and I haven’t cross-referenced our research since before she came here,” I said, “So I’m sorry if this is redundant.”

He shrugged. I glanced back at the old photo. There were only a few small buildings on the piece of land that was now piled high with different suites, all tucked into rocks and ledges like a Van Gogh layer cake. It occurred to me that the peninsula wasn’t all that large.

“Do you have any other photographs that show what Jerry Atlas did to expand the facilities?”

Now Monsieur Toussard’s expression of genteel courtesy had faded.

“May I ask, Monsieur Reilly, what it is that you are looking for? That way I can be the most helpful.”

“My interest is more related to the Jerry Atlas side of the equation.” I reached into my pocket and produced the letter. “His uncle has me looking into Jerry’s affairs here on St. Barths—”

“Yes, of course. So terrible—and a former owner. We are quite sad.”

“So, like I told Nicole, I’m trying to get a better understanding of Jerry’s history here. As far as I can tell, his effort to expand the Eden Rock may have been his most entrepreneurial project ever.”

His brow lifted and his eyes widened. “Yes, I understand. Well, with Monsieur Atlas’s resources, additional projects were not a necessity.”

“Well said. Now, do you have any pictures from the period when Jerry owned the hotel?”

Monsieur Toussard rubbed his hands together.

“Yes, yes, of course. We have kept records of all historical images related to the hotel. I can show you the storage room—I warn you, it is a mess, but everything is in files there.”

I followed him back into the small series of offices, past a large cluttered room. I noticed a cigarette smoldering in an ashtray, burned nearly down to its filter.

“So Nicole wasn’t interested in these pictures?”

“No, she borrowed some old papers that belonged to Remy.”

Two doors down was a room with boxes stacked high and some antiquated filing cabinets with binders, brochures, books, and other items piled on top.

“I warned you!” he said. “But let us see …” He pulled open one file drawer after the next until he was at the bottom of the last cabinet. “They must be … ah—voila!”

Inside the drawer were stacks of old photos, mostly black and white. There were fewer than I’d expected, given the hotel’s age—but then, anything from the past ten years was probably digital.

“Here, we shall take these out into the front room.” He grabbed one bulging file and I took two smaller ones, which we carried out into the entry area. Once they were spread out on the coffee table, Monsieur Toussard organized them chronologically. The largest stack was from when Remy owned and operated the hotel, the next largest when the current owner bought it from Jerry, then there were just a few pictures from Jerry’s tenure.

“Not much to show for Monsieur Atlas,” Toussard said. “But he only owned it for a brief time, and of course the hotel was closed throughout his, ah, efforts to expand.”

I gave him a big smile.

“No, this is great, it provides a context of what Jerry purchased, what he started, and what became of that. Do you mind if I take some time to go through these?”

“No, of course, help yourself.” He paused, then glanced back at his office.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt you,” I said. “I’ll let you know as soon as I’m finished.”

I flipped through the oldest stack and quickly determined which person was Remy de Haenen. Rugged good looks, classic French shnoz, and a cocky assuredness etched into every line in his face. Several movie stars and celebrities from the era accompanied Remy in different pictures, including Dwight D. Eisenhower, president Chirac—and Jacques Cousteau, glass of wine in hand and a smile on his face.

Would that have been before or after their expedition to search for the Concepcíon?

The hotel itself appeared quite simple in Remy’s time: a series of single-story buildings scattered around the small oasis, with large rocks, trees, and limited landscaping taking up the rest.

In Jerry’s pile there were only four photos, two of which had close-up pictures of the same muscle-bound man, holding a shovel in one picture and a large pry-bar in the other. I assumed this was Jerry. Another shot was more panoramic and showed that the land had been cleared of much of the gravel and larger boulders. In the last picture, construction had commenced on additional buildings. The site was a mess, no workers or machinery visible. It looked like an abandoned property.

The most recent stack showed some early construction pictures, which compared to Jerry’s time was a beehive of activity. More shots showed multiple new buildings had sprung up, and there were several pictures of the completed hotel, very similar to what it was today. There were a few pictures with people, including a much older Remy de Haenen, skinny and unsmiling, standing next to a much younger Bruno Magras. This must have been when Bruno was mayor, before they established a presidency on St. Barths.

I glanced back through the pictures. I was tempted to borrow a few, but contented myself with snapping them with my cell phone. I wanted to keep on good terms with Monsieur Toussard.

A thought struck me. Who’d taken the pictures of Jerry? He