Crystal Blue (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 3) by John Cunningham (best manga ereader .txt) 📗

“Zach…how can I put this? I’m really not equipped to mount a salvage operation these days. I told you, I’m broke. Bankrupt. e-Antiquity is history, okay? Again, I’m grateful for your help, but I need to get caught up on this Adoption AID concert—”

“The one on Jost Van Dyke?”

“Yeah, you know about it?”

“I’ll be there working, in case anyone gets injured,” he said. “But I’m kind of interested in the subject anyway.”

“Why’s that?”

“I was adopted by my father. His sister was my mother, but she never cared for me, so he raised me.” Zach’s voice dropped. “He may have been an immoral man when it came to being a thief, but he was a caring man too.”

His words tugged at my heart.

“I need to get to my plane, Zach, so let’s walk out to the road and I’ll try to hail a taxi—but keep talking.”

“Long time ago, in the early 1800’s, there was a big riot on-island when a rich plantation owner killed one of his slaves—man named Prosper.”

I looked both ways up and down the road. Deserted.

“Why’d he kill him?”

“They said it was because he let a mango fall off the tree and hit the ground. Word spread through the West Indies and slaves began to rebel, give their owners big trouble, so the court did what had never been done before. They convicted the plantation owner—hung Arthur Hodge right over there behind where the jail stands today.”

Zach was pointing over to the field where the goats grazed in tall grass. Something about the story stirred a memory, but I couldn’t nail it.

“It was a big step in the move toward emancipation here in the islands,” he said.

“Convicting a plantation owner for killing a man over a fallen mango?”

“That was the official story.” The gold tooth again glistened. “Prosper was a distant relative of ours, great-great-great uncle. One of his women, well, down the road she told the truth behind the murder.”

If I hadn’t already been hooked, the mischief on his face would have done it.

“Mr. Hodge’s plantation made rum, and he was a rich, rich man. He was also a miser who didn’t pay his expenses, didn’t trust nobody, and treated his slaves real bad—had as many babies by the females as he could because he was too cheap to pay for slave labor. Everybody hated him.” He smiled again. “Old Hodge hid all his gold in rum barrels, and the story was that Prosper found the gold and stole it.”

My old treasure-hunting instincts fired right up. This was an entirely different story from the one Zach’s dad had told me when he sold me the map. And this kid oozed sincerity.

“Keep going,” I said.

“So Prosper, before he got killed, drew a map showing where he buried that gold on the old plantation estate.”

I held a palm up. “Look, I don’t have the money to buy any more maps.”

“I’m not selling any, Buck.”

His smile was either the best con I’d ever seen or the real deal.

“Story goes that the old barrels—”

“Barrels?”

“—were filled to the top with gold coins.” He paused. “Right, three fifty-gallon barrels.”

My mouth hung open while I tried to do the math—

“The gold’s in a place where I can’t get to it, but you, with your reputation as an international archeologist—”

“That kills it,” I said. “The only doors my reputation open these days are jail cells, trust me.”

“But you could advise me on how to get onto the Hodge estate!”

Hodge. That’s what I recognized.

“Do you know a guy named Valentine Hodge?” I said. “Old guy, drives a taxi?”

“Sure, I know him.” His face had turned serious. “He’s a relative of Arthur Hodge, the plantation owner.”

“Valentine’s black—”

I stopped, remembering what Zach had said about Arthur Hodge and his female slaves.

Zach watched the penny drop, then said, “He’s a distant relative.”

Valentine was an old friend from back when I spent time down here on e-Antiquity business. He used to drive me everywhere. Even better, Zach had his phone number. When I called he said he’d be happy to come pick me up. When I said I’d been at the jail, he laughed and said he wasn’t surprised. Nothing like old friends to keep you humble.

“Listen, Zach, your story’s intriguing,” I said. “Maybe when I’m done helping with the concert we can talk more about it, but I’m up to my neck in this situation right now.”

His eyes dropped to the pavement.

“The concert promoter disappeared—last seen on a red Cigarette boat out of Scrub Island or Marina Cay owned by a guy known as Baldy Baldwin.” I paused. “Ever heard of him?”

“No, but I can ask around.”

I gave him my cell phone number just as Valentine pulled up.

“Please don’t mention the gold to him, Buck.”

“I understand. Don’t worry. And call me if you get a line on Baldwin.”

“I’ll see you at the concert, and we’ll talk afterwards,” he said.

“Right.”

The maybe-con artist, the drug smuggler, and the arms merchant. I should flip a coin to see who’s likeliest to get me killed.

“KING CHARLES! BACK ON-ISLAND, back in jail.” Valentine Hodge’s bright smile lit up the dark interior of his old Ford Crown Victoria.

“Seems I get arrested wherever I go.”

Valentine let out a deep laugh.

“You know what they say, karma’s a bitch.”

We caught up. I was surprised to hear he now had four great-grandchildren.

“So why was you in jail?” he said.

“That old son-of-a-bitch Bramble’s still got a grudge against me—at least that’s what I thought it was, but… do you know him? Is he on the up and up?”

“Don’t really know him but I could ask around.”

Valentine drove, not too slow, not too fast, just steady and straight. I’d forgotten how old he was, but he still looked good. I told him about the Adoption AID mess and the disappearances, neither of which were news to him.

“Do you know a guy named Baldwin from Marina Cay, drives a fancy red Cigarette boat?”

“Baldy? Shoot, Buck, he’s one