The Palm Beach Murders by James Patterson (best novels in english .txt) 📗

manipulation. A sob story about a lost ring (allegedly a gift from her stepmother, Daddy’s second wife) and the delicate need to search for it in person was enough for the jet crew to scramble to get the Gulfstream down to Turks and Caicos for the second time in a week. Flying the jet for an hour costs about $9,000; the round trip would set the company back about $100,000. But the staff knows that if it makes Hannah Clee happy, then it’s wheels up.

“All we know is that somebody found a body,” says Brooke. “If it really is Paige, wouldn’t it be all over the news?”

“Exactly,” Hannah replies. “We can’t trust anybody. For all we know, those jerk FBI agents spread a fake story. We have to be sure.”

“Why? We didn’t do anything!”

“Well,” Hannah says, “we did something.”

Brooke sighs, then sneaks in a mumbled complaint. “We should never have invited her along for spring break.”

“Oh, don’t even go there, Brooke. If we hadn’t invited her along, you know where you’d be right now?”

Brooke has no response to this, because deep down she knows her sister is right. Throughout their childhood Brooke was always the one to run her mouth off at the wrong time, and Hannah was the one who’d have to bail her twin out of the mess. More than once using her fists.

Hannah, feeling a little guilty, tries to reassure her sister. “Don’t worry. We’ll be there soon, and we’ll know for sure.”

Brooke frowns. “I don’t know why we didn’t just call the police right away and tell them what happened. They’d have to understand. None of it was our fault.…”

Hannah takes her sister by the shoulders and refuses to let go until she finally makes eye contact.

“Listen to me. We did the right thing. Some people would like nothing more than to use this to embarrass or hurt Dad. We’re not going to let them.”

At the airport, the twins are met by two vehicles. One is a private limousine, white, chartered to Paul Clee & Partners. A uniformed driver pops out from behind the wheel the moment the girls clear the gate. He is efficient and the girls barely notice him. They don’t ask for ID because why would they? Strangers have been taking care of them their entire lives.

The other vehicle, parked thirty feet behind the limo, is a rented SUV, also white. But this second vehicle is not under the employ of Paul Clee & Partners.

Then again, neither is their limo driver.

Chapter 32

OTTO AND JANA

Otto Hazard, in his crisp white uniform, uses the limousine intercom to ask the girls where they’d like to go. “The hotel, to check your bags? Or perhaps a quick stop at Calico Jack’s?”

Annoyed, Hannah stabs the intercom button. “Just go east on Leeward Highway. I’ll let you know when to turn.”

“Yes, miss, my pleasure.”

The intercom connection is severed. Or at least, that’s what Hannah and Brooke Clee believe. Any conversations the girls have will be heard clearly by Otto—and Jana Rose, who is following in the white SUV. A hidden digital video camera is also running, capturing everything that happens in the back of the limo and instantly uploading it to the Stingrays’ private servers. For instance, there is this exchange:

“This is going to suck.”

“Don’t flake out on me now, Brooke.”

“I’m not! I just don’t want to see her again.”

“Will you shut up? I don’t want the driver hearing any of this.”

“Hannah, that guy can barely speak English. Did you look at him? Um, Neanderthal much?”

Otto smiles. Over his Bluetooth earpiece, he hears Jana’s laugh.

“I’m sorry, Otto, but Brooke Clee has said what we’ve all been thinking.”

“Nah, she’s just playing. I’ll bet she thinks Neanderthals are foxy.”

“Keep sharp. We’re approaching the beach.”

“Neanderthal out.”

After their late-morning swim, the Stingrays had returned to the suite to discover that Quinn had left them all simple instructions. Otto and Jana’s list read:

1. FOLLOW THE TWINS

2. RECORD THE TWINS

3. LISTEN TO THE TWINS

Their collective afternoon was busy with an insane amount of detail work—which happened to be the kind of work they did best. Otto, however, was eager to finish this whole thing so they could maybe kick back and relax over a proper meal.

His reverie is interrupted by the static pop of the intercom. “Turn left here, driver. Then follow my directions.”

“Yes, miss, my pleasure,” Otto says, adding a little more of an islander accent to his speech this time around. If nothing else, he wanted to live up to Brooke’s expectations.

After a series of turns, he is told to park the limo about a block from a deserted stretch of beach.

“This isn’t where we found the other body,” Jana whispers.

“No, it’s not,” Otto replies.

Another loud static pop. “Wait here, driver. We’ll be right back. You stay in the car. Do you understand?”

Like he’s a moron. “Yes, miss, I understand.”

But the moment the girls make it a safe distance away, Otto springs into action, gathering his mobile recording gear and swiftly tightening the distance between himself and the Clee girls. Jana joins him a few moments later with her own recording devices. There’s no time for chatter now; they nod at each other, then slip into the cover of darkness and follow the twins.

Hannah and Brooke are on the beach, gingerly stepping around a patch of sand a few yards away from a crumbling lifeguard station.

“This is it,” Hannah says.

“Is it?”

“You know it is. You put the bottle there.”

“I was making sure.”

“No, you’re not. You just don’t want to dig.”

“Neither do you!”

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

Jana is able to capture their conversations with a long-distance microphone; Otto, meanwhile, records the visuals, focusing in with his digital camera. The Clee girls drop to their knees as if they’ve suddenly decided to build a sandcastle here on this dark, sinister strip of beach.

They push the sand away with their hands, slowly at first, as if sifting dirt for flecks of gold. But then they grow impatient and begin grabbing great handfuls and