Crystal Blue (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 3)

by John H. Cunningham

  Once through the channel markers, the water color abruptly turned lighter, so I pulled back on the throttles. The draft on the Beast was about three feet, and I couldn’t take any chances with her recently patched hull. Seventy-five feet or so from shore, I manipulated the throttles to spin halfway around to face into the current and reduced the power to almost nothing. I unbuckled my seatbelt, sprang from the left seat, hunched down into the crawl space—

  Clunk—stars! Haste makes hurt—I’d hit my forehead on the bottom of the instrument panel. I shook it off. With the handles on the forward hatch popped free, I pushed it up and the fresh air blew my hair back. Inertia and the current had carried us starboard and we were now almost perpendicular to the shore.

  I grabbed the Danforth anchor and threw it as far as I could in the direction of the current. Then scrambled back to the flight deck, glanced at the shore now fifty feet behind us, and with my hand on the throttles watched the angle of the rope, hoping the anchor would catch. This was a hell of a lot easier as a two-person job.

  Snap! The anchor rope pulled taut. I reversed thrust and added power—the anchor held. Excellent.

  With the side hatch open I pulled off my shirt, took the stern anchor, jumped into the shallow water, set my back against the Beast’s fuselage, and pushed her straight into line with the forward anchor rope. Almost done. I splashed toward shore and extended the aft line until it ended, dropped it into the water, and shoved it into the sand with my feet

  It held too.

  When I turned around, what appeared to be around twenty-five people started to clap. The gold doubloon on my necklace bounced against my bare chest as I slogged toward the shore.

  “My knight in shining armor,” a woman said with her eyes on my abs.

  “Cool plane, dude!”

  “You charter that thing?”

  “Is it safe?”

  I ignored them, pulled on my shirt and started up the beach toward the restaurant. A man in a silk floral print shirt hair pushed through the crowd.

  “What are you doing?” he said. “You can’t just—”

  “Who are you?” I pulled the soggy paper from my pocket.

  “Mark Lander, general manager of Peter Island Resort. What makes you think—”

  I held the letter so close to his eyes Lander couldn’t read it.

  “I’m assisting the FBI in the search for Stud Mahoney.”

  “But you can’t—”

  “I have permission from both governments to make water landings.” This while steering him inside the restaurant.

  “I’ve already told the authorities everything I know about Mr. Mahoney’s disappearance.”

  “Special Agent Booth has so informed me,” I said. “I just have a few follow-up questions.”

  He glanced around and drew in a deep breath. Not the best promo for a swanky resort, I imagined.

  “How did Mr. Mahoney arrive on the island, Mr. Lander?”

  “I already told… private boat.”

  “Did it happen to be a red Cigarette?”

  “I don’t know, but whatever brought him here departed immediately after dropping him and his manager off.”

  “Were they in one room or two?”

  “One.”

  “Was it trashed? Did it look like there’d been a struggle?”

  “Not really. The bed was messed up but nothing else.”

  Not what Booth had said.

  “Is there any chance he could still be somewhere on-island?”

  He sighed. “Our security staff did a door-to-door search, then the Royal Police did one too. Nothing but upset guests.”

  I tried a personal appeal.

  “Look, we could really use your help and I’m sure you’d like to have us out of your hair for good. Do you have any idea how he may have been removed from the island?”

  Lander glanced back over his shoulder in both directions.

  “Not really—well, I’m not sure security has reported this back to the authorities yet, but we discovered today that one of our small rental boats is missing.”

  “Could the kidnappers have stolen it?”

  “I guess.”

  “Any other guests check out around the same time Mahoney vanished?”

  “No, I’m sure about that. It was later in the afternoon, our shuttle had already left, and all the other guests were present.”

  I let his statement sink in.

  “Buck?”

  I turned to find Avery Rose, smiling so big I just had to smile back. Why did it feel like we were old friends?

  Lander’s deeply tanned forehead wrinkled in surprise. I leaned close to him.

  “If I have any more questions I’ll call you.”

  He didn’t say a word, but his mouth hung open as Avery stepped around him and hugged me.

  “Sorry I’m a day late,” I said.

  “Yeah, thanks for leaving me stranded in such a lousy place.” She winked and scanned me from my wet hair to my sandy feet. She was in beige linen shorts and an orange top that set off her fresh tan. But I knew she’d get soaked wading out to the plane.

  We started back down the beach and she hung onto my arm.

  “You’ll have to carry me,” she said.

  From some celebrities this might have been condescending, but I could tell Avery thought the situation was funny. A quick glimpse back toward the restaurant revealed General Manager Lander on his cell phone, no doubt calling the police to verify my identity. The crowd from the beach followed after us, people whispering and pointing at Avery.

  We walked up to where the Beast was anchored, her nose pointed out into the Caribbean Sea. It would have made a great picture if I’d owned a camera.

  “I was worried you forgot about me, Buck.”

  “I was unavoidably detained.”

  I again removed my shirt stepped into the warm water and she followed me up to her knees. I turned around and bent down so she could climb into my arms. Her smile was broad, her teeth white and straight as a picket fence and her eyes darted down at my chest.

  “This is the most romantic moment of my life,” she said.

  “Well, it’s not like—”

  She put her hand over my mouth as I carried her toward the Beast’s open hatch.

  “It’s the moment, Buck. Don’t spoil my fantasy, okay?”

  Someone on the beach started clapping. The rest of the group picked it up, and I knew damn well somebody had to be videoing us with their cell phone. I just hoped it didn’t show up on Entertainment Tonight.

  Avery was looking at the Beast. “This totally reminds me of Jimmy Buffett’s old plane,” she said. Did she mean his old Widgeon, the one I acquired after he wrecked it off Nantucket and renamed Betty? “Too bad he parked it in his restaurant in Orlando.” Ah, the Hemisphere Dancer, Buffett’s Albatross.

  “This is a Goose, it’s a lot smaller than the Albatross. I call her the Beast. She’s kind of a work in progress, you might say.”

  “Once you get her painted she’ll be a beauty. Are you going to keep her black?”

  I was up to my waist now and struggling to lift Avery high enough to stay dry and get her up near the open hatch. She took hold of the handle inside the hatch and pulled herself up.

  “I haven’t decided. I’m still getting to know her.” I looked back to the beach and saw Lander headed our way. Time to pull the rear anchor, fast.

  “Go ahead and climb in the right seat.”

  Once I collected the aft Danforth I dumped the anchor inside and climbed aboard. I flipped on the magnetos, batteries, pulled the chokes, and powered up the port engine, then did the same for the starboard engine.

  “You can wear that headset so we can talk while in flight.” I hunched down and got ready to crawl between our seats. “I need to pull the forward anchor, be right back.”

  My arm and shoulder brushed against her thigh as I slid between the seats, and she held it firm rather than sliding her legs to the side to let me pass. Why don’t th
ings like this happen when I have more time? I tugged slowly on the anchor rope, which drew the Beast out deeper into the channel. When the rope was nearly straight down I pulled it up fast, stowed it, closed the hatch, and scurried back into the cabin. Tight as it is between the seats, I had nowhere to put my left hand to pull myself up other than on Avery’s knee.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  “No worries, Captain.”

  As I ran through an expedited version of the take-off checklist, the cell phone rang from the side pocket next to my seat. I glanced at the screen: Ray. I didn’t want to talk right now but couldn’t afford to risk missing any important updates.

  “Where are you, Ray?”

  “What happened to you last night? We were on St. John like you said, but you never posted.”

  “I had a little diversion but I’m back on track.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Funny, Ray. I’m just leaving Peter Island, headed to Jost Van Dyke—”

  “We’re back on St. John.” His voice lifted. “Lenny’s in love with Faith Hill—”

  “Ray’s got man-love for Brad Pitt!” Lenny’s voice boomed in the background.

  I checked my watch. “I’ll meet you at the Beach Bar tonight—and, Ray? I need you to make a call for me.”

  I shoved the throttles forward, which pushed Avery back in her seat. I finished with Ray, disconnected and took in a deep breath. The day was half over and I still had a lot of water to cover. The RPMs climbed steadily and we bounced and shimmied over the low rolling waves, jarring enough for Avery to reach out and grab my forearm. We lifted off the water and climbed at a steady rate before I banked north.

  “Woo-hoo!”

  This girl liked to have fun and didn’t mind showing it.

  Lander’s revelation that a boat was missing could mean several things. I wondered if Booth knew—but he’d fired me, so screw him. We climbed to a thousand feet and I had an exchange with Air Traffic Control out of Tortola, who again demanded I steer toward St. Thomas or return to Beef Island. I explained that I had permission from the FAA to make water landings in the USVI and that the same permission had been allowed by Duncan Mather of the Royal Virgin Islands Police, but they said he had no jurisdiction over BVI airspace. Made sense, but there was nothing I could do about it now. I was admonished not to make further water landings before I shut my radio off.

  Avery gave me a wide-eyed stare.

  “You really are a cowboy, aren’t you?

  “Hi-ho, Silver,” I said.

  WE CIRCLED JOST VAN DYKE once at a thousand feet so I could survey the harbor, then descended and set down just outside of Great Bay, where the boat traffic was far heavier than around Peter Island.

  “I wish I could make an entrance like this at my concerts,” Avery said.

  There was a clear path toward the dock near Foxy’s, which is where I had us pointed. The admonitions from Air Traffic Control had me fidgeting in my seat. There was a police station on Jost, and busting an outlaw seaplane pilot would be a good way to gain recognition. And with a gang war raging back in the USVI, law enforcement would be super sensitive right now.

  As we glided up toward the dock I cut the power, then scrambled under the instrument panel, again brushed past her leg, popped open the bow hatch and tossed a line to the young boy who stood there. He wrapped it around a cleat a third of the way down the dock. I jumped out with another line, wrapped it through a ring on the Beast’s tail, and tied it off on a cleat at the end of the pier.

  Avery had opened the side hatch and stood there smiling. Her black hair blew in the breeze but she did nothing to keep it in place, and it struck me again that she was more laid back than most celebrities I’d known. I extended my hand—she took it and leapt toward me. I caught her in a brief hug before I set her down on the dock, giggling like a teenager.

  “You sure know how to show a girl a good time, Buck Reilly—”

  “Yes, he does,” a voice came from over our shoulders.

  I turned. I was surprised to see Crystal standing there, more surprised by the really dark circles under eyes. She must not have slept in days. I gave her a hug.

  “Are you okay?” I said.

  She gave me a slight nod, then stepped around me.

  “Hi, Avery, I’m Crystal Thedford. So glad you’re finally here.”

  Avery’s smile looked a bit forced, which made me uncomfortable.

  “This is my assistant, Scarlet,” Crystal said. “She’ll help get you situated with rehearsals.”

  A tall mid-twenties brunette stepped forward from behind Crystal and offered a crisp handshake to Avery, then me. She fit the description of the woman Captain Jeremy described as being on the beach when he met John Thedford.

  Avery looked at me. “Are you taking me back to Peter Island tonight?”

  “I don’t—”

  “We’ve made arrangements for you here,” Scarlet said. “There’s a private party for our whole group after rehearsals at Soggy Dollar around the corner at Great White Bay—private villas there for the evening. If you’d rather return to Peter Island, we can have someone take you over.” She smiled. “Now if you’ll come with me, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

  Avery surprised me with a quick hug and peck on the cheek.

  “Now I see why you’re not interested,” she whispered.

  I wanted to set her straight, but finding the right words would take some thought and she was already following after Scarlet. I scanned the beach, then out to the horizon—no police. I spotted a small group of picketers down near Foxy’s but couldn’t read their signs this far away.

  “Everything okay with those folks?” I nodded toward them.

  “They fight more among themselves than with us.” Crystal attempted a laugh. “I keep them plied with Foxy’s painkillers and daiquiris.”

  “Any of them given you the impression they might know something about John’s disappearance?”

  She shook her head. “No, and believe me, I’ve asked them a million questions. They’re passionate about their positions but none have made threatening comments about John or Stud.” She took in a deep breath. “All the news has been about the kidnapper’s demands and speculation about Stud, and if it’s mentioned at all, John’s disappearance is characterized as him leaving St. John drunk after a party and presumed drowned.”

  So much had happened since I last saw Crystal. I hadn’t told her about the red Cigarette boat or its captain, not wanting to share my concern that Baldy might have dumped John into Pillsbury Sound on the off-chance that Booth’s theory about her involvement was right. His revelation about Crystal’s past relationship with Stud also sealed my lips.

  “This must be the charter pilot you said is helping you, Crystal.” An older, rotund man dressed in slacks and a pressed tropical shirt walked up to us.

  “Yes, Viktor, this is Buck Reilly.” Crystal turned to me. “Buck, please meet one of our board members, Viktor Galey.”

  We shook hands, but I continued to look past him down the dock.

  “Former treasure hunter, isn’t that right, King Charles?” Galey said.

  That got my attention.

  “Many of your discoveries were quite amazing.” He had a slight accent, from where I couldn’t tell.

  “Those were good times,” I said. “What business are you in, Viktor?”

  “Petroleum, natural gas and mining, but I have several other diversions as well. Like you, I made my fortune hunting for treasure—just different kinds.”

  “And of a more sustainable variety,” I said.

  He nodded. “The global downturn ruined many an entrepreneur.” Crystal had mentioned a billionaire on her board, I figured this must be him. “Thank you for helping to look for John. It seems the law enforcement agencies are focused elsewhere.”

  “Buck’s been a big help,” Crystal said.

  Movement along the shore caught my attention. A police car had pulled up on the road behind the beach
.

  Damn!

  “I’ve got to go,” I said. “Viktor, nice to meet you.” I felt the sudden urge to warn them. “By the way, as busy as you’ve been you may not have heard, but there’s a turf war going on over in the U.S. Virgins—”

  “Special Agent Booth from the FBI has informed us of these matters,” Galey said. That accent—European?

  He smiled and turned back down the dock.

  “Why do you have to leave so soon?” Crystal said. “I haven’t even told you the latest—”

  I pointed toward the policeman who now stood outside his car, speaking into his radio and looking at us.

  “Approval for my water landings has been revoked—”

  A siren sounded in the distance, behind us. I swung around to see a flashing light on a small police cabin cruiser as it rounded the western tip of the bay and turned toward shore.

  Crap!

  I lunged for the line that held the Beast’s tail. When I stood up, I saw that Crystal had jumped into the open hatch.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  “Going with you. We need to find my husband!”

  I tossed her the loose rope and stood on the edge of the dock, pressing against the Beast’s fuselage to push her off. As the big plane began to gain momentum, I dove toward the hatch, caught hold—

  My right foot slipped. My legs fell into the water. My right hand caught the bottom of the hatch—

  “Buck!” Crystal grabbed my arm and pulled.

  She gave me enough leverage to reach up and yank myself out of the water and on board. I scurried into the nose and released the line that held us to the dock. There goes another good rope, dammit.

  I spotted the policeman from the shore now running down the dock before I pulled the hatch shut. I was more worried about the police on the cabin cruiser, since they could disrupt our take-off. That could cause us to crash or if they were really foolish, crash into us.

  Before Crystal even finished buckling up I had both engines running. Reverse power to the starboard side combined with forward thrust to the port side spun the old aquatic hull out toward the open sea.

  The police cabin cruiser swerved to try and impede our takeoff. I adjusted our course to the west, but a ferry coming in from the USVI forced me back toward the cruiser. Our speed was impacted by the changes in direction—and the cruiser was now dead ahead, its red light flashing atop its bridge.