Black Jack Point by Jeff Abbott Read Free Book Online

with a new plan, shouldn’t I?’ He leaned down close to Ben and Claudia.
     ‘Let’s start with your names, kids. Just who are you and why are you on Stoney Vaughn’s boat?’
    ‘I’m Stoney’s brother, Ben. This is my friend Claudia.’ Ben’s voice remained steady.
    ‘Ah. A brother. Fucking poetic justice.’ Claudia saw Danny lean close to Ben’s face, pivot the gun barrel against Ben’s forehead.
     ‘Stoney stole from me. Killed to do it. I want what’s mine, and you’re gonna help me.’ He smiled at Ben, smiled at Claudia
     with a grin that said his mouth wasn’t quite moored to the brain. ‘A brother is something I can use.’

8
    Thursday afternoon, Whit drove out to Black Jack Point. The police dig was done, but an officer remained parked near the tented
     site and another officer – looking bored out of her mind – sat in a patrol car up where the private road met the highway.
     Maybe to keep the curious or the indiscreet away. She waved Whit through.
    The house reflected the Gilbert fortunes over the years. In the center was the old house, built in the 1820s, fashioned from
     sturdy oaks, its clear craftsmanship designed to defy the bay’s cruel moments. Over the years prosperity dictated which additions
     had been made: a room on the east side; a new garage bright with white paint; a work shed, its foundation blanketed with a
     yellow explosion of wild lantana. Patch built the work shed himself, stone by quarried stone. Whit remembered helping him
     mix the mortar, the teenage boys who fished off the Point all helping out, a thank-you note to the man who’d let them use
     his land.
    Lucy sat alone at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of iced tea. Funeral arrangement papers were spread in a fan before
     her. He saw Patch in her now: the same clear blue eyes, the determined jaw. But Lucy, for all her brass, had a delicacy in
     her mouth, her chin, her hands, and a gentleness – like Patch’s – that was well concealed. She had not cried again since the
     bodies were found, showing the steel Whit knew was at her core.
    ‘I don’t want to shop for a casket again anytime soon,’ she said.
    ‘God forbid.’
    She rattled the ice cubes in her tea. ‘They won’t be ableto fix his face right, will they? He’s all broke, Whit. They broke him.’
    He sat down next to her.
    ‘Have they arrested someone?’
    ‘No. But David says he has a suspect.’ He took her hand. ‘I don’t know who.’
    She drank her tea. ‘The sheriff’s office took Patch’s answering machine, his computer yesterday. I wrote down his messages.
     I thought maybe there were more people I should call. But what do I say, Whit? He can’t meet you for lunch – he’s been murdered?’
    Whit glanced at the messages: an exterminator was due to spray the house tomorrow – they’d need to cancel that; three notes
     to return phone calls from Suzanne; the Port Leo library calling about an overdue book. All the daily doodlings of a life
     moving steadily along its course when fate got mean and reared up and smacked his nose back into his brain.
    Whit called the Port Leo library, asked about the overdue book. Lucy watched him with a frown.
    ‘Whit, who cares about a book right now?’ she said when he hung up.
    ‘Was he a regular library user?’
    ‘Lord, no. He didn’t want to look at it unless it swam, batted baseballs, or might kiss him.’ She sat back down next to him.
     ‘What’s this book he checked out?’
    ‘
Jean Laffite, Pirate King.
’
    Lucy shrugged. ‘I never saw him reading anything but the newspaper and
Sports Illustrated.
’ She paused. ‘You haven’t talked to Suzanne yet, have you?’
    ‘No. I told her I’d visit her later, get a statement for the inquest.’
    Lucy tore at her paper napkin under her tea glass. She ripped it into thin shreds. ‘You said they’ve got a suspect.’
    ‘You making a bet?’
    ‘I’m an unforgivable bitch,’ Lucy said. ‘Yes.’
    ‘Who,