The First Casualty by Gregg Loomis Read Free Book Online

Prince. “He only does it in front of uninvited company.”
    Indifferent to the puddle on the gray stone floor, Pangloss crossed the room to sit beside the visitor’s chair, lavishing her with adoring eyes.
    â€œI’m sorry if I done wrong,” Mrs. Prince said, rising from her chair. “But this lady here said as how you was old friends an’ bein’ as how it were snowin’ outside . . .”
    Her voice trailed off as though fully aware her employer was not as angry as he sounded.
    â€œI understand,” Jason said. “Our guest here has the ability to charm the meanest of spirits.” He pointed to the ball of fur in the massive lap. “When is the last time you saw Robespierre do that?”
    The cat, normally scornful of affection, turned yellow eyes on Jason at the mention of his name, a possessive look that clearly said he and the woman had formed some sort of bond.
    The woman stood, placing the resentful cat on the floor. “Now admit it, Jason, you be glad to see Momma.”
    Momma, the only name Jason knew for the woman who owned and operated the secretive Narcom. With a quickness that belied her bulk, she grasped him in a near suffocating bear hug that smelled of tropical flowers and charcoal, the odors Jason associated with her native Haiti. There, she had been the second in command of the dreaded Tonon Macoute, the Duvalier secret police whose record for brutality put Hitler’s Gestapo in a favorable light by comparison.
    Jason managed to free himself. “I suppose the yacht outside the harbor is yours.”
    â€œNot mine. Belongs to a friend.”
    The first indication Jason ever had that she had one.
    â€œNot using it right now,” she continued as she looked around as though seeing the cottage’s interior for the first time. “You sure manage to find hard-to-get-to places.”
    â€œIt keeps away people I don’t want to see. Doesn’t always work.”
    Mrs. Prince’s hands were clasping and unclasping, a pair of birds mating in midair. Her eyes flicked from one to the other, a spectator in a verbal tennis match. “With your permission, Mr. Peters, I’ll be putting the tea things away, make your supper. Will our guests be joining us?”
    â€œDefinitely not.”
    Without waiting for further response, Mrs. Prince fled to the kitchen, pushing the trolley ahead of her. Jason was sure she intended the clatter of crockery to curtain her from further conversation.
    Momma resumed her seat, motioning Jason to the one vacated by Mrs. Prince. Like she was a hostess in her own house. In a single leap, Robespierre was back in her lap, eyes on Jason, daring him to take the territory away.
    â€œOlder you get, Jason, the less hospitable you become,” she said amiably. “Almost give me the impression you don’t ’preciate all I done for you.”
    â€œLike damn near getting me killed?”
    â€œYou ain’t dead, but you sure rich.”
    There was no arguing with that. “You didn’t come all the way to Sark to discuss either status.”
    Momma gave a single nod of the head, her turn to concede a point. “That pretty little gal of yours, Dr. Bergenghetti, she not here.”
    A statement, not a question.
    â€œWhy do I think you knew that before you came?”
    â€œShe’s over in . . .”
    â€œIndonesia.”
    â€œIndonesia, checking out one of them volcanoes she like so much. I had to guess, I’d say she be there ’nother couple months at least.”
    â€œThat was what she said in the e-mail I got a few hours ago. So now you’re reading my mail, too.”
    Momma shrugged her shoulders, an earthquake of mountains. “She stayin’ ’cause she got an additional grant, one over what the Italian government willing to pay.”
    â€œI can’t imagine where that came from.”
    Momma ignored the sarcasm. “So, I figured since you’ll be