Read Online Bermuda Schwartz by Bob Morris - Free Book Online

one in their right mind would believe it.”
    â€œWell, now maybe they might.”
    â€œBelieve what?” I say.
    Janeen shakes her head, turns away.
    â€œGo ahead. Tell the man,” J.J. says. “I’d like to hear what he thinks of it.”
    Janeen doesn’t say anything.
    â€œWhat’s the matter? Afraid he might not believe your nonsense either?” J.J. looks at me. “My niece, she’s usually got a pretty good head about her. Except when it comes to this so-called story of hers. And then she gets crazy.”
    Janeen ignores him, reaches into her purse, pulls out a pack of cigarettes, and starts to light one.
    â€œUnh-uh,” says J.J. “Not in my van you don’t.”
    Janeen takes the cigarette out of her mouth. She folds her arms across her chest, looks out the window.
    The traffic eases up. We whip through a roundabout and are soon riding along Point Finger Road toward the south coast.
    J.J. splits off onto a narrow lane lined with eucalyptus trees. He stops the van outside a house half-hidden by jacaranda bushes.
    â€œMight take a few minutes,” he says, getting out of the van. “I have to heat up the iron and put it to the shirt, get the wrinkles out of it.”
    â€œYou don’t have to go to all that trouble,” I tell him. “I don’t mind wrinkled.”
    â€œMaybe not,” he says. “But Mrs. Ambister? She does.”

15
    Â 
    As soon as J.J. is gone, Janeen steps out of the van and lights her cigarette. She stands with her back to me, facing the street.
    I open my door and perch on the side of the seat.
    â€œFunny,” I say. “You don’t look that crazy.”
    Janeen cuts me a look over her shoulder. She blows smoke out the side of her mouth, allows herself a smile.
    â€œOh, believe me, I have my moments,” she says.
    â€œWe all do. Matter of fact, I’m teetering on the brink of insanity right now myself.”
    She turns around, sizes me up.
    â€œYou seem to be holding it together fairly well. For a guy wearing a shirt that looks like it mopped up a butcher’s shop. What’s up with that?”
    â€œOh, let’s just say I’ve got a couple million reasons for not getting into it. Besides, I’d rather hear about those two other murders you were talking about. Your uncle told me earlier that they were scuba divers.”
    Janeen takes a drag on her cigarette, flicks the ash.
    â€œNot just your ordinary scuba divers,” she says. “One of them, Martin Boyd, was a treasure salvor. A pretty famous one. He’d worked with that guy in Florida, Mel Something-or-Other, I forget …”
    â€œMel Fisher. Discovered the
Atocha
down in the Keys.”
    â€œThat’s it. Anyway, Boyd had some successes of his own after that, mostly at sites in the Mediterranean. Which is where he met and eventually teamed up with Richard Peach.”
    â€œThat the other dead guy?”
    She nods.
    â€œEver heard of him?”
    â€œNo, can’t say that I have.”
    â€œNeither had I, at least not until after I started working on the story. Since then, I’ve become something of an authority on Richard Peach. For all the good that’s done me.”
    â€œWas he another treasure salvor?”
    â€œNo, Peach was an academician. Had dual doctorates in archaeology and biblical studies from Oxford. Used to be a professor there. Wrote a book called
The Legend of the Lost Cross”
    â€œThe Lost Cross?”
    â€œYeah, also known as the True Cross. The one they used to crucify Jesus Christ.”
    She takes a drag on her cigarette, gauges my response. I don’t really have one, not unless puzzlement counts.
    â€œHow good is your biblical history, Mr. Chasteen?”
    â€œPretty spotty. I was raised Episcopalian. Not exactly bible thumpers.”
    â€œKnow anything about the True Cross?”
    â€œNext to nothing,” I say. “Except that it’s one