Read Online Bermuda Schwartz by Bob Morris - Free Book Online Page B

elaborate, made out of silver and gold with all kinds of jewels adorning it. I’ve seen drawings of what it was purported to look like—shaped like a cross and maybe twice the size of the wood that was displayed inside it. It was the reliquary of all reliquaries—the Reliquarium de Fratres Crucis. The reliquary of the Brothers of the Cross.”
    â€œBrothers of the Cross?”
    â€œOne of those secret orders of Christians, like the Knights Templar, that started up around the time of the Crusades. From Portugal originally. They’re said to have come into possession of the remains of the True Cross and commissioned the reliquary to hold it.”
    â€œSo how did it wind up in Bermuda?”
    â€œLong story,” Janeen says. “Longer than you’ve got time to hear tonight.”
    She looks past me to the house. J.J. hurries out the front door, a blue blazer over an arm, a freshly pressed white shirt on a hanger.
    â€œBut Peach and Boyd … they thought the reliquary was somewhere out there? On a wreck or something?”
    Janeen nods.
    â€œThey thought they’d located it and were closing in on it.”
    â€œAnd that’s what got them killed?”
    â€œApparently,” Janeen says, flicking her cigarette to the ground, crunchingit out with the toe of a shoe. “But then, what do I know? I’m crazy.”
    Janeen offers me her hand.
    â€œA pleasure chatting with you, Mr. Chasteen. I need to get back to the
Gazette
office. I’ve got a story to file.” She reaches into her purse, produces a business card. “If anything else comes up that you think would be helpful, then I’d appreciate it if you gave me a call.”

16
    Â 
    It’s just past sunset when J.J. delivers me to the Mid Ocean Club. Aunt Trula scrutinizes me as I arrive at the table. She is swathed in something shiny and blue, mere backdrop for a white gold pendant with a whopper of a diamond brooch that rests just above her decolletage. A bit more decolletage than I would prefer to see, thank you very much, but hey, it’s her show.
    I’m expecting something catty from the old girl, especially since I’m so late. But she surprises me.
    â€œYou look quite nice,” she says.
    â€œThanks. The jacket’s a loaner. From J.J.”
    â€œThe driver?”
    â€œYep. Shops were closed and he let me borrow something from his closet.”
    Aunt Trula forces a smile.
    â€œWell, it shows off your shoulders nicely.”
    She’s trying, I guess.
    â€œAnd that’s some necklace you’re wearing,” I say.
    â€œWhy, thank you.” She puts a hand to a cheek, demure, as if she’s ready to blush. “It was a gift.”
    I swoop in and give Barbara a peck on the cheek. She’s wearing a simple black dress and the black pearl necklace I gave her for Christmas.I have yet to check out all the other women in the room, but I know she’s the best looking one in it. She always is.
    Boggy sits next to her. I’m pleased that Aunt Trula has seen fit to invite him, but more than a little startled by his outfit—a starched white shirt under a blue blazer with brass buttons and a gold crest on the jacket’s pocket. It’s no loaner. And no way it was wrapped up in his blanket-cum-suitcase.
    Barbara reads my mind.
    â€œWe found something of Uncle Taylor’s,” she says. “It was a perfect fit.”
    Boggy gives no sign whether he’s enjoying himself or just enduring his circumstances, like a cat being given a bath. He studies me, eyes furrowed.
    He says, “Your afternoon, Zachary, did it go well?”
    â€œYeah, just dandy.”
    He can tell I’m lying. Barbara can, too. But no need to get into it here.
    There’s a fifth chair at our table, next to Aunt Trula, with a drink sitting in front of it. And now its occupant returns from visiting a group of people near the bar. He’s an older gentleman—short,