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Authors: Aaron Elkins
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said.
John's and Gideon's eyes met briefly in the rearview mirror. Not exactly? How did you not exactly exhume a body?
"When, then?” John asked.
"Oh, there are some details,” Nick said airily. “Not to worry. I'll get it all straightened out."
Gideon leaned forward from the back seat. “I only have a few days, Nick."
"Right, don't worry about it. I'm taking care of it.” He gestured out the window at the darkened streets. “Sorry it's so late or I'd point out the sights to you, Gideon. It's a pretty interesting place."
"I know,” Gideon said. “I was here on vacation with my wife three or four years ago."
"Like it?” Nick asked.
"Very much. Well, I did, anyway. Julie's a native Washingtonian. Three days in a row without rain and she gets restless."
"Is that right?" Nick said as if it was the most fascinating thing he'd heard all week. He was certainly working overtime to avoid any talk about the purpose of their coming.
John too had picked up his reluctance. “Something wrong, Nick? Is there a problem with the exhumation?"
"Problem? No, what kind of problem? I filed the papers as soon as I got back. It just takes time to process them, that's all. We have red tape in Tahiti too, you know. But don't get exercised, there's plenty of time. Hell, the memorial service isn't until next week."
"I'll need to be back home before next week,” Gideon said.
"Fine, no sweat. Look, I'll fill you in tomorrow—I'll fill you both in. But first I want you guys to sleep in as long as you feel like in the morning, have a swim, lay around in the sun, and then come on over whenever you want to in the afternoon. I'll give you the grand tour of the plantation—"
"I've had the grand tour, Unc,” John said. “Twice."
"Well, what about your buddy? Don't you want to see a real, live coffee plantation, Gideon? We'll even throw in a free tasting."
"Sure,” Gideon said.
"Good, and then you're both coming to dinner—I have the whole clan over every Monday, you know, and they're all looking forward to—” He threw a narrowed glance at John. “Now you better not start giving me a hard time about this too, pal.” The glance flicked around to take in Gideon as well. “The investigative process isn't going to get compromised because you guys sit down for a friendly meal with the family, is it?"
Gideon smiled. “I guess we can take a chance."
"Good, I'm glad to hear it. I'm putting on a real Polynesian feast. Wait'll you see the Twin Terrors, John. Do you realize you haven't seen those little monsters since they were two?"
"I guess that's right, isn't it? How old are they now, four? Can you tell ‘em apart yet?"
The two of them lapsed into family talk while Gideon lay back against the soft leather, not sure if something was really off-tone in the atmosphere, or if it was just the early-morning eggs Benedict catching up somewhere in his system with those late-night brandies.
* * * *
"This is Dean Parks,” Nick said, introducing the scraggy, elderly man in Western shirt, jeans, and silver-buckled belt behind the Shangri-La's reception desk. “The Texas Kid. He owns the place."
"The whole shebang,” Parks agreed in what was indeed a measured, mournful, East Texas twang. “Mortgage and all."
"Don't let him kid you,” Nick said, “this guy's richer than I am.” He looked at him fondly. “Dino and I go back a long way."
"Unfortunately, I go back longer,” Parks said. “Not, of course, that you'd know it to look at us,"
He was wrong about that. His tanned face was as seamed and dried out as a discarded boot, his throat puckered, his shoulders narrowed with the years, his thin belly sunken. Only his hair was youthful: lank, long, and ferociously black.
"It's clean living as does it,” he explained to Gideon and John.
"That and spending half his disposable income on Grecian Formula,” Nick said.
Parks grinned. “Don't you believe a word of it. Well, welcome to Tahiti, gents. Or as we say here, Ia ora na
John's and Gideon's eyes met briefly in the rearview mirror. Not exactly? How did you not exactly exhume a body?
"When, then?” John asked.
"Oh, there are some details,” Nick said airily. “Not to worry. I'll get it all straightened out."
Gideon leaned forward from the back seat. “I only have a few days, Nick."
"Right, don't worry about it. I'm taking care of it.” He gestured out the window at the darkened streets. “Sorry it's so late or I'd point out the sights to you, Gideon. It's a pretty interesting place."
"I know,” Gideon said. “I was here on vacation with my wife three or four years ago."
"Like it?” Nick asked.
"Very much. Well, I did, anyway. Julie's a native Washingtonian. Three days in a row without rain and she gets restless."
"Is that right?" Nick said as if it was the most fascinating thing he'd heard all week. He was certainly working overtime to avoid any talk about the purpose of their coming.
John too had picked up his reluctance. “Something wrong, Nick? Is there a problem with the exhumation?"
"Problem? No, what kind of problem? I filed the papers as soon as I got back. It just takes time to process them, that's all. We have red tape in Tahiti too, you know. But don't get exercised, there's plenty of time. Hell, the memorial service isn't until next week."
"I'll need to be back home before next week,” Gideon said.
"Fine, no sweat. Look, I'll fill you in tomorrow—I'll fill you both in. But first I want you guys to sleep in as long as you feel like in the morning, have a swim, lay around in the sun, and then come on over whenever you want to in the afternoon. I'll give you the grand tour of the plantation—"
"I've had the grand tour, Unc,” John said. “Twice."
"Well, what about your buddy? Don't you want to see a real, live coffee plantation, Gideon? We'll even throw in a free tasting."
"Sure,” Gideon said.
"Good, and then you're both coming to dinner—I have the whole clan over every Monday, you know, and they're all looking forward to—” He threw a narrowed glance at John. “Now you better not start giving me a hard time about this too, pal.” The glance flicked around to take in Gideon as well. “The investigative process isn't going to get compromised because you guys sit down for a friendly meal with the family, is it?"
Gideon smiled. “I guess we can take a chance."
"Good, I'm glad to hear it. I'm putting on a real Polynesian feast. Wait'll you see the Twin Terrors, John. Do you realize you haven't seen those little monsters since they were two?"
"I guess that's right, isn't it? How old are they now, four? Can you tell ‘em apart yet?"
The two of them lapsed into family talk while Gideon lay back against the soft leather, not sure if something was really off-tone in the atmosphere, or if it was just the early-morning eggs Benedict catching up somewhere in his system with those late-night brandies.
* * * *
"This is Dean Parks,” Nick said, introducing the scraggy, elderly man in Western shirt, jeans, and silver-buckled belt behind the Shangri-La's reception desk. “The Texas Kid. He owns the place."
"The whole shebang,” Parks agreed in what was indeed a measured, mournful, East Texas twang. “Mortgage and all."
"Don't let him kid you,” Nick said, “this guy's richer than I am.” He looked at him fondly. “Dino and I go back a long way."
"Unfortunately, I go back longer,” Parks said. “Not, of course, that you'd know it to look at us,"
He was wrong about that. His tanned face was as seamed and dried out as a discarded boot, his throat puckered, his shoulders narrowed with the years, his thin belly sunken. Only his hair was youthful: lank, long, and ferociously black.
"It's clean living as does it,” he explained to Gideon and John.
"That and spending half his disposable income on Grecian Formula,” Nick said.
Parks grinned. “Don't you believe a word of it. Well, welcome to Tahiti, gents. Or as we say here, Ia ora na
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