Free Lights Out by Peter Abrahams Page B

the thought hadn’t occurred to him.
    “Don’t look so surprised, Eddie. This is the grown-up world.”
    “You mean Mrs. Packer knows?”
    “Not that grown-up,” Jack said. He smiled to himself. “But close. The fact is, Evelyn doesn’t know Mandy’s here. Brad’s careful. He hides her at the fish camp when Evelyn’s on the island, moves her down to cottage six as soon as she’s back on the plane to Lauderdale.”
    “How can he hide her? She’s the secretary.”
    “Was. Evelyn fired her two months ago.”
    “Because she was suspicious?”
    “Because she found a better typist. She said. The new one looks like that funny little actor. You know.”
    “Peter Lorre?”
    “Yeah. Except Peter Lorre didn’t have a mustache, did he?”
    Outside, Mandy was still swimming, farther out now, probably pulled by the tide. Eddie watched until she looked up, saw where she was, swam in closer.
    “Packer’s not as careful as he thinks,” Eddie said.
    “No?”
    “He wasn’t careful this morning.”
    Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Did he go jogging?”
    Eddie nodded.
    “One day Evelyn’ll start wondering why he never gets in shape. That’s the way this whole thing’s going to unravel.”
    “What whole thing?”
    “Galleon Beach. The treasure of.”
    “What treasure?”
    “You saw the plans.” Jack gazed out the window at Mandy. “No feel for the water,” he said.
    “She could be all right.”
    Jack turned, gave him a look. “He didn’t see you, did he?”
    “No. But what difference would it make? Does he know you know?”
    The expression in Jack’s eyes changed, as though he was thinking about something. “I don’t know what he knows.”
    “How can he expect to keep it a secret, in a little place like this?” Eddie asked. “What happens when the staff gets here?”
    “I guess he’ll worry about that when he has to.”
    “That’s tomorrow.”
    “Why tomorrow?”
    “Isn’t that when the cook arrives?”
    “The cook won’t be a problem.”
    “Why not?”
    Jack didn’t answer. Out on the water, Mandy kept swimming.

7
    “I nterested in herb, man?”
    Eddie, screwing new planks on Fearless ’s dive platform, looked up at the dock. A man on a bicycle was watching him, keeping his balance with one bare foot.
    “No, thanks.”
    “With your hair like that, I could only aks myself.”
    “I’m not in the market.”
    “Market? Who be speaking of market? I just want to show you somet’ing interesting, man, if you be interested in herb. In the most friendliest way, since you and me be colleagues.”
    “Colleagues?”
    “Sure. Meet JFK, the new cook.”
    JFK leaned down, extended his hand, fingers pointing up for a black handshake. They shook hands.
    “I didn’t hear your plane.”
    “Was no plane. I carry myself on this fine made-in-Japan bicycle.”
    “From where?”
    “All the way down to Cotton Town, on the very tip of this earthly paradise,” said JFK, waving toward the south. “The famous Cotton Town Hotel and Villas. Diving. Tennis. Sailing. Happy hour. Goombay smash. Push-push. When there be guests. Not now.”
    “You work there?”
    “Formerly, man. Now Mr. Packer has sweetened my pot.” He chuckled. “You Jack’s brother.”
    “Right.”
    “I have two brothers. They both’s in jail. Franco in Miami, Dime in Fox Hill.”
    “What did they do?”
    “Lost their trials.” There was a pause while JFK stared out to sea and Eddie waited for elaboration. Then JFK spoke: “Destiny, man. Destiny be rulin’ the fates of humanity.” He raised his hands slightly, as though summoning divine forces.
    A black dot appeared in the northwestern sky, grew, formed the shape of a plane, turned white. It flew overhead, lost its whiteness, lost its shape, became a black dot again and disappeared.
    “Don’t trust no planes,” said JFK. “Boats for me.” He scanned the shoreline, taking in the six cottages, the thatched bar, the main building, the overgrown shuffleboard court.
    “This