Twenty Blue Devils

Unless John had accomplished the unexpected with Nick, they still didn't have an exhumation order.

He yawned, stretched enjoyably, and pulled himself to a sitting position in the hammock. “How'd it go with your uncle?'

'Interesting. Come on, let's take a walk on the beach; I'll tell you about it. I mean, if you think you can stand the exertion.'

* * * *

'There's something I don't understand,” Gideon said ten minutes later. “Why is it up to Nick anyway? Why isn't it your cousin Therese who's involved in it? It's her husband's body we're talking about, isn't it?'

'Not exactly. Brian and Therese never got married, you see—'

'They weren't married? I thought—'

'Well, as far as everybody's concerned, they are married— only they're really not. I never heard all the details, but the upshot is that Brian had an ex-wife somewhere, except she isn't exactly ‘ex.’ Didn't want him, but had some way of blocking him from getting a divorce.'

'And Nick knew about that? It didn't bother him?'

John shrugged. “This is the South Seas. Just about everybody who washes up here and stays has something back home he'd just as soon not talk about. Anyway, the point I'm getting at is that Therese doesn't have any more say about what happens to Brian's body than anybody else does. And the main thing is, Brian's buried in this little cemetery up in a corner of the coffee plantation; it's private property and guess who it belongs to.'

'Nick,” Gideon said.

'Nick,” John confirmed. “And Nick says no dice.'

'Because he doesn't want to upset his daughter.'

John didn't answer right away. They continued walking northward along the edge of the lagoon, their soles squeaking against the sand. On the landward side of the narrow beach were groves of coconut palms, and beyond them the land rose toward the hypnotically, impossibly green flanks of the jagged mountains that formed the island's core.

'So he says,” John said at last.

Gideon glanced at him. “You don't believe him?'

'No,” John said shortly, and then after another brief hesitation: “I'll tell you what I think. I think he got back here and thought things over, and pulled the plug on us because he's afraid somebody in the family killed Brian.'

'Not the Mob?” Gideon stopped walking and stared at John. “Somebody in his own family—in your own family? Who?'

'I don't think he had any idea who, Doc. I think he's just worried that it might turn out that way. He never did think too much of the Mob idea. Neither did I, to tell you the truth.'

'Neither did I, to tell you the truth. But what does he think, then? Why would he assume it's one of your relatives?'

'Well, he didn't tell me this, you understand, but there's been some pretty heavy-duty fighting going on between them for a few years now.'

This came as a surprise. “So how come you're always telling me how great everybody gets along?'

'They do get along,” John said defensively. “What the hell, we're a family like any other family. We can always find things to argue about.'

'Like what?'

John shrugged and started them walking again. “Business,” he said testily, his hands thrust into his pockets. “It gets pretty complicated; I never did get everything straight.'

The family coffee business, he explained, was very much that: a family business. Nick was the sole owner, but his management team, consisting of Maggie, Nelson, and Rudy, also held shares in it. So had Brian, although in his case, the shares were actually held, and were still held, by Therese. This had been at Brian's suggestion; he had felt that the plantation had always been a family affair and was better off continuing that way. The suggestion, needless to say, had been willingly taken up by Nick.

What it all amounted to in practical terms was that instead of being paid salaries for their work, they all received a percentage of the profits. Nick's share was fifty percent, with the remaining fifty percent going to the others in ten or fifteen percent portions, depending on their positions in the organization. John wasn't positive what the amounts came to, but he believed that Nick had been getting over $300,000 a year recently, and the others from $70,000 to $100,000.

'A fair amount of money,” Gideon observed.

'Sure, but that isn't what the real hassling's about.'

The real hassling had begun about a year earlier, when something called Superstar Resorts International had set its sights on the plantation as the ideal property for its planned South Seas megaresort. They had made Nick a huge offer for the land; in the neighborhood of $5 million, John understood. And that was when the fly had landed in the ointment.

'You see, the way Nick drew up these so-called shares, whatever profit-percentage people have, they're entitled to the same percentage from any sale of the company. You following me?'

Gideon nodded. “So if they'd sold it, even a ten percent share would net half a million dollars. And Nick would come away with two and a half.'

'You got it. And Superstar has upped the offer at least twice since then. Nick was right on the verge of selling a couple of times.'