Ron Base - Tree Callister 03 - Another Sanibel Sunset Detective Read Online Free PDF Page A

Tree followed.
    “Would you like something to drink, old chap?” Trembath asked. Old chap ? Tree thought. It had been a long time since anyone called him “old chap,” and the first time anyone had ever addressed him that way in Florida.
    “I’m fine, thanks,” Tree said.
    “All right, then Jim,” he said to the young driver. “Let’s be off.”
    Jim turned on the ignition and started up the twin engines while Trembath undid the lines. Minutes later they were crashing over white caps and turning north into Pine Island Sound.
    Tree sat with Trembath in the back. Trembath folded his arms and lifted his head high, his mouth twisted into a rictus grin, as though mounting a defense against the whipping wind.
    Tree leaned toward his ear and asked, “Have you worked for Mr. Shah long?”
    “The wind, can’t hear a thing, old chap,” Trembath yelled back at Tree’s ear. “Let’s wait till we’re on shore. We’ll talk then.”
    Fifteen minutes later, they passed Cabbage Key and the outlines of Useppa Island came into view. The island remained best known for its role in the ill-fated 1960 Bay of Pigs invasion when the Central Intelligence Agency used it to train anti-Castro fighters. Today, it still managed to cling to its status as a private island requiring membership to live there. Its website urged only the most exclusive travelers to inquire about membership. Translated into plain English: you better be pretty darned rich if you want to live here.
    Tree expected Captain Jim to land his craft at the marina adjacent to the Collier Inn. Instead, he slowed the boat and turned south toward a long, narrow dock jutting into the bay. Closer, Captain Jim cut the motor and the boat drifted smartly into the dock where two trim young men grabbed the ropes Jim and Trembath threw them. Soon the boat was tied off, and Tree clambered onto the dock.
    “Welcome, sir,” one of the young men said with a grin. “I’m Benedict. My friend here is Mark.”
    “How do you do, sir?” Mark said in an accent as plummy as his friend’s.
    “Do you mind if I pat you down?” Benedict asked.
    “What?”
    “Security, old chap,” Trembath said, smoothing his wind-ruffled hair. “You know how things are these days.”
    “They’re so bad you have to be frisked on Useppa Island?”
    Trembath shrugged helplessly. “Only takes a minute, old chap.”
    In his cheap khaki slacks and imitation Polo shirt, Tree wasn’t sure where he would ever hide a gun, but he lifted his arms out and Benedict quickly patted him down.
    “Thanks very much, sir,” Benedict said when he finished.
    “We appreciate your co-operation,” said Mark.
    “Come along, Mr. Callister,” Trembath said. “Mr. Shah isn’t far away.”
    Trembath led him off the dock across an expanse of lawn to a row of two-story wood-frame houses surrounded by wide porches. They started up the steps of the house directly in front of them.
    As they came onto the porch, a slim, barefoot old man with walnut-colored skin used a cane to heave himself out of a wicker chair. He wore a white linen shirt and white trousers. The man in white, Tree thought. He looked nothing like someone Tree might imagine to be in charge of Pakistani spying. But then spies weren’t supposed to look like spies, were they?
    “There you are, Mr. Shah,” Trembath said. “I would like you to meet Mr. Tree Callister. Mr. Callister, this is Mr. Miram Shah.”
    “It is such a pleasure, Mr. Callister.” Miram Shah spoke in a formal, lightly accented voice. The two men shook hands. “Thank you for coming all this way to see an old man. Can we get you something to drink after your journey?”
    “If you have some sparkling water,” Tree said.
    Magically, a houseman, also ancient and also in white, appeared. Tree took note of the white gloves he wore. Miram Shah spoke rapidly in a language Tree didn’t understand. The houseman in the white gloves bowed slightly and then went back into the house.
    “You don’t