The Nassau Secret (The Lang Reilly Series Book 8) Read Online Free PDF Page A

“That’s the one. And she reads everything she can find about the Lindbergh kidnapping and murder. She even collects memorabilia. Like a couple of the phony ransom notes the Linberghs received after their child was kidnapped. You know, back in the Thirties. She’s convinced Bruno Hauptman was innocent. She has a couple of the pens Johnny Cochran used to take notes at the O.J. Simpson murder trial, a cigar clipper Clarence Darrow supposedly carried when he argued the Loeb-Leopold case. Stuff like that.”
                  “Where do you go to collect that sort of thing?”
                  “On the internet. I’d bet a good part of it’s fake or stolen.”
                  “Any chance she took something from the exhibit?”
                  “Like I said this afternoon, I was bored, didn’t pay any attention. It’s possible, I suppose, though I’ve never known Livia to steal. She does love anything pertaining to a famous murder, though.”
                  Not entirely candid. There had been that strip of bloody cloth from the Fall River museum that had been from Lizzie Borden’s father’s shirt when he was hacked to death by an ax in 1892. Celeste had demanded Livia return it and swear never to take something like that again. Surely she hadn’t. . .
                  She continued, “Anyway, the librarian here identified Livia from a picture on my cell phone I took this morning. Reason I didn’t call you sooner, the lady pointed out which way she went when she left the library and I went to check out the stores. A woman in a drug store a few doors down remembered selling her sun block but after that. . . nothing. It was like the ground swallowed her up or something. I just got back to the hotel.”
                  Lang was thinking. With his court calendar, the last thing he needed to do was try and squeeze in a trip to the Bahamas. “Stand by. I’ll call you back within an hour.”
                  “But, what are you going to do?”
                  Lang hadn’t the foggiest idea. “I’ll tell you when I call back.”
                  “Lang?” Gurt was standing in the hall behind him. “The meal becomes cold. Besides, Manfred is forbidden to take calls during meals. You are not setting an example.”
                  Lang was still holding his iPhone. “When Manfred starts supporting this family. I’ll reconsider. In the meantime, I apologize but business puts that food on the table.”
                  A little disingenuous, perhaps, since he wasn’t actually representing Celeste in what he was about to do. But what the hell? A good relationship with the media was the best advertising he could get.
                  She started to say something, thought better of it and disappeared back into the dining room.
                  Lang called up “contacts” on the small screen and scrolled down to a name.
                  The phone was answered on the second ring. “Hello, Lang. McGrath here.”
                  Almost all criminal lawyers employ private investigators. Phil McGrath had been Lang’s since the previous one had died in a dubious accident ten years ago. McGrath was a former FBI agent with any number of convenient contacts in both state and federal government.
                  “Evening Phil. How’d you like a trip to the Bahamas?”
                  “If you’d suggested it this past winter, I’d been a lot more excited.”
                  “A friend of a friend seems to have gone missing in Nassau.”
                  “And is this friend paying or do I look to you for my conch chowder?”
                  “Nothing like getting the important stuff like the who, what, where out of the way first.”
                  “I learned from a