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

and extended his right hand. “Celeste, I presume? Can I order you a drink?”
                  She plopped down next to him, ordering something from the surly bar tender that Phil had never heard of. He suspected it came with skewered fruit and a tiny umbrella.
                  The man behind the bar shook his head. “No, Mom. De mixer, she no wok.” He pointed an accusatory finger at the offending appliance.
                  It had been working fine when Phil walked into the place. He suspected filling the order required expending some amount of energy and was, therefore, not something included in the man’s job description.
                  Celeste pointed to Phil’s beer. “I’ll have the same.”
                  She didn’t have to wait half an hour.
                  She poured into a frosty glass and took a long sip. “Now, Mr. McGrath. . .”
                  “Phil, please.”
                  “OK, Phil, let me tell you. . .”
                  He put a finger to his lips. “Enjoy your beer. Then we’ll go for a walk. Maybe you can show me the sights.”
                  Her look of surprise was replaced by a stare around the room as though searching for the perceived eavesdropper. “You don’t think. . .?”
                  He silenced her with a nod.
                  Twenty minutes later, they were walking along the beach, shoes in hand.
                  Celeste looked behind them. “You don’t really think somebody was listening back there?”
                  Phil chuckled. “No, not really. But I’ve been wrong before and there’s no downside to caution.”
                  “Is that a quote or did you make that up yourself?”
                  “Pardon?”
                  “That ‘no downside to caution’ bit. Is that original?”
                  He stopped, looking at her. “It’s something I believe. That’s all.”
                  This time he was the one looking around. “We’re almost at the end of the beach. Let’s go into town.”
                  “There’s not all that much there, just mobs of tourists.”
                  Phil smiled. “Exactly.”
                  Minutes later, a sputtering, rattling taxi dropped them off in front of the British Colonial Hotel, a pale yellow monument to the Bahamas that had existed prior to independence. Amid the lush land scape in front, a bronze statue of a man in colonial dress whirled to draw a pistol, the tails of his long coat flying.
                  “Who’s that? Do you know?” Celeste asked.
                  “Woodes Rogers, first royal governor of the Bahamas. He had two notable achievements: He rid the Bahamas of over two thousand pirates, pardoned all who surrendered and hanged the rest. And he rescued Alexander Selkirk from an otherwise deserted island, the man who gave Defoe the idea for Robinson Crusoe.”
                  Celeste gave a girlish giggle. “How’d you know that?”
                  “A very long time ago, my wife and I honeymooned here. It was easily accessible and inexpensive.” By now they were strolling east on Bay street. “That was long before Atlantis was built.”
                  The narrow and crowded sidewalks of Bay Street made conversation difficult. Any attempt was abandoned within a couple of blocks.
                  Phil took Celeste’s hand, tugging. “Let’s cross the street!”
                  The move drew a barrage of horns and a scowl from a picture post card uniformed policeman directing traffic from what looked like an orange crate in the middle of the street. A block further along, Phil repeated the maneuver.
                  They reached