Page 93 of Hard Luck (Blackstone House)

Okay, so she definitely didn’t want to talk about her origins. Got it. That suited me because I was more than happy to switch to a different subject.

“Do you know anything about conchs?”

“Conchs? The giant sea snails?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, I know some. Why do you ask?”

“A few people here have mentioned them. I didn’t realise they made pearls.”

A few people, including Clint. I’d overheard snippets from the boys last night, and the word “treasure” had been mentioned. Then there was that journal I’d seen and Witt’s reaction to it. Putting the pieces together, it wouldn’t have surprised me in the least if the three of them were planning to do some illegal pearl hunting while they were in San Gallicano, ecology be damned. That might also explain the lift bags I’d seen in their dive kit. Fill a net with the goods, inflate the bag, and the booty would rise to the surface.

Where Dr. Blaylock would lose his mind and probably Cole too, so they’d have to plan a distraction.

Caro laughed. “If you’re thinking of looking for pearls, don’t bother. They’re seriously rare. You’d have to open thousands of shells to find one pearl, and conch fishing on that scale is illegal here. Locals are allowed to take one or two for dinner, but commercial fishing is banned until the population recovers, which will be never if people keep breaking the law.”

Quite the little speech. Had I been wrong about her motives for volunteering at the turtle sanctuary? Possibly. And if she was right about the rarity of conch pearls, then I’d also been wrong regarding the boys’ interest in the creatures.

“I’m not thinking of pearl hunting. I just want to learn about the ocean. You’d really need thousands of conchs to find one pearl?”

“Yes, and even then, you’d only have a ten percent chance of it being good enough for jewellery.” Caro tilted her head to one side, studying me. “Most people are more interested in sharks.”

“I heard there weren’t many great whites around.”

“There aren’tany. The water’s too warm. But if you get the chance to dive or even snorkel off Dreadhaven, then you might see manta rays over there.”

“That’s on our list of stops.”

“Make sure you remember the most important rules of diving—take only photos, leave only bubbles, kill only time.”

In my line of work, the most important rule was “don’t get narc’d,” but I just nodded and agreed. And that was the end of the conversation because Jon came in to make his allegedly famous spice rub. His grandpop’s recipe, he said.

And credit where credit was due, the grilled chicken did taste good. If I’d eaten much more of it, the diving discussion would have been a moot point because fitting into my wetsuit was already going to be a challenge. Fiveweeks of restricted exercise was starting to show. I wasn’t used to watching my calorie intake.

Blaylock and Baptiste did most of the talking over dinner, mainly about turtles, but they also found time to gossip about people they both knew, although Dr. Blaylock studiously avoided the subject of his own divorce. Because Clint was present? No matter what Blaylock thought, his post-split relationship with the kid wasn’t as rosy as he liked to think. A couple of times, I noticed Clint staring angrily at his stepfather, almost unconsciously it appeared. Jon seemed reasonably personable, and Witt acted like even more of a prick than usual once he had several cans of beer in him, talking loudly over everyone else, completely oblivious to the quiet sighs (Baptiste’s) and eye-rolls (mine and Caro’s).

Echo had emailed me Witt’s Navy records, and he’d separated by honourable discharge at the rank of Petty Officer Third Class. So he wasn’t a complete disappointment to his momma, but nor was he a shining star. Since he’d been in for three years, he would have had opportunities to secure a promotion to Petty Officer Second Class, but he hadn’t made the grade.

And as for Clint, I suspected he was playing nice in order to utilise Blaylock’s money and connections, but their rocky relationship wasn’t my problem. In a year or two, when it all exploded, the pair of them could seek some much-needed therapy.

“Are there many turtles out by Skeleton Cay?” I asked Baptiste.

“Place has been untouched for decades, pretty much, so I like to think they’re doing well without humans destroying their habitat and poachers taking them for their own gain.”

“Hopefully, we’ll see a hawksbill—we’re planning to fit in a dive over there.”

Baptiste sucked in a breath. “You don’t want to do that, ma’am.”

“Why not?”

“The spirits don’t like to be disturbed.”

Man, he’d seemed so normal up until that point. “I’m willing to take my chances.”

“Buncha fools sailed out there two years ago, but Zeus and Poseidon showed them the error of their ways. They couldn’t get outta there fast enough.”

“There was a hurricane,” Dr. Blaylock explained. “Category Four.”

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