Butler Did It! (31 page)

Joe joined Matthew and Captain Z. “So
all that action at Levasseur’s was you guys, huh?” He shook his
head. “Everyone’s talking about it; how easily Levasseur
disappeared. The police found ten guards and two women hogtied in
the living room, but you guys knew all about that, of course. The
police are unhappy because no one is talking. Speculation has it
that Levasseur has gone into hiding.”

A knowing look passed from Butler to
Katherine to Captain Z. Joe noticed, and deduced the truth;
Levasseur was never coming back.

“They all got released, you know, even
those two bodyguards.”

“Do you think the Ice Maidens are going
to come after us?” Asked Matthew, handing Joe a plate of
oysters.

“I doubt it. You probably made it easy
for them. Last I heard, odds favor them taking over Levasseur’s
empire.”

“They’re certainly tough enough,”
concluded Matthew.

<<>>

Under the shade of the palm trees, Chan
once again sat in his rickety beach chair, smearing zinc oxide on
his nose. Arrayed around him were all his supplies; smokes, beer,
food, and the pulp novel he hadn’t finished. An old, tinny,
transistor radio played music and local news. Next to him in the
sunshine, EB lay on her blanket, trying for that illusive golden
tan.

Chan wasn’t reading, however, nor
ogling any of the models on the beach. He was watching his wife of
30 years play volleyball with determination. Mrs. Chan, the
Pelican’s gourmet cook, and a woman barely 5’ tall, aggressively
held her own against younger and taller crewmembers. Chan, rarely
surprised by anything, was pleasantly blown away by some of his
wife’s moves.

“Isn’t she amazing?” He
marveled.

Over the radio, the news announcer
started on a story about a typhoon in the northern Indian Ocean
producing some storm surges that would be washing onto shore over
the next 8 hours. “Residents and tourists living and playing along
the north shores should be prepared for wave crests from one to two
meters above the high tide line.”

“Will that be a problem?” EB asked from
her blanket in the sun, effectively breaking Chan’s concentration
on the volleyball game.

“Shouldn’t be. We’re anchored on the
south side of Little Curieuse. The island shelters us. We won’t get
any big waves, but we might see heavier surf if the waves curl
around the island.”

Idly, EB gazed at the sleek black yacht
anchored in the lee of the Pelican. “I don’t normally think things
like this, but to me that yacht seems evil, like it’s a predator
hiding in the darkness, ready to pounce on an unwitting victim. Do
you think Butler will get away with keeping it?” She
asked.

“There is no good or evil,” intoned
Chan. “There is only ‘is or is not,’ and right now that boat ‘is’
Matthew’s. We found it derelict. There’s no owner of record, and no
insurance. The Libyan registration filed with the Seychelles
harbormaster was a forgery. As far as the authorities are
concerned, that yacht doesn’t exist.”

“So Butler will be keeping it with the
Pelican, huh?”

“No, he has put a prize crew aboard,
all the lucky people due for rotation. Tomorrow they will depart
for Kenya to deliver Kobi and that slimy politician to Mombasa, and
then they’ll head thru the Suez toward Monaco. Eventually, your
lurking black yacht will end up being transshipped across the
Atlantic to Butler’s Dad in Mobile.”

EB sighed, “That’s a pretty rich prize.
Some people just have all the luck.” She took a swig of her drink
and glanced over at Tommy down by the tide line, once again digging
away at a giant mound of sand.

“Watch this,” she said and chuckled.
“TOMMY, LOOK OUT!”

Tommy spun around and spread-eagled
himself in front of his sculpture, looking around for another woman
to come barreling out of the underbrush. It only took a moment
before it dawned on him that he was being laughed at.

“You’ll get yours,” he yelled, shaking
a fist in EB’s direction.

“Promises, promises,” she shouted back,
laughing.

<<>>

Matthew and Katharine wandered away
from the others. Matthew reached into a cooler set in the shade of
the Rusty Duck and fetched out two beers. He opened one and handed
it to Katharine before opening his own.

“How long before you have to go back to
Durban?” he asked her.

“My flight goes out tomorrow morning,”
she replied with a wistful smile. “I wish I had more
time.”

“We’ll just have to make the most of
the time we have, then,” he said, taking her hand. “By the way, I
know this sheltered little cove down the beach with a lagoon that’s
just perfect for two.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” Katherine
answered smiling.

<<>>

Tommy worked feverishly, sculpting a
huge mound of sand on the waterline between low and high tide. In
the background, local news reported the tragic sinking of a
freighter north of Mahi. According to the announcer, unnamed
Government Officials suspected it was the work of pirates. In an
unrelated story, the police were actively seeking the whereabouts
of a well-known entrepreneur, Alexander Levasseur, for undisclosed
crimes.

As work progressed on the new World’s
Greatest Sand Castle, Tommy moved sand like a fiend. He carefully
carved long curves into the contours of his mound of sand. As the
afternoon heated up, the crew slowly migrated to the meager shade
of the palms high on the beach, watching soft white clouds scudding
across the sky above the clear blue waves. By late afternoon, only
one lone figure was in the sun down near the tide line, still
sculpting sand.

Tossing down his tools, Tommy grunted
with satisfaction. “Ta-Da!” he sang, announcing to the beach, “My
masterpiece is done. Everyone come take a look.”

“I can see it fine from here.” EB
responded aloud. To everyone within earshot she muttered, “See one
pile of sand and you’ve seen them all.”

Several of the less lethargic members
of the crew wandered slowly down to the tide line.

Tommy sat in a rather good likeness of
a 1965 Corvette convertible made completely from sand. Leaning back
in his seat and smiling, he lit up a fat cigar. “This is my
greatest creation ever.”

A few halfhearted hurrahs sounded from
the witnesses. From her blanket, EB raised an unidentified umbrella
drink to toast his handiwork.

Amid all the accolades, the people on
the beach suddenly began shouting and pointing. Tommy, reveling in
their appreciation, failed to notice. He took a great big puff on
his cigar, savoring his victory. It was at that moment that a huge
rogue wave suddenly rushed up the beach, engulfing the entire sand
castle, wiping it out, and leaving Tommy buried face down in the
sand.

Matthew Butler would really have
enjoyed this dousing of his friend, but he missed it.

A line of footprints traveled down the
beach. Two people walked with their heads together, arms around
each other's bodies. Behind them, a small dog happily trotted
along.

###

About the Authors:

Sally and Keith Pomeroy live in the
wilds of North America, in a place pretty much at the opposite end
of the globe from the Seychelles. Both are hard at work on Matthew
Butler’s next adventure due out in the near future. Details can be
found on our website at www.matthewbutleradventures.com. When not
writing, both enjoy dining at the Moon on oysters on the half
shell, Chile Rellenos, and Alaskan Amber Ale.

TO

Bailey Elise

One perfect daughter

<<>>

August 22, 1982

One perfect day

<<>>

John’s Restaurant

One perfect place

<<>>

Matthew McConaughey

and

Steve Zahn

One perfect Pair

<<>>

<<>>

TO

Terry Pratchett

<<>>

Acknowledgements

Thanks to the people at Wikipedia and
Google and Gizmag and all of the other wonderful folks who have
taken the time to share information on the web. The world is a
diverse and fascinating place and now it’s all here in our living
room to be explored.

For early contributions, the name, and
long relaxing days on the houseboat, as well as the generous
willingness to read our early attempts, thank you to Carol and
Randy Bremmer.

For all of the great Marshal Arts
stories that helped to form our fight scenes we thank Mark Posy of
Colorado Tai Chi, with apologies for all the things we probably got
wrong.

Thank you to our great First Reader
Erin Mundt for all of your enthusiasm.

We would like to ask forgiveness from
the people of the Seychelles, Kenya, and Mombasa, as well as all
sailors and adventure heroes everywhere for taking license with
things we don’t know much about. This story is for fun, it ain’t
literature.

Cover illustration:
http://www.istockphoto.com/diane555

Connect with us online:

Twitter:
http://twitter.com/sallypomeroy

Facebook: http://facebook.com/
/profile.php?id=100000955341087&v=info

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/SallyPomeroy