This is episode twenty-one in the sixth novel of The Trace Troy Adventure Series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. Here are the links to The Double-Cross In Paradise: paperback, Kindle.
Visiting Franks
The plane to Suva was a small passenger twin prop. Trace sat at a window and watched the sea below. ‘This is a terrible way to experience the sea,’ he thought. ‘I can’t imagine being an airplane pilot in the South Seas. I’d have to drink while flying. It’s beyond boring. How do they do it?’
The plane suddenly lurched, and there were gasps from the fifteen passengers.
“That was just some turbulence,” the pilot said over the intercom.
‘At least on The Tramp Islander, you expect it and can see it coming.’
Fiji airport was on the west coast of the island, and Suva was near the east coast.
‘I bet it will take me longer to get from the airport to Suva than from Port Vila to Fiji,’ he thought.
The flight lasted two and a half hours. He rented a car. He drove three hours before parking a block from the prison in Suva. Fifteen minutes after leaving the car, Waldo Franks sat in front of him at a table in the prison’s visiting room.
“How is my son doing?” Franks asked.
“He’s a good seaman,” Trace smiled. “I have him charting and piloting the boat on his own.”
“What about the other guy?” Franks asked.
“He’s a good seaman too,” Trace said. “If you’re asking for a comparison, you’d be proud of Paul.”
“How are you doing?” Trace asked.
“I’m doing well,” Franks smiled and bobbed his head.
“You look as if you’re holding something back from me,” Trace returned the smile.
“I’ll tell you in a bit,” Franks said, “but I thought it would be good to let you know that you are being followed.”
“How do you know that?” Trace said.
“It’s the police,” Franks said. “They’ve been watching you for a couple of weeks.”
“Why?”
“Small sailing ship, cargo, going to small out-of-the-way islands,” Franks said. “Routine. Justifying their existence.”
“Is that the word or your intuition?” Trace asked.
“That’s the word,” Franks assured.
“Do you know why I’m here?”
“No,” Franks said. “You flew and left your boat and crew at Port Vila.”
“I have a stowaway on The Tramp Islander.”
“Now there’s something I don’t know.”
“He’s hiding out from the law and drug smugglers.”
“How can you tell the difference?” Franks chortled and bounced. “Let me guess, they suspect him of stealing drugs or the money.”
“Murder,” Trace said coldly.
Franks rubbed his chin. “Why are you hiding him away?”
“He’s innocent.”
“So am I!” Franks smiled broadly and flipped his hand around. “And so is everybody in here. We’ve all been framed. Now, how’s the freight business in Vanuatu? How’s their soccer team? They usually have a pretty good one.”
Trace continued with a cold stare.
“You’re not amused, are you?” Franks said.
“Check it out,” Trace said. “I could have laughed in your face six months ago when you were desperate. I didn’t. I helped you when all logic suggested I walk out of here and forget you existed. I’m not saying you owe me anything. You owe me nothing. I’ll go back to The Tramp Islander and give your son his walking papers. I don’t want anything that I do to evolve your son to come back on me.” Trace stood. “I hope you enjoyed my visit.”
“Sit,” Franks said.
Trace sat.
“Does Paul know about this?”
“He does.”
“Is he willing to go along with it?”
“He had some reservations. Everybody did. But he’s willing to help in any way he can.”
“What’s in it for him?” Franks leaned closer.
“When I was a little boy, I went fishing on a steam that ran through our land. I went alone. My line got tangled on a log in the middle of the stream. I walked out to get it untangled. I got swept away. An old cowpoke from our ranch was out rounding up steers. He heard me yelling for help. He came, tossed a rope, and pulled me to the bank—saved my life. I’ve been paying it back ever since. I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but it rings as true to me as the sunrise.”
Franks’ gaze moved to a small window on the wall near the ceiling. It allowed the sunlight in.
“He’s becoming the people I’ve mocked,” Franks said.
“It’s funny, in a way,” Franks continued. “I wanted him to walk into my casino and look around and say, ‘Wow, this is all yours. I’m so proud of you.’ I don’t think I want him to see what I’ve done. He is morally superior. Morally superior people have never bothered me. But what I see in my son is not moral superiority, but only a good person who doesn’t think of himself as better.”
“He struggles with things,” Trace said. “Maybe you should.”
“At this moment, I’m not seeing it, but I’m willing to try,” Franks said. “I see something in him. I’m not sure what it is. But I know it’s good. And I want to have a little bit of it, just to see what it is. I’m not sure you understand.”
“More than you know,” Trace said.
“What is it you want?”
“You can find out who killed Patterson Beaushon’s friend, Erin Hemley, with a few phone calls,” Trace said. “Knowing and proving are miles apart. I want your advice on how to get close to those who did it—or something. Just as there are things about me you will never understand, there are things that I will never understand about…”
“About my kind?” Franks said.
“Yeah,” Trace said.
“How long are you in town for?”
“As long as it takes.”
“It may take three or four days,” Franks said. “Where will you be staying?”
“That place around the corner from the casino.”
“I’ll get word to you when I have something.”
Trace stood and looked at the prisoner’s door to the visiting room. “Where are the guards?”
“They don’t escort me anymore.”
“What do you do, come and go as you please?”
“Not quite,” Franks grinned, “but almost.”
“You mentioned you had something for me?”
“Yeah,” Franks grinned. “My sentence is about to be commuted.”
“To what?”
“I may be on the flight to Port Vila, right after yours,” Franks said. “Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but it could happen in a month or two.”
“How did that happen?”
“I got juice.”
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