Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(104)
They broke apart, and she was breathless. She glanced up in time to see a floatplane coming in for a landing in the lagoon. “Are you expecting company?” The aircraft’s pontoons hit the water with a sploosh and a hiss.
“Christ on the cross,” he grumbled. “I forgot all about that.”
“What?”
“That historian I hired to translate the documents from the Spanish Archives emailed yesterday to say he’d be headed our way. He thinks he’s found somethin’ that might interest me.”
Olivia could feel the sudden excitement in Leo, a buzz that radiated through him. It was clearly catching. Because she was unexpectedly anxious, itching to hear what the historian had found. Scooting off his lap, she stood and wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks as the plane nosed onto the beach. It was a Seaplane Charters aircraft, and the minute the propeller clicked off, the captain propped open the door and hopped out. He was barefoot, wearing a wifebeater and sporting a scraggly beard that hung down to his beer belly. He looked more beach bum than pilot.
Only in the Keys, Olivia thought with a snort.
“Larry!” Leo called, pushing to a stand and dusting the sand from his shorts. She was appalled to discover the front of his white T-shirt was soaked with her tears. “How’s the wife?”
“Got a pot roast waiting on me back home,” Larry called, opening the door to the fuselage. A giant duffel bag was handed out to him. Following that were the shapely legs of a woman. She hopped from the aircraft and took the bag from the pilot, saying a few words to him before heading up the beach toward them. If she was one inch over five feet, Olivia would eat her flip-flops for breakfast. And the woman looked about twelve years old.
No one else exited the plane. And then Larry lifted himself back inside, cranking the engine.
Oh, this should be good. Olivia quirked a brow at Leo. “I thought you said this historian you hired was a him not a her.”
“Uhhh,” was all he managed before the flame-haired woman was standing in front of them, dropping the duffel and extending her hand.
“Hi!” She grinned, her green eyes bright with enthusiasm. “I’m Alex.”
“As in…Alexandra?” Leo asked, shaking her hand.
The new arrival cocked her head. “Yup. Why?”
“Just…” Leo stuck his tongue in his cheek. “A bit of a mix-up on my end. I was expectin’ a man.”
“Oh.” Alex wrinkled her nose. “I guess those are the perils of online correspondence, huh?”
“I reckon so,” Leo said, introducing himself and then Olivia.
“Good to meet you.” Alex pumped her hand enthusiastically. The whir of the floatplane’s engine grew louder as it reversed out into the lagoon.
Leo lifted a brow at the departing aircraft, then glanced down at the duffel at Alex’s feet. “I take it you’ll be stayin’ with us for a spell?”
Alex nodded vigorously. It caused her wild mass of hair to bounce around her face. “I’ve got a proposition for you in regards to that,” she said. “But before we go there, I want to show you this.”
She bent to unzip the duffel bag. It appeared to be stuffed haphazardly with all manner of unfolded clothes. Shoes were tossed here and there. Olivia and Leo exchanged a covert glance. This Alex woman might not look like much of an absentminded historian, but her packing skills certainly fit the bill.
“Aha!” she crowed when she located a giant binder. She pulled it out and thrust it at Leo with a flourish just at the floatplane caught air and sailed out over the whitewater frothing up around the underwater reef. Leo took the binder, holding it in front of him like it might be a bomb. Olivia had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Alex huffed. “Open it! To the page marked with the blue sticky note.”
Leo did as instructed, and Olivia craned her head to see what was inside. Huh. It appeared to be a photocopy of an old text. The writing was tiny, smashed together, and didn’t really look like any language she recognized.
“Read that first paragraph,” Alex insisted, nearly vibrating with glee.
Leo slid another covert glance over at Olivia, and she could read his mind. Is this chick nuts, or what? But what he said aloud was, “Um. I wouldn’t have the first clue how to transl—”
“Oh!” Alex hopped, shaking her head. “Sorry. Turn the page. That’s where I’ve typed up my translation.” Leo flipped the page in the binder, and sure enough, on the back was a neatly typed, single-spaced translation. “Go on,” Alex encouraged.
Leo slid his sunglasses onto his head, cleared his throat, and read, “‘This is the account of Captain Quintana…’ That’s the captain of the Santa Cristina’s sister ship, Nuestra Se?ora de Cádiz,” he said for Olivia’s benefit before going back to reading. “‘Who swears on the holy bible that the followin’ words are true. He and Captain Vargas of the Santa Cristina made the decision to split the armada one hour after sunrise on May twenty-six, the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and twenty-four. He would shelter the Nuestra Se?ora de Cádiz on the leeward side of Bone Key…’ That’s what they used to call Key West,” he explained, again for Olivia’s benefit, before returning to reading. “‘And Captain Vargas would attempt to sail home to Havana. It was Captain Vargas’s intention that if he could not make his home port, he would take shelter behind the ringed island along the way.’”