The Nassau Secret (The Lang Reilly Series Book 8) by Gregg Loomis Page A

when his only living relative, his sister Janet, and her adopted son and Lang’s best ten-year-old buddy, Jeff, had died in Paris. This time he had not heard the siren song of self-destruction but he had still grieved as he had for his wife.             
                  Gently holding Celeste at arm’s length lest she envelope him again, he spoke with sincerity. “Believe me, I know what you’re going through, Celeste. I also know you’ll get through it. I’m not saying it will be easy or there won’t be ups and downs but you will get through it.”
                  She swallowed hard as though trying to choke down a bite too large before extending a hand toward the couple behind her. “Excuse me, I’m forgetting my manners. This is Jean and Claude Haynesworth, Livia’s parents.” He turned. “Claude, Jean, this is Lang Reilly, the man who recommended the private investigator I told you about.”
                  The woman, eyes red rimmed, extended a hand. Her face was an older version of her daughter’s. “Happy to meet you, Mr. Reilly. I really want to thank you.”
                  Her hand was dry and felt fragile, like holding a small bird. “You are quite welcome. But I really didn’t do anything, just suggested. . .”
                  Jean’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, no. I meant, thank you for agreeing to go to Nassau and find out who killed our daughter.”
                  Lang was too stunned to say anything for a full second. Then he daggered a glare at Celeste. “I, I. . .I think there’s been some sort of . . .”
                  Gurt spoke for the first time, accusation in her tone. “Lang, when did you agree. . .?”
                  “I didn’t. This is the first time I’ve heard anything about it.”
                  Claude and Jean’s stares at Celeste were as damning as an indictment.
                  A moment before Lang filled a very awkward void. “Mr. and Mrs. Haynesworth, I don’t know who said what but I’m a lawyer, not a detective. I do know from experience that local law enforcement usually resents intrusion into their turf. It’s quite possible sending someone else down there could hinder, more than help, the investigation.”
                  “If you really believe in those cops in comic opera uniforms who couldn’t solve the death of Humpty Dumpty, Lang, you are more optimist than realist.”             
                  He had never heard Celeste speak with an undertone of anger.
                  And she wasn’t finished. “It looks to me that even if you don’t care who killed Livia, you’d care about who put your pal Phil McGrath in the hospital.”
                  Lang glanced at Gurt. He wasn’t going to get help from that quarter. He cleared his throat, not because he needed to but to give him an extra nano-second to think. He began in his most reasonable tone, the one he used when trying to convince a jury of the highly improbable. “Celeste, I know this is an emotional time for you, but think: As far as I know, no one has determined Livia was murdered.”
                  Celeste gave a derisive shake of the head. “The more shame on them! If you’re suggesting I accept the theory that she went about as far from our hotel as possible without leaving the island to go swimming in her clothes where there’s no beach. . .”
                  “No one said she was found where she died. The tides and currents. . .”
                  He was not to be allowed to finish. “Lang, believe what you will. You know her death has murder written all over it. If you won’t help get justice for her, I’ll find someone who will! Now if you will excuse me, I have other guests to attend to.”
                  With that, she stalked off, her