The Lion Killer (The Dark Continent Chronicles) Read Online Free

her up and realized that the Dodges' marriage wasn't a merger; it was an acquisition. Mrs. Dodge is the one with the money, she concluded.
    Molly rummaged through her Chanel handbag. When she located the cigarette-holder she handed it to her husband without looking at him. He secured the cigarette, lit the end and handed it back to her. She accepted it without thanking him.
    I knew it, Helen thought, congratulating herself.
    Helen had gone to Yale on a scholarship. She looked at Rigby, and a warm contentment washed over her. God, I'm glad I married you, she thought. She glanced at Tucker and then at his wife. Helen, you're too damn cynical. At least give these people a chance, she continued thinking. What she heard next would confirm her first impression.
    “It must be exciting living in Africa,” Molly directed at Helen.
    “Yes, we like it very much.”
    “A couple of years ago we went on a photographic safari in Kenya. We loved it. Didn't we, dear?” Tucker said, looking at his wife for confirmation. She nodded her approval. “It was absolutely marvelous,” Molly added.
    “Mr. Croxford, I understand you're a professional hunter. I've never liked hunting. The cruelty seems so senseless,” Tucker said.
    “I'm only working as a professional hunter until I can get back into farming.”
    “Mr. Croxford, what's your take on Mugabe reclaiming the farms and giving them back to the rightful owners?” Tucker inquired, sucking on his cigar until it ignited. He blew out the match and held up his empty glass, looking for a refill.
    “Rhodesia was the bread basket of Africa. Now the people are starving.”
    “You don't look like you're starving,” Tucker stated.
    “Actually, we were starving. That's why we've come to the Bahamas. It's a brilliant spot to fatten up,” Rigby said with a smile.
    Tucker continued. “And you feel no guilt for what the white man's done to the Africans.” Tucker's face narrowed in contempt.
    “Africa's complicated. You must live there to understand it.”
    “Come now, Croxford, I find that hard to believe.”
    Rigby's brow narrowed. He looked squarely at Tucker. “Ducky, I have no regrets about trying to maintain order in Africa. I lost a lot of my best mates in something called the Rhodesian Bush War. I fought next to some very brave men—it might interest you to know, some of them were black. I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in your opinions.” His acid tone had them squirming.
    “The name's Tucker. Look, I apologize if I've said something to offend you. I'm just trying to understand your thinking.” He turned away from Rigby's glare and stood up. “I wonder what's keeping Max,” he mumbled, trying to quicken the clock-ticking silence.
    Turner looked over the shoulder of his secretary. He read the following email to himself.

To: Maxwell Turner
From: Rutherford, London School of Medicine
Forensic Science Department.
RE: Postmortem pathology

Dear Mr. Turner: DNA samples taken from the human body parts retrieved from the stomach of a crocodile killed on Lake Albert, Uganda, inconclusive because of the high level of corrosive digestive acids. More tests are required. Sorry to put you through this ordeal.

Kindest regards,
Dr. Malcolm Rutherford

    “Is everyone getting to know each other?” Turner asked, walking back into the salon. “If you folks will follow me, I think they're ready to serve us dinner.”
    As soon as everyone was seated, Max Turner insisted they hold hands and bow their heads. “Let us pray,” he started. “These six things the Lord hates. Yes, my friends, they are an abomination to Him: a proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that are swift in running to evil, and a false witness who speaks lies.” They thought Max had finished his sermon, but he was just getting warmed up. Just when the atmosphere seemed almost suicidal, the Amen came. Relieved, they all smiled, except Helen, who frowned at her