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

husband who had been fidgeting like a schoolboy in church. Max caught them winking at each other.
    They dined on rack of lamb. Helen deferred to Max's wine selection, a 1998 Chateau Petrus. The dinner chitchat was limited to Max's grilling the Croxfords about Africa. Tucker and his wife were still licking the verbal wounds inflicted by Rigby and seemed unwilling to participate in the conversation.
    After dinner, the group retired to the back deck. The men smoked Cuban cigars and sipped cognac. When the wind lulled—the clouds dissipated leaving a star studded sky. Occasionally, a distant streak of heat lighting gave form to the coconut trees on the shoreline.
    “Mr. Dodge, what's your line of work?” Rigby asked, trying to repair his earlier damage.
    “I'm an attorney. I represent Max.”
    “I'm confused. Max, I thought you were a lawyer.”
    “You can never have enough attorneys around,” answered Max.
    “Says who?”
    “Rigby, for God's sake,” his wife interjected.
    “It's all right, Dr. Croxford. Rigby, did my prayer make you nervous?”
    “I wouldn't say it made me nervous.”
    “Oh really? Don't you think Voltaire said it best when he wrote, ‘I die adoring God, loving my friends and not hating my enemies'?” Max asked, looking at Rigby.
    The wine had thickened his recollection of clever answers. He glanced at his wife, looking for help. Helen countered with,
    “Let's not forget Lucretius, who wrote, ‘How many evils have flowed from religion?'”
    “Folks,” said Max, “I think I may have gotten in over my head. It's not often you meet such au courant people in the Bahamas.” Turner continued his cross-examination. “Rigby, are you a religious man?”
    “I'd say I'm more of a spiritual man. I've seen so much injustice in my life. And I'm embarrassed to admit I've been a participant, although an unwilling participant, in so much violence, I guess I'm afraid to think about Godly matters. Turning to less lofty subjects, I must tell you, Max, you're an absolutely brilliant host. I reckon that wine was the best I ever tasted,” Rigby slurred.
    “At a thousand bucks, it ought to be.”
    “You're kidding. It's hard to imagine paying a thousand dollars for a case of wine. No wonder it was good. Say, how many bottles are in a case?”
    “Rigby Croxford, you're a breath of fresh air.” said Max.
    “Thanks for a wonderful evening,” Helen said, grabbing her husband's arm. “I better get him home.”
    Max shook hands with Rigby. “Fair enough, but I need a promise from your husband.”
    “And what might that be?” asked Helen.
    “I've always dreamed of hunting in Africa. Tonight, I met the only professional hunter I'd ever consider hiring. Dr. Croxford, that man is your husband.”
    “I'm flattered, but I'm booked for the next two hunting seasons.” Rigby spoke so quickly his excuse sounded lame. “Max, I'd be happy to recommend another PH.”
    Turner acted like he didn't hear. “Let's talk about this tomorrow. We're going to pull anchor in the afternoon. It's time we returned your lagoon.”
    They turned and stared at a woman standing in the companionway. She wore a silky nightgown outlining the sensual curve of her hips and accentuating the line of her breasts. She was the type of woman who could tongue-tie men and pucker the noses of older women. “I'm sorry. I didn't know we had guests,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. Her voice sounded weak.
    “Sweetheart, you shouldn't have gotten out of bed. Ashlyn, I'd like you to meet the Croxfords. You know the Dodges. Ashlyn's my daughter-in-law.”
    “I'm pleased to meet y'all. I haven't been feeling well. I think it's motion sickness. I'm worn thin as summer cotton. I think I better go back below. Goodnight.” She turned and disappeared down the hallway. The smell of her perfume lingered for a few seconds. The way Turner looked at his daughter-in-law puzzled Helen, but she dismissed her thought. When Turner realized Helen was