Excert:
“Hello,” McAllister said, his voice weak and raspy on the other
end of the line.
“Mac, this is Matthew. Mac . . . ah . . . we have something to tell
you. It’s about Rene, Mac. Ah . . . do you have anyone there with
you now?”
“No. Why? Did she finally show up?”
“She’s dead, Mac. She drowned sometime last night. Shirley found
her body this morning down by the Sherman dock.”
“Dead? You’re sure it’s her?”
“It’s her, Mac. No mistake. Do you want me to come get you?”
“At your place?”
“Yes. Well . . . no, actually . . . down next to Sherman’s dock.
The police and EMS people are here right now. Do you want me to come
get you?”
“Oh . . . no! My God . . . no. I’m OK. I’ll be right there.”
“Come to our house first.”
“Right. Your house. I will.”
Matthew heard McAllister pull up and went out to meet him. “Do you
want to come into the house?” he asked.
“No. I want to see Rene.”
“She’s dead, Mac. There’s nothing to see. Nothing you’d want
to see.”
“No. I want to see her.”
“You need to prepare yourself. She’s . . . she’s all covered
with sand and wet and . . . well . . . she looks pretty bad.”
McAllister peered over Matthew’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of
what was going on at the lakeshore. “Come on then. I’ll go with
you.”
The police cordoned off the area of the beach where Rene’s body was
found with yellow and black ribbon. The crowd continued to collect
and gawk at the EMS and police. Matthew and McAllister pushed their
way through the people toward the beach. Matthew was surprised at the
size of the area that the police isolated. The ribbon stretched from
the Sherman dock, up into the yard to a folding chair, and then at an
angle to a tree on the lot line between the Sherman property and
Clay’s. Officer Fletcher was walking the length of the Sherman dock
with the roll of ribbon closing the area at the end of the dock so
that the water immediately in front of the body would be in the
restricted zone. Detective Raker looked up as Matthew and McAllister
approached.
“You need to respect that barrier,” Raker called out.
“That’s my wife.”
Raker rose to his feet immediately and walked over to confront
McAllister. “You’re McAllister?” he asked.
“Yes. Alan McAllister. Can I see her?”
“At the moment, no, sir. I’m sorry. We need to make certain we
can move her without disturbing the scene . . . so it will not be
compromised. It won’t take long,” Raker explained. “I’m
sorry. Your wife’s been dead for several hours, apparently from
drowning. Why don’t you and your friend go back to the house. When
we’re through here, we’ll let you know. You can view your wife’s
body before we take it to the medical examiner.”
McAllister strained to see Rene’s body that lay more than 50 feet
away in the sand. “This is an accident, isn’t it? Why the
police?”
“Just routine,” Raker replied. “Please, the quicker we can get
on with it, the better. I’ll want to talk to you in a few minutes.”
Matthew put his hand on McAllister’s shoulder and nudged him to
turn. Mac conceded reluctantly, and the two men trudged back to the
deck where Shirley was standing. She had been joined by Joyce
Sherman. “Have you had breakfast or anything?” Matthew asked.
“No. I’m not hungry.”
“Well, come sit down. A cup of coffee, maybe?”
“Fine.”
“I’m so sorry,” Joyce whispered as he stepped onto the deck.
“I’m so very sorry.” McAllister walked over to a chair and sat
down. Moments later, Shirley reappeared on the deck with two steaming
cups of coffee. The four sat silently for several minutes.
“So she wasn’t breathing or anything . . . when you found her?”
McAllister asked.
“No,” Matthew replied.
“How did you find her?”
“I found her, Mac,” Shirley said. “I was up early taking a walk
along the shore. At first, I didn’t know what I was seeing. She was
lying face down in the water just a few feet out where it’s
shallow. I thought it was a sail or something from a boat . . .
something from all the traffic on the lake yesterday . . . but as I
drew closer, I recognized Rene’s dress.” Shirley words were
becoming more difficult. Tears welled up in her eyes. “My heart
just stopped. But I had to see . . . and I walked right up to the
water’s edge. Then . . . then I knew, and I called for Matthew
right away.”
“We dragged her up on the beach,” Matthew said. “I could see
that she was dead, Mac. Her lips were blue. She wasn’t breathing.
He skin was all pasty . . . like it had been under water for a long
time. We called 911 . . . and then I called you.”
“My God, who would’ve thought?” McAllister groaned. “I mean .
. . I thought she’d gone off somewhere. That I’d find her at home
. . . or near the house. I went out looking for her, but I never
thought anything like this would . . .” Mac said as his voice
trailed off.
“Everybody did everything they could to find her last night,”
Joyce said. “We looked everywhere.”
McAllister waved off her remarks. “I just can’t bring myself to
believe it. I know that’s her down there . . . but somehow . . . I
don’t know . . . I just can’t quite get around it. What’s the
matter with me?” he said looking up at Matthew.
“You need time is all,” Matthew responded. “More time.”
“You know . . . we didn’t get along well these last few years . .
. but I never would’ve wished this on her. She was pretty drunk
last night, wasn’t she?” Matthew, Shirley and Joyce looked at one
another, surprised by Mac’s apparent indifference to what was
happening.
“Very,” Matthew replied softly.
“I wonder if she suffered,” McAllister said.
From the deck the activities of the police and EMS team could be seen
over the heads of the onlookers. Matthew noticed that the two EMS
attendants had eased Rene’s body into a black body bag, zipped it
shut, and lifted it onto a gurney.
“I’ve always heard drowning is a very peaceful death,” Joyce
offered.
“Not one I’d choose,” McAllister growled. “What’s going on
down there?” he asked and stood up to see for himself. Detective
Raker was holding the black and yellow ribbon high above his head so
that the EMS attendants could roll the gurney underneath it. They
headed for the ambulance, pushing their way through the crowd toward
the deck. When they reached the house, Raker had them stop, came up
on the deck, walked over to McAllister, and asked him quietly if he
still wanted to see the body.
“Yes,” McAllister said and followed Raker off of the deck to the
gurney.
“God,” McAllister moaned. Sand still covered much of her face,
and her hair remained plastered to her forehead. “God, it hardly
looks like her.” He looked again. It was she. Rene. His wife. Dead.
He could not look at her any more. He stepped back and nodded to
Detective Raker who, in turn, nodded to the EMS attendants. One of
them stepped forward and pulled the zipper up the front of the bag
and closing it over Rene’s face. McAllister felt Matthew’s hand
on his shoulder.
“Come on, ol’ man,” Matthew said. “Let’s go sit down.”
Back on the deck, they heard the ambulance doors slamming closed and
the vehicle’s engine fire up. As they heard it accelerate down the
street, they—Mac most of all—felt themselves surrendering Rene
out of their care. A finality overtook them. McAllister drew a deep
breath and slumped back into his chair.
July 2008. Four families are riding high on heady market
returns until the body of Rene McAllister, wife of multi-millionaire Alan “Mac”
McAllister, washes up on the beach after a daylong Fourth-of-July bash at the
home of stockbroker, Matthew Wirth. Eager to avoid publicity, authorities dismiss
her death as an accident. Days later, when the body of college drop out, Jamie
Sherman, a neighbor to Wirth, is discovered adrift in his fishing skiff,
investigators suspect foul play, but the Medical Examiner reports that the
youth died of a drug overdose. Only Detective James Raker, upon hearing
McAllister’s complaints of unauthorized trading in his deceased wife’s account,
suspects the two deaths are related. Bucking his superiors, Raker plunges into
an investigation and quickly discovers that at least four members of the
affluent lakeside community had motive and opportunity in either one or both of
the deaths. Raker’s pursuit slams headlong into an investigation being
conducted by the State Bureau of Investigation (SBI) who were closing in on
Jamie Sherman’s drug dealings in the affluent neighborhood.
Ignoring
the orders to drop his investigation, Raker fears that the killer will attack
again and races to prevent it. The killer does strike for a third time but, tragically,
claims the wrong victim. The story is set in the fictitious bedroom community
on Heron Lake, NC, a short commute from Charles City, a metropolitan area of
more than 1,000,000 and the financial center of the state.
You can pick up your copy of the book here.
Smashwords http://www.smashwords.com/
Amazon (paperback) http://www.amazon.com/Deadly-
I
have been writing all of my life. I first published at the age of 10 in a
nationally distributed magazine. I grew up in Yankton, South Dakota where I
graduated from high school and went on to secure a degree in English from St.
John University (MN), 1961. After teaching for three years, I entered the world
of business and spent over 40 years in the financial services industry. During
my career, I held positions with The Travelers, Blue Shield/Blue Cross of
Minnesota, Wilson Learning Corporation and Wachovia Bank and Trust. In 2007, I
retired from Merrill Lynch after 15 years with the Winston-Salem, NC, office
where I started my own group that served several hundred clients up and down
the east coast. Since retirement, I have concentrated on my writing which has
been a life long passion and avocation.
I published a small volume of poetry in 2000. My first novel, "Deadly
Portfolio: A Killing in Hedge Funds," came out September, 2011, and I
followed up with the sequel, "Breached," in October, 2014. I am
planning yet another book which I hope to have published in 2016. Meanwhile, I
will continue to post articles on the internet and my own web site,
www.jjhohn.com, including book and drama reviews, autobiographical sketches and
other non-fiction pieces. My poetry has garnered a few awards over the years
and I will continue composing in the years to come.
Author Interview:
1. What is the hardest part of writing ANY book for you?
ANSWER: I hit a point in writing a book where I need to question whether I have envisioned the right out come or whether the characters have taken over and that something else, possibly a better direction, ought to be the path to follow. This is always difficult because it means that I need to surrender my preconceived notions as to how everything should come to a conclusion and follow a different course to the end of the story.
2. At what era of your life did you decide to become a writer? (child, teen, young adult)
I have wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. I wrote short stories as a boy for my parents My mother read them to her guests. It was powerful affirmation.
3. Do you like when family and friends read your books?
Yes. I like it very much when family and friends read my books. Sometimes I worry that certain minor autobiographical items may be caught by those who know me well. But the longer I write, the less I worry about that. Writers need to have the courage to write about what they know best even when it is something very close to home.
4. Do you enjoy reading the same Genre that you write?
Great question. I enjoy the really good authors. It may sound arrogant but I don't think that there are that many in the literary mystery genre. I don't read as much as I would like because I am using my time to write. I have a few favorites I will read from time to time. I force myself to read others when I volunteer to write a review.
5. Do you have any recommendations for new authors?
Write every day. Write about what you know. Pay attention to your feelings and make sure that you express them. Pay attention to all of the senses --olfactory, visual, auditory. Challenge yourself. Don't back away from a scene because it seems to difficult. Believe in your characters. Care for them, even those you don't respect. Let the take on a life of their own, one that thrives outside of your judgment as an author. Do not be invested in the outcome. Most likely, you will not be famous. You will not be reward financially. Find joy in writing well and in the good words of your critics. Everything else is gravy.
6. What do you like to do when NOT writing?
ANSWER: I hit a point in writing a book where I need to question whether I have envisioned the right out come or whether the characters have taken over and that something else, possibly a better direction, ought to be the path to follow. This is always difficult because it means that I need to surrender my preconceived notions as to how everything should come to a conclusion and follow a different course to the end of the story.
2. At what era of your life did you decide to become a writer? (child, teen, young adult)
I have wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. I wrote short stories as a boy for my parents My mother read them to her guests. It was powerful affirmation.
3. Do you like when family and friends read your books?
Yes. I like it very much when family and friends read my books. Sometimes I worry that certain minor autobiographical items may be caught by those who know me well. But the longer I write, the less I worry about that. Writers need to have the courage to write about what they know best even when it is something very close to home.
4. Do you enjoy reading the same Genre that you write?
Great question. I enjoy the really good authors. It may sound arrogant but I don't think that there are that many in the literary mystery genre. I don't read as much as I would like because I am using my time to write. I have a few favorites I will read from time to time. I force myself to read others when I volunteer to write a review.
5. Do you have any recommendations for new authors?
Write every day. Write about what you know. Pay attention to your feelings and make sure that you express them. Pay attention to all of the senses --olfactory, visual, auditory. Challenge yourself. Don't back away from a scene because it seems to difficult. Believe in your characters. Care for them, even those you don't respect. Let the take on a life of their own, one that thrives outside of your judgment as an author. Do not be invested in the outcome. Most likely, you will not be famous. You will not be reward financially. Find joy in writing well and in the good words of your critics. Everything else is gravy.
6. What do you like to do when NOT writing?
Think. Wonder about life and the world. Converse with friends. Play golf badly. Listen to music, mostly classical and jazz. Write letters to my grandchildren. Watch college sports on TV. Work around the house and the yard.
Web site -- http://www.jjhohn.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/
Twitter:@writerjohnj
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/
Snippet:
The
police cordoned off the area of the beach where Rene’s body was
found with yellow and black ribbon. The crowd continued to collect
and gawk at the EMS and police. Matthew and McAllister pushed their
way through the people toward the beach. Matthew was surprised at the
size of the area that the police isolated. The ribbon stretched from
the Sherman dock, up into the yard to a folding chair, and then at an
angle to a tree on the lot line between the Sherman property and
Clay’s. Officer Fletcher was walking the length of the Sherman dock
with the roll of ribbon closing the area at the end of the dock so
that the water immediately in front of the body would be in the
restricted zone. Detective Raker looked up as Matthew and McAllister
approached.
“You
need to respect that barrier,” Raker called out.
“That’s
my wife.”
Raker
rose to his feet immediately and walked over to confront McAllister.
“You’re McAllister?” he asked.
“Yes.
Alan McAllister. Can I see her?”
“At
the moment, no, sir. I’m sorry. We need to make certain we can move
her without disturbing the scene . . . so it will not be compromised.
It won’t take long,” Raker explained. “I’m sorry. Your wife’s
been dead for several hours, apparently from drowning. Why don’t
you and your friend go back to the house. When we’re through here,
we’ll let you know. You can view your wife’s body before we take
it to the medical examiner.”
McAllister
strained to see Rene’s body that lay more than 50 feet away in the
sand. “This is an accident, isn’t it? Why the police?”
“Just
routine,” Raker replied. “Please, the quicker we can get on with
it, the better. I’ll want to talk to you in a few minutes.”
Matthew put his hand on McAllister’s shoulder and nudged him to
turn. Mac conceded reluctantly, and the two men trudged back to the
deck where Shirley was standing. She had been joined by Joyce
Sherman. “Have you had breakfast or anything?” Matthew asked.
“No.
I’m not hungry.”
“Well,
come sit down. A cup of coffee, maybe?”
“Fine.”
Author Top Ten:
Peanut
butter and jelly on wheat berry bread toasted.
Peanut butter and jelly on home made bread toasted.
Chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream
Touring Civil War battlefields with my son
Duke Ellington, any album, any time.
Watching the sunrise over the Cape Fear River in the morning when I am walking my dog
Mozart
A real good night of sleep
Mockingbirds
Mourning doves
Peanut butter and jelly on home made bread toasted.
Chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream
Touring Civil War battlefields with my son
Duke Ellington, any album, any time.
Watching the sunrise over the Cape Fear River in the morning when I am walking my dog
Mozart
A real good night of sleep
Mockingbirds
Mourning doves
a Rafflecopter giveaway
https://www.facebook.com/events/994119343936276/
And check out all the participating bloggers.
April 1
|
|
April 1
|
|
April 1
|
|
April 1
|
|
April 2
|
|
April 2
|
|
April 2
|
|
April 3
|
|
April 3
|
|
April 4
|
|
April 4
|
|
April 4
|
|
April 5
|
|
April 5
|
|
April 6
|
|
April 6
|
|
April 7
|
|
April 7
|
No comments:
Post a Comment