DEATH ON THE NEW MOON
THE “TROUBLED WATERS” SERIES BOOK #6
Hanna Walsh and Alex Frank return in this suspense thriller follow-up to Amazon #1 LIES WE NEVER SEE and A FOLLOWING SEA.
A captivating and twisting tale of love, betrayal and murder in the Low Country of South Carolina and the continuing love affair of Hanna Walsh and Alex Frank.
A novel by
MICHAEL LINDLEY
Sage River Press
Novels by MICHAEL LINDLEY
The “Troubled Waters” Series
THE EMMALEE AFFAIRS
THE SUMMER TOWN
BEND TO THE TEMPEST
LIES WE NEVER SEE
A FOLLOWING SEA
DEATH ON THE NEW MOON
Michael Lindley Amazon Author Page
Click here for your FREE download of Amazon #1 The EmmaLee Affairs
DEDICATION
A quick note of thanks to the many readers, publishing partners, book retailers and fellow authors who have been so supportive in the pursuit of these stories.
“I love those who can smile in trouble, who can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection.”
- Leonardo da Vinci
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
A Note From Michael Lindley
Also By Michael Lindley
About The Author
Chapter One
The man named Caine sat in the fighting chair mounted on the aft deck of the 35-foot fishing boat as it trolled slowly through the calm waters of the Atlantic ten miles off the coast of Charleston. He was dressed only in tan Bermuda shorts and a faded and stained fishing cap to shield his eyes from the hot sunny day. His upper body and legs were deeply tanned and glistening with sweat. He calmly watched the steady throbbing of two fishing rods set off the stern, pulling bait with lines trailing out far behind in the wake of the big boat.
It had been a good day, he thought. He felt at home on the water as far away from people as possible. When he was around people, someone was often going to die.
The sun was just above the far horizon to the west, glowing hot and reflecting back across the water. To the east, the first sliver of the new moon glowed bright in the darkening sky. No other boats were in sight. The low rumble of the twin engines below deck mixed with the cry of gulls hovering over the boat and screeching for more bait and chum to be thrown overboard.
The boat was on a slow auto-pilot course and needed no tending. A puff of wind came across the starboard rail. He leaned back and closed his eyes allowing all his senses to take in the serenity and peace of the moment.
He stood and reached down into a large white pail against the transom and grabbed a metal dipper hanging on the edge. He brought up a dripping scoop of bloody red fish chum and poured it overboard into the churning water behind him. Drops of blood and fish offal splashed on the white deck and rail of the boat. He flipped another scoop of the bloody goo out into the water and watched it mix with the green frothing wake. Reaching down for the bucket, he poured the rest of the chum over the side then turned and walked into the cabin of the boat. He pulled back the throttles for both engines and felt the boat slow and rock gently in the low swells of the ocean.
Within minutes he had both rods reeled in and secured in holders above the cabin.
A low muffled moan came from the hatch leading down into the cabin and galley below deck. The man scanned the horizon. Still no other boats or aircraft above. The moans became more urgent and frantic, as if the slowing of the boat had triggered some fearful response.
Caine went down the steps and then came back up carrying a woman in his arms. Her hands and feet were bound with plastic tie straps. A piece of gray Duck Tape was stretched tight across her mouth. She struggled in his arms, but his firm grip held her fast. He placed the woman down in the fighting chair and when she tried awkwardly to get up, he pulled a long-bladed knife from a scabbard on his belt and held it out an inch from her nose.
The woman's eyes grew large and she moaned again, trying to speak. Her hair was short and brown and clung to her face in sweaty curls. A dark purple bruise spread across her left cheek from the blow he'd delivered when she'd been abducted. She was dressed in tan slacks and a white blouse that was also wet from sweat. Her feet were bare and she tried to gain purchase on the foot rest of the heavy chair.
"Please...," she tried to cry out, but Caine ignored her and turned to look over the back of the boat. Two large sharks had come in to feed on the chum. Their long gray bodies turned quickly to stay behind the boat, large mouths open wide to take in the bloody feast. He grabbed another bucket of the chum and threw it all overboard. A third large fin raced through the red trail in the water.
That should do, he thought and turned back to the woman. He stood before her and in a calm voice said, "You had a job to do and you let everyone down."
She shook her head frantically and tried to stand from the chair again until the sharp point of the knife on her forehead pushed her back into the seat. The blade cut a small slice in her skin above one eyebrow. It began to bleed and flow down between her eyes and onto the white of her blouse. She screamed out in pain.
"So, the money wasn't enough? Is that it?"
"Nooo..." she cried out through the tape in a low moan.
He wiped a spot of blood off the end of the knife on her slacks, then held the blade up, examining the long sharp edge.
The woman was weeping now in gasping sobs. The blood from the cut on her forehead was streaming in a steady flow along her nose and dripping off her chin.
<
br /> "You brought this on yourself," Caine said, his voice low and measured. "They weren't asking for much."
The woman thrust forward and fell onto the deck when her restraints prevented her from standing. Her blood mixed with the fish chum on the hard wet surface of the boat deck. She lay on her side breathing heavily and moaning.
Caine unhooked a clasp that held a door in the middle of the transom on the back rail of the boat. He swung it to the side and walked down onto a teak platform just above water level. The three big sharks were still feeding and churning the water below him. He turned and calmly walked back onto the deck. He grabbed the long wooden handle of a fish gaff hanging along the rail. It had a sharp steel hook on the end for gaffing fish and pulling them on-board.
With no warning, he swung the gaff hook hard into the thigh of the woman and she screamed out into the fading light of the day, no one but the man named Caine to hear. Almost effortlessly, he pulled her with the gaff through the opening and down onto the wooden platform.
She saw the sharks as their fins and long backs swept back and forth through the red water behind the boat. She began trembling and struggling to break free from the hook embedded in her leg. Caine placed a foot on her stomach to hold her in place.
A smile came across his face. "You picked the wrong people to let down, ma'am."
She shook her head violently trying to pull free.
He pulled the gaff savagely out of her thigh and she wailed again as more blood flowed.
Caine came around behind her and stood for a moment, taking in the vast scope of ocean and cloudless sky.
Without warning, he pushed her over the edge of the deck with his foot. "Bon appetit!" he whispered with a grin across his face. He watched as the woman splashed into the churning water. The sharks came quickly, and he saw the last frantic and helpless look in her eyes as she was pulled under and away. He was disappointed they hadn't torn her apart on the surface.
He calmly walked back on deck and got a hose to clean up the mess.
Chapter Two
“Good morning, Detective.”
Alex Frank turned away from the ocean, almost knocking over the cup of coffee on the armrest of the weathered Adirondack chair on the deck of the old beach house. He smiled and made room for Hanna to sit beside him. He was dressed in wrinkled white shorts and a faded Clemson t-shirt. His short brown hair was mussed from sleep. Three days beard remained unshaven and showed traces of gray along the edges of his chin.
Hanna felt his hand on her shoulder as she looked out over the beach and the blinding glare on the water as the sun just made its way above the far horizon. A low bank of clouds far to the east of Pawleys Island was cast in deep crimson with yellow shafts of sunlight pushing through. A sliver of the new moon was just now fading as a freshening breeze from the south moved the sea oats along the dunes in a slow cadence. A school of dolphin broke the stillness of the water, rising effortlessly, over and over to take another breath and continue on their early morning migration toward the inlet.
“Why do we ever leave this place?” she heard him say behind her.
“Let’s not.” She turned and leaned back into him, feeling his arms come around her and pull her close.
“It’s Monday,” he said.
“Be late.”
“I have to meet Lonnie at nine.” Lonnie Smith was his long-time partner in the Charleston Police Detective Squad.
Hanna pulled her phone from the pocket of her robe. It was 6:30, and she scrolled down her calendar. “I need to be back in Charleston mid-morning. Do you have time for some breakfast?”
He didn’t answer.
She turned and saw him looking across the dunes and the long expanse of the Atlantic to the south. “Alex?”
“I’m sorry, just thinking about the call with my father last night.”
“You really think his memory is starting to slip?”
He took a sip from his coffee. “He’s been forgetful for years. The booze hasn’t helped.” He pulled her closer and rested his chin in her hair. “His new mate, Robbie, called the other day to tell me the Skipper couldn’t find his way back to the inlet on Friday on their last shrimp run.”
Alex’s father, Jordan “Skipper” Frank, had owned and operated the Maggie Mae shrimp boat out of Dugganville, South Carolina for over forty years. Alex and his deceased brother, Bobby, had grown up on the boat running shrimp with their father. Bobby had been lost to the war in the Middle East. Alex had chosen law enforcement after his tour of duty in the Marines. The Skipper had carried on without them and still managed to make a decent living harvesting shrimp along the Carolina coast.
“He couldn’t find the inlet to the bay?” Hanna asked, sitting up and reaching for his coffee cup.
“Robbie told me he nearly ran aground two miles south of the buoy, thinking he was coming into the river mouth.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
Alex took a deep breath and looked away. “He laughed it off, said he was still hungover from the night before down at Gilly’s. He also didn’t remember what day it was when I wished him a Happy Birthday last night.”
“He forgot his own birthday?” Hanna said. “You’d think after all the trouble with the murder charge last year and his blackouts, he’d cut back some on the drinking.”
“I think it’s getting even worse.”
Skipper Frank had been arrested for the murder of Horton Bayes, a rival shrimper from Dugganville. The man had been found brutally beaten and killed on the deck of his own shrimp boat. All signs pointed to Alex’s father who had been pulled apart from a fight at Gilly’s Bar with Bayes earlier that same night. Alex and Hanna had helped to track down the real killer, a long-time friend of the family who had gotten sideways with Bayes and a drug ring operating in the area.
“Is it safe for him to even be out on the water anymore?” she asked.
“Robbie’s a good man. He’s keeping him out of trouble for now, but you know how damn stubborn my old man is.”
Hanna handed the coffee back and leaned in to kiss him. He held her close and buried his face in the warm curve of her neck.
She whispered, “You hungry.”
“Not so much.”
“When do you have to leave?”
“Soon,” he said. “I need to shower.”
“Is there room for two?” she asked, pulling back and smiling.
Chapter Three
Alex decided at the last minute to take the turn to Dugganville on his way back to Charleston. He had called his partner to tell him he'd be late and would meet him down at the precinct closer to ten. He felt compelled to check on Skipper, as he'd called his father since he was in high school. The narrow two-lane off Highway 17, to the little fishing village on the banks of the Duggan River leading out to the Intracoastal and Bulls Bay on the Atlantic was lined with pine and live oak. Cattle farms and cotton fields with stately restored Antebellum homes from the old plantations were draped in a low mist that had yet to burn off in the heat of the coming day. The sun was just above the trees now, glowing gold and blinding as he headed east into town.
The old familiar Main Street in Dugganville was just coming to life with several cars parked in front of Andrew's Diner for breakfast and two pick-ups in front of the hardware store. He drove along the river and saw the tangle of docks and tall masts from the sailboats and the riggings from the few shrimp boats that still plied the local waters.
As he pulled up to their old family house on the hill above the river and the dock that held the Maggie Mae, he saw that his father's truck was not in the drive. On a hunch, he turned left at the first street and drove two blocks to Ella Moore's house, the mother of his ex-wife, Adrienne. His father and Ella had somehow survived an on again, off again relationship over the years after Alex's mother had been killed in a car accident. Ella usually drank even more than the Skipper and their public displays of drunkenness and screaming arguments were legendary i
n town. His father's truck was parked in front and he pulled in behind it on the dirt shoulder.
Alex hadn't seen or heard from his ex-wife since she had come back to town over a year ago with a young son who she had, at first, told Alex was theirs. Her deceit had eventually been revealed when the real father came up from Florida for her and their son. Adrienne's attempts to win him back were still an occasional sticking point between him and Hanna. Hanna's trust issues with men were certainly justified from past relationships, including a now deceased husband who was a serial cheater, including with her best friend at the time, Grace Holloway.
Hanna had every right to still be skeptical of Adrienne's intentions, but he assumed now that his ex had finally settled in with the new husband down in South Florida, that issue was behind them. He hoped that was the case.
His time together with Adrienne from high school through his years away in the service had been marked with her repeated betrayals and deceptions. She almost convinced him to take her and the boy back when she had last returned to Dugganville during his father's murder investigation. He had come close to losing Hanna in the process.
As he walked up the steps to his former mother-in-law's house, he thought about how fortunate he was to have found Hanna Walsh. They had worked through most of their issues and it had been good with the two of them together this past year. He smiled as he remembered their parting shower just a short time ago.
He was coming up on the porch when his father opened the door and looked up in surprise at the sight of his son. "What the hell you doing here?"
"I was about to ask you the same," Alex said, stepping aside so the Skipper could open the screen door and join him on the porch.
From inside, Alex heard, "Get your ass out of my house and don't come back!"
"I can see you and Ella are still hittin' it off," Alex said.
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