TODAY, OUR FABULOUS TEAM MEMBER, AUTHOR DAVID W THOMPSON, IS SHARING AN EXCERPT FROM HIS NOVEL, 'LOVE FLOATS' - SECOND BOOK IN THE EMMA LOVE MYSTERY SERIES #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat
- 12 hours ago
- 9 min read
'LOVE FLOATS' - EXCERPT
I stretched to lift the first of the four kayaks we’d take out on the Bay this evening. It was the inaugural moonlight float for my company, Love’s Kayaking Floats, and Tours. My clients and fellow paddle enthusiasts were scheduled to be on-site within the next half hour. The full moon reflected off the mirrored surface of the bay. Despite the fog moving in, it promised to be a perfect night for a float.
I pulled four life vests from the Amish-built shed I’d bought over the winter, then grabbed four whistles and four paddles. That took care of the hardware. I pulled a bungee cord tight over the small cooler with bottled water, and we were ready to go.
After the fight with Sam just hours before, I needed this jaunt into tranquil waters—no pun intended. My winter of discontent was over. Spring was in the air. I was glad I had my private investigator’s license to fill in for kayaking’s dead season. It helped to pay the bills, but Sam couldn’t understand that I needed a reprieve from cheating husbands and wives. I needed time in nature, floating in the river and tending my garden.
I hoped my companions this evening agreed with my way of thinking. Some customers chatted non-stop during our trips. Others made the whole journey with a set of earphones plugged in, usually with enough volume that the entire party was distracted and missed the whole point. But I considered it a success if they enjoyed the journey.
I only knew one of my guests this evening. Katrina Baker was an old friend, or at least as close as I got to one in high school, even though she was a year ahead of me. She was a bombshell in school, as the teenage boys described her. Her long bottle-blonde hair and shapely figure got her out of as many jams as they got her into. Katrina opened a bakery about the same time I returned home and just after her divorce. The rumor was that her husband had found someone younger in the next county.
I guess the bakery was preordained, considering Katrina’s last name. Her Maple and Main Street corner sign read Baker’s Bakery Shop. They made the best donuts in town. Kat was bringing her younger sister along on her first kayaking adventure. I wasn’t surprised that I didn’t remember her. Upperclassmen tend to overlook students in the lower grades. Sofia was two years behind me. The last two ladies joining us were one of Sofia’s old classmates who was home for a visit and one of her friends.
As I slid the last kayak in the water and tied it by the launch, a set of headlights pulled into my driveway. I couldn’t tell what vehicle it was. The moon was full, but the fog was thick. The mist between me and the car appeared to engulf me.
“Hey, Emma. Do you need some help?” Katrina yelled.
“No, I think I’m good.” I heard three separate car doors slam—even though I could only discern ghostly figures drifting through the mist.
“You don’t think some hot-rod teenager will run over us in a powerboat out there, do you?” she asked.
“We’ll stay close to shore in the shallows, Kat. I’m going into the house for a moment to grab some lights. You ladies can unload any gear you have. Pick out your kayak and make sure your life vests fit. Katrina said you were all young and skinny.”
“Maybe them. I’m sure I didn’t say that about myself,” Katrina laughed.
“No worries, they are adjustable,” I said. “You’re going to bake in that thick sweatshirt, Kat. It’s only dropping down to 65 degrees or so by the time we get back.”
“I don’t like to be cold,” she answered.
“OK, I warned you. But wasn’t there a fourth lady coming?”
“Our other friend has been out of touch. I don’t think she will make it.”
“Shame, but that’s fine. Give me a minute, and I’ll be right back. There’s one more thing we need.”
I trotted toward the house, and Sam opened the door as I approached.
“You sure you want to go out in this? The fog is getting thick, and the temperature is supposed to drop around midnight.”
“We’ll be fine. You know I’ve done this a hundred times. I think I could paddle to River’s End and back blindfolded.”
“You have your phone, just in case?”
“I do. Don’t worry. We should be back in about two hours. Some of the women haven’t kayaked before. I don’t want to push them too much on their first outing. Plus, we’ll be hanging close to the shoreline.”
With the flashlights in hand, I hugged Sam, “See you soon, Sam.”
“Make sure you do. Be safe out there.”
“Maybe you’ll join me sometime.”
“I’m strictly a landlubber, Emma, but I may have to learn to keep up with you.”
When I walked down the bank to the Bay, my kayakers were already sitting in their kayaks at the water’s edge.
“Ready to go, I see,”
“We are,” Katrina said. “Oh, Emma, where are my manners? You remember my sister, Sofia, right?”
“Sure, I remember her,” I lied. “How have you been, Sofia?” She was a thin woman with a pixie-cut hairstyle. The color was varied with flashes of pink, blue, and fluorescent green.
“Great. A little nervous about tipping over tonight, but otherwise, I’m good. We studied the brochure you gave Katrina, and I think we have the paddling strokes down. This is my old friend Valerie. She lives in New York now but gets home occasionally, and we have a girls' night out without my kids or hubby when she does.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Valerie,” I said, and we shook hands.
“It’s just Val, Emma. Do you have any tips on not falling out of this boat? No, don’t laugh. I’m serious.”
“I know, and you’d be amazed how often I’m asked that. Stay in the center of the kayak. Don’t lean out over the sides. This is flat water, Val. You don’t need any fancy strokes here. Paddle only on the left, and you’ll turn right and vice versa. If you want to turn fast, stick your paddle straight down, and you’ll turn in that direction. It’s a relaxing float. You’ll see.”
I put a flashlight under the bungee straps at the front of each woman’s kayak.
“Just an added safety measure,” I assured them. With that, we paddled out into the Bay.
Katrina and Sofia mastered the paddling with minimal effort. Valerie started well until she turned in a big circle, and her kayak headed back toward the bank.
“Even strokes, Val. One side and then the other.”
She was a quick learner, and we floated past the first inlet creek and beyond. An owl released its eerie purring trill followed by a whinnying sound, not unlike a ghostly and demented colt.
“What the heck was that?” Sofia asked. “It sounded like the Headless Horseman’s beast.”
“It’s a screech owl. We hear them a lot at night,” I answered.
“Maybe that’s what you need as a partner for your private investigations, Emma. He could do all the late-night stakeouts,” Katrina said.
“That’s a great idea. I wonder if he works cheap?”
“I could use him at the bakery shop too.”
“I’m not sure that old Mister Owl would make a very good taste tester.”
“No—not for that. Didn’t Sam tell you? I had a break-in the night before last. It didn’t look like they took much. I had a little money in the cash register because there wasn’t enough to make a night drop at the bank worthwhile. I’d taken the money to the bank at lunchtime, and most of my business is in the mornings.”
“That’s terrible, Kat. What did the Sheriff’s office say?”
“They think it was kids. I know my insurance will pick up the tab for the broken door glass and the smashed cash register, but what if I worked late that night? I do sometimes so I can get an early start on the donuts for the morning rush. I had to take Harper to her high school for their night volleyball game, though. Guess I was lucky.”
“Little Harper is in high school now?”
“Little Harper is fourteen and going on thirty. She’s a sophomore, but she made the Varsity team this year. She scares me, Emma. She looks every bit of twenty-one and thinks she is too.” Katrina must have noticed the look in my eyes and figured I was doing the mental math.
“Remember, I started young and was held back in the first grade.” She laughed and wiggled in her seat.
“You sure did. I remember.” I nodded.
“Look, Emma. I must take a Mother Nature break. Sorry, I drank about a half-gallon of sweet tea before I left—like a dummy. Is this a good spot to get out? Is the bank dry?”
“Should be fine, and there are no venomous snakes, or poison ivy vines this time of year.”
“That’s good to know. You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up. I can paddle circles around those two young’ uns anyway.”
“Haha, so not funny,” Sofia said.
We paddled on for five minutes until we neared the last inlet before the River’s End housing development. I turned around but still couldn’t see Katrina. Sofia noticed.
“Shouldn’t she at least be out on the water by now, Emma?”
“I’m not sure, Sofia. Is she one of those who take Dostoevsky’s “War and Peace” to read in the bathroom?” I asked, joking for my client’s sake, but I also felt some concern. I shouldn’t have allowed her to split off from the group.
“We’ll give her five more minutes. If she is still a no-show, we’ll turn back to check on her,” I said.
The boom of a gun blast shattered the night. It was close, the sound pounding our ears. An eruption of water shot up twenty yards in front of our small flotilla. We were being shot at!
“Hey, there’s people down here in the water. Stop shooting!” I yelled.
I waved my kayakers toward the bank.
“Stay low and hug the shore.”
“Where are you going, Emma?” Sofia asked.
“I’ll be right back.” I brushed aside my cotton button-up shirt and reached into the belly-band holster. The cold steel of the handgun was a comfort.
The paddle sounded as soft as the gentle waves lapping on the bank. I pulled the kayak through the water toward the gunshot. The inlet there was shallow and murky. Cattails and phragmites reeds were thick around its opening, and the heavy fog cast a pallor over the pristine waterway. The air smelled of rotting leaves and swamp mud.
I pulled the kayak into the bank and stepped into the oozing mud near shore.
Another shot sounded and slapped the water a few yards from where I stood. I held my semi-auto 9mm in hand and pointed it at the clouds. Boom!
“Emma!” Sofia yelled behind me.
“Who are you?” I yelled. “I’m armed. Come out.”
I heard a rustling in the reeds and stepped fully into the opening. A shadowy figure raced away through the thick, foggy marsh. The rapid sloshing footfalls indicated at least two sets of feet. I could make out the white jacket the one closest to me wore as their steps carried them deeper into the heavy mist.
“Stop,” I yelled and shot into the air again, but their progress continued. They knew or were willing to take the chance that I wouldn’t shoot them.
I tried to give chase for a moment, but the swamp mud and water shoes did not go together. After digging my footwear out of the mire twice, I conceded defeat. The shooter or shooters were out of sight and long gone by then, anyway.
“It’s safe now, ladies,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
“Safer here than there,” I said. “The shooter was running away close to the shore in your general direction. He’s likely headed to one of the houses on Beacon Hill.”
I heard their paddles hit the water as soon as I spoke. Their paddling skills had improved dramatically since we started. Their kayaks pulled up even with mine in seconds.
I slipped my phone from its waterproof bag and dialed Sam’s number.
“Emma, is everything OK?”
“It’s been better, Sam. Someone was shooting near us. Their shots struck the water just a few yards in front of us. I shot back, up in the air, of course, and they ran off.”
“Did you see who it was? Could they still be in the area?”
“No, and no. At least, I think not. I saw them well enough to see they were hot-footing away from us.”
I looked back toward home and saw a small light on the water.
“Katrina is coming this way,” I said, and the younger women looked up.
“Thank God, she’s OK,” Sofia said.
“Where was Katrina? Did you get separated during the shooting? Is she injured?”
“She just needed a potty break, Sam. It’s OK, deep breaths...”
“Are you coming back now? No, never mind, wait right where you are. I’m coming to get the three of you in the sheriff's department’s skiff. What is your position?”
“We’re at the small inlet just before that big housing development, River’s End,” I said.
“Where the murder was last year. Comforting to know.”
“We’re fine, Sam. We can paddle back, can’t we ladies?” I asked loud enough for them to hear.
“I’m good with being picked up,” Sofia said.
“Me too,” Val said.
“I guess I am outvoted. Not a good indicator for future repeat business.”
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AUTHOR BIO
D.W. Thompson is the pen name of award-winning author David W. Thompson in the mystery genre. As a multi-genre author, he's accepted membership in the Horror Writer's Association, The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Association, and the Mystery Writers of America. David lives in picturesque Southern Maryland with nearby family and dear old friends. (You can read his paranormal tales and historical fiction listed under David W. Thompson and Paranormal Romance under Davina Guy)
When he isn't writing, Dave enjoys time with his family, kayaking (flat water, please), fishing, hiking, archery, gardening, wine-making, and pursuing his other "creative passion"- woodcarving.
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COMING SOON: On Wednesday, 15th April, we are delighted to welcome our guest author, Shaun Michael O'Neal, who is sharing an excerpt from his novel, 'Crossroads'.
