Murder in Mystic Cove Read online

  Murder in Mystic Cove

  By Daryl Anderson

  Guarding the manicured wilds of an exclusive retirement community might seem like exile to a homicide cop. But Addie Gorsky moved to Florida to live with her ailing father, not to chase criminals. In fact, her new job as head of Mystic Cove security is a nice break from all the big-city bloodshed.

  But when the community’s most despised resident is found dead in his tricked-out golf cart, Addie’s ready for action. The local cops focus on the obvious suspect—the unhappy wife—but Addie knows there’s more to the story. When the sheriff asks for assistance, she can’t resist. Only the deeper she digs, the more questions she turns up.

  Surrounded by secretive, tight-lipped residents, Addie soon finds herself hip-deep in a mystery as tangled as cypress roots—and directly in the sights of a cool, clever killer who has no compunction about killing again...

  90,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  It’s unbelievable to me that the holiday season is here already. I feel as though I was just stuffing myself full of holiday cookies, spiced wine and all of the wonderful chocolates sent to me during the holidays. But here we are again in what some call the season of joy, while others call it “the season where I avoid all shopping malls for at least two months.” If you’re one of those avoiding all of the seemingly endless holiday tasks, preparations and shopping, let us help you procrastinate with another fantastic lineup of books. If you’re one who revels in the season of joy, not to worry, these books will only add to your enjoyment of the season.

  This month, we have so many returning authors who are fan favorites, I’m not sure where to start. So instead, I’ll start with those who are new, either to readers, to Carina Press, or both. Beginning with debut author Michele Mannon, whose book first came to my attention two years ago during a cold-reads session at a meeting of New Jersey Romance Writers. During that session, I gave Michele some suggestions for strengthening her opening and she worked on it for several months before going on to win a few contests and eventually pitching it to me, at which point I acquired it with great enthusiasm. I hope you’ll check out her fantastic love story of a former ballerina turned ring girl and a brooding, sexy fighter in Knock Out, book one of the Worth the Fight trilogy. And don’t mind me while I claim partial credit for the opening line...

  Joining Michele with a debut book is Timothy S. Johnston and his science-fiction thriller. It’s Agatha Christie meets Michael Crichton in The Furnace as homicide investigator Kyle Tanner travels to a remote space station to solve a mysterious death that may have enormous consequences for the human race.

  Our third debut author makes her appearance in one of my annual holiday collections. These have become a tradition at Carina Press, and one that I love, since I get a chance to work with a new variety of authors every year. This year, we have four collections. Last month saw the release of two of them: Gift of Honor, a military holiday collection, and Season of Seduction, an erotic holiday collection.

  This month we release the two contemporary holiday collections, and it’s in For My Own that Shari Mikels makes her writing debut with her novella Christmas Curveball. Joining her in this contemporary romance collection are new-to-Carina author Kinley Cade with her novella Kissing Her Scrooge, and fan-favorite Alison Packard with A Christmas for Carrie.

  In the second contemporary romance holiday collection, returning authors Christi Barth, Brighton Walsh and Kat Latham join together to offer some holiday love and forgiveness in All I’m Asking For with their novellas Tinsel My Heart, Season of Second Chances and Mine Under the Mistletoe.

  Also new to Carina Press this month are authors Keri Ford, Ann DeFee, T.C. Mill and Daryl Anderson, each offering up something different for reader entertainment. Keri Ford brings us a fun contemporary romance in Never Stopped Loving You, in which the heroine has to remind herself: don’t date your friends—and definitely don’t ever date your friend’s brother. Ann DeFee’s Beyond Texas is a fast-paced contemporary romance of mystical lights that dance across the desert as the hero and heroine, Cole Claiborne and Twinkie Sue Carmichael, discover love while thwarting an evil cult, giving new meaning to the old saying “Don’t Mess with a Texan.”

  In T.C. Mill’s male/male fantasy novella, Gardens Where No One Will See, Nemaran’s gentle attentions inspire Renad to go beyond the boundaries he’s set for himself for so long—but can they help him break free of even crueler bondage?

  And last in the new-to-Carina category, Daryl Anderson is on the scene in Murder in Mystic Cove. In this new mystery, a former Baltimore homicide detective thought she’d put murder cases behind her—until she discovered a resident in her father’s retirement community shot dead in his golf cart.

  Returning to Carina Press with contemporary romance Love Me Not, Reese Ryan introduces us to struggling artist Jamie Charles, who finds refuge from the painful secrets of her past in her art and prefers living on the edge—without the complications of love—until she encounters charming ad exec Miles Copeland, who is harboring his own dark past and is determined to have her heart.

  Fantasy romance author Shawna Thomas has the third installment in her Triune Stones series, Journey of Wisdom. It’s not too late to catch up before the series wraps up with the last book, Journey of the Wanderer, in February 2014.

  If you’re looking to spice up your holidays with a BDSM erotic romance, The Dom Project by Heloise Belleau and Solace Ames will keep you warm, even when it’s cold outside. When buttoned-up university archivist Robin Lessing agrees to spend one month submitting to a sexy, tattooed colleague, she presents her new Dom with a firm set of rules. But once they begin their stimulating sessions, it’s not long before she’s ready to beg him for more—much more.

  Also this month, we have three powerhouse fan favorites with new books. Shannon Stacey returns to the Kowalskis with the much-anticipated Love a Little Sideways. When Drew Miller had a casual rebound fling with his best friend’s sister, he thought she’d go back to New Mexico and stay there, but now Liz Kowalski has come home to stay, and Drew’s feelings for her might not be as casual as he thought.

  After a two-year wait, Lauren Dane is back with Blade to the Keep, the follow-up to Goddess with a Blade. Rowan Summerwaite is no ordinary woman. With the power of an ancient goddess in her belly, she’s the perfect candidate to re-negotiate the fragile Treaty keeping the peace between the Vampire Nation and the last line of defense for humanity, The Hunter Corporation. And she’s got to do it as she attempts to manage a politically awkward romance during a trip back to a place she escaped nearly fifteen years before. No pressure.

  Wrapping up this month is The Principle of Desire, the final book in the Science of Temptation trilogy from Delphine Dryden. 1 Sexy Switch + 1 Nerdy Newbie = A Master Class in Seduction.

  Last, no matter what your religion, or what you celebrate, books are a common bond, so from all of us at Carina Press, we wish you a wonderful season of reading. May there be incredible books, stories and characters on your ereaders all year long!

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Dedication

  To my husband, Steve

 
Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank Patricia and Shannon, my first readers. Special thanks to Beth for her friendship and support. Thanks to my editor, Deb Nemeth, for her help in shaping the manuscript. Finally, thanks to Fera and Sally, who made the lonely business of writing less lonely.

  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

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  The Dead Man in the Woods

  The golf cart whined as it lumbered up the incline. I pulled my jacket tight. Although the eastern sky blushed with the promise of warmth and light, it was cold and dark in Birnam Wood. But after the endless Florida summer I welcomed the cold, and the shadows were no matter. I knew the twisted paths and byways of Mystic Cove well enough to make my way blindfolded. I tapped the brake in anticipation of the impending curve, but as I turned, something flashed in the woods just outside my peripheral vision. It was probably nothing, and one of my security guards was waiting for me to relieve him, but I double-backed to investigate.

  My headlights picked out a trace of crushed centipede grass headed in the general direction of the flash. I turned on the cart’s hazard light and grabbed a flashlight. Walking the path would only take a few minutes. Birnam Wood was no true forest, just an assortment of shrubs and trees landscaped to resemble woods, and no path went too deep. And, sure enough, several hundred yards in, the trail opened into a small clearing. I paused, not liking the place.

  Despite its proximity to the paved road, the clearing was strangely isolated, surrounded by a thicket of saw palmettos and hovering palms. A solitary place made for mischief, but I relaxed when my flashlight danced off the red metal of Mel Dick’s red golf cart, which was sitting in the middle of the clearing. In the breaking dawn I could make out the old devil’s silhouette sitting in the driver’s seat. I jogged toward the cart.

  “Everything okay? Mr. Dick?” I stopped, taking it all in at once.

  Mel Dick looked as if he were on his way to a luau. On the coldest morning of the year he wore an ill-fitting blue Hawaiian shirt and green shorts. He looked straight ahead, as if contemplating the blooming oleander, but the eyes were strangely vacant. I touched his shoulder—icy cold through the thin fabric. My fingers fumbled for the old man’s carotid, but when I pressed, there was no answering throb.

  I was much too late. From the feel of that cold, unyielding flesh, the old man had been dead for hours. It had been a lonely death in this solitary place, but at least it had been quick and painless. In death Mel’s face looked as it had in life, with its habitual expression of mild irritation and self-satisfaction.

  I opened my cell to make the call I’d made so many times before. As security chief of Mystic Cove—an upscale retirement community in the manicured wilds of north Florida—I often facilitated in the eviction of the newly dead.

  “Grubber County Sheriff’s Office.”

  “It’s Addie Gorsky, Chief of Security out at the Cove.”

  “Who bought the farm this time?”

  I was about to answer when I saw the hole in Mel Dick’s right temple, staring at me in the red dawn like a malignant third eye. I bent close, sniffed the metallic tang of gunpowder and saw the gray dust around the cylindrical wound. Mel’s death might have been quick, but it was hardly painless.

  “There’s been a murder in the Cove,” I said. “Somebody shot Mel Dick.”

  As I gave my report, the officer was mostly silent, probably a little in shock. Murder was rare in sleepy Grubber County and unheard of in the Cove. Next I called Jesse Potts at the Admiral Street guardhouse.

  “Chief, I thought you was coming to relieve me.” Jesse yawned through the words.

  “Change of plan, Jesse. The police are on their way. When they get there I need you to bring them to me.” I described my location. “You know the place?”

  “Yeah,” Jesse said, and then, “Who died?”

  I hesitated. Jesse’s imagination was always in gear and mention of murder would put it into overdrive. “There has been a death, but right now I need you to do what I asked. We’ll talk later. Okay?”

  “Was it Mr. Dick?”

  Now that was a surprise. “We’ll talk later,” I told Jesse, only this time I meant it.

  The day grew brighter with each passing second. Although the temperature lingered in the forties, as the day progressed the mercury would inch upward until it reached a perfect seventy degrees before beginning its unhurried descent. Another day in paradise. But all I saw was the awful wound in the old man’s head. When I’d been on the job I’d seen similar wounds in suicides by gunshot, the stippling and cylindrical shape hallmarks of a close-range shot.

  I heard the squeal of sirens and automatically glanced again at the body sitting in that ridiculous cart as if it were waiting for the light to change. But the tramp of heavy feet and excited shouts told me my time was over.

  Jesse Potts appeared first, bolting into the clearing like a rabbit on the run. On his heels were two paramedics and a couple of uniforms. A flurry of activity as the paramedics descended on the body, but the frenzy was short-lived. I pulled away from the crime scene, taking Jesse with me. Security guards were either former cops like me or cop wannabes like Jesse. I feared that if left to his own devices, he would trail his heroes like a lovesick puppy. Besides, I had a question or two for my young guard.

  “Shouldn’t we be helping?” Jesse asked.

  “No, our part is done. Well, almost done. The deputies will want to take our statements.” Jesse looked like hell. Sure, nobody looked fresh at the end of a graveyard shift, but he looked worse than most, his face all sharp angles and dark hollows. “Are you all right?”

  I was about to repeat the question when Jesse sighed and said, “Oh, I seen dead people before. There was Grandpa at the funeral parlor and Mrs. Whitson who dropped dead on Long Pier three summers ago. Remember her?”

  “No, that was before my time.”

  “Oscar gave her CPR but it didn’t help.” Jesse met my gaze. “But this is different, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, this is different. This is murder.” And murder changed everything it touched, even bit players like Jesse and me who watched from the sidelines.

  “Somebody murdered Mr. Dick,” he said.

  Jesse had an impressive grasp of the obvious. Too bad everything else eluded him. The small clearing was quickly filling with uniforms, so I pulled Jesse farther from the action. “Earlier when I told you that someone had died, why did you assume it was Mel Dick?”

  Jesse chewed that over. “Because he looked like a dead man walking. I figured it was just a matter of time.”

  Before I could respond to this remarkable statement, a tall lanky figure crashed into the clearing.

  “Where is he?” A deep voice rumbled. “Where’s Mel Dick?” Grubber County Sheriff Bubba Spooner had arrived and was loaded for bear.

  Spooner gathered his team around him. The sheriff towered over everyone—a dark oak, with his sable brown hair and face tanned by years in the Florida sun, surrounded by a bunch of saplings. I
only caught snatches of conversation, but their body language told me plenty. To a person, the deputies and CSU techs were jacked, excited at the prospect of a murder investigation, but Spooner was royally pissed. He hid it pretty well beneath the cop façade, but I knew the signs well enough. When Spooner dismissed his people, two deputies trotted over to Jesse and me. It was time to give our statements.

  Jesse paired off with his date and I got stuck with Deputy Berry. Before we got down to business, I tried to tell Berry about Anita. Mel and Anita Dick lived on nearby Admiral Street and by now Mrs. Dick would have heard the commotion. Someone, preferably the primary investigator, had to talk to her before she found out about Mel. But Berry wouldn’t let me talk.

  “We’ll take care of Mrs. Dick soon enough,” Berry said with a smug smile, “just describe how you found the body.”

  Maybe Berry thought he was being efficient, but it was a mistake. When I worked Homicide, I always let people talk, at least to a point. People revealed themselves when they spoke, even murderers. Especially murderers. But if Berry wanted the quick and dirty version, I’d let him have it.

  When I’d finished my brief account, Berry looked like he’d had one too many turns on the Tilt-A-Whirl.

  “Anything else I can help you with?”

  “Why were you so all-fired sure it was Dick’s golf cart before you even seen the body?”

  Grinning, I gestured for Berry to take a gander at the death cart. The vehicle was a miniature facsimile of a Humvee, covered with American flags, liberty bells, and even a grinning Miss Liberty. One of a kind, thank God.

  “Why were you in the woods so early?” Berry asked.

  I struggled to keep a straight face. Berry invested each word with a laughable degree of suspicion. “I was on my way to relieve my guard Jesse Potts at the Admiral Street guardhouse.”

  Now it was Berry’s turn to grin. “You mean Empty Potts? That boy is one pancake short of a stack.”

  I glared at Berry. I’d seen and heard it all before, from those who underestimated Jesse. “Boy, you is dumb as a stump!” they’d say, or “Your antenna just don’t pick up all the channels.” They packed their cruelty in colorful language, as if that made it less cruel. Maybe Jesse wasn’t smart, but his emotions ran true. “Are we finished here?”