Deep, Down & Dead

By Elizabeth Cameron

Have you ever been cheated on?
Do you know someone that has?
Cheating husbands be very scared.
Here is a tale of sweet revenge - WOMAN STYLE!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Cameron
• Release date: Aug 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476003153

Elizabeth Cameron

Elizabeth Cameron is a known artist having published many non-fiction books as well as a syndicated newspaper column.Retirement has enabled her to concentrate on her true love of suspenseful and mysterious novels.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

SATURDAY

I was stunned. Several seconds passed before I could comprehend what I was seeing. No, not what I was seeing. Who I was seeing. I stared disbelievingly, the shock freezing my mind in denial. This couldn’t be. This can’t be.

It was.

As reality returned I instinctively moved to obscure myself from his view. I had stopped at the newsstand to grab an issue of San Diego Magazine and a city map for my incoming clients. As usual I had gotten lost in perusing the latest paperback novels. Then glancing up hoping to find a nearby monitor relaying flight information, I saw him.

At least the similarities were there. The dark, wavy hair, the moustache, the swarthy complexion. But his eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, his body undefined both by the folds of his windbreaker and the café itself. His watchfulness though, edged me back even further from the plate glass window to hide myself from his view.

The man seated at the small table across the airport concourse was sipping a Starbucks coffee and glancing nervously around as if expecting the arrival of someone already late.

I think it was his obvious nervousness that set both my mind and body in motion. Quickly I retrieved my digital camera from my shoulder bag and as discreetly as I could, snapped off three pictures. My glance at the results was disappointing. The glare of the store glass, the distance and the dimness showed at best the image I had captured but lacked any crispness of details. Then suddenly he stood as a dark haired, very attractive woman approached and they embraced. It was an intimate but brief encounter. While she settled herself at the table, he returned with a coffee for her, glancing at his watch as he did. I snapped off another three pictures with the same results.

I began to anticipate their next move. If my hunch was right, they were getting ready to board a flight. If she had just flown in, he would have met her at the arrivals gate. The fact that he was still checking the time suggested they wouldn’t be there much longer.

In the next seconds my panic turned to a plan. In a corner of the newsstand among the usual souvenirs were the inevitable T-shirts and baseball caps. I grabbed a cap and got to the cash counter with my magazine and map and waited. With agonizing slowness, the elderly Japanese man ahead of me extracted a ten dollar bill from his wallet, examined it first to verify the denomination and handed it to the clerk. She returned a few coins and seven dollars in bills which he then re-counted, putting the coins in his pants pocket and replacing the bills back in his wallet. Then almost screaming with impatience I waited for him as he nodded a thank you to the clerk picked up his bagged purchase, and slowly turned in the direction of his wife, spoke a few words in Japanese to her and finally tottered away. Two minutes later I had my own purchases in hand. I dug my dark glasses out of my shoulder bag and donned the hat. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it might give me the few moments it would take to get out of the newsstand where I would be in full view.

It worked. Involved in a very animated conversation neither of them glanced in my direction. I rushed towards the ticket counters, seemingly miles in the opposite direction. I guessed that L.A. would be a logical destination. A twenty minute flight maybe – probably several a day. I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to L.A. The ticket had one purpose. It was to get me through security clearance. I was interested in going to only one destination. The departure gates.

With a ticket in hand, I raced back to back to where I had seen them. By now I was certain who he was. Who she was I had no idea. But Gerry Cassidy was my brother-in-law, my sister’s devoted husband and father to their three young boys. The same man who had disappeared from a fishing boat six weeks ago in Cabo San Lucas and was presumed drowned.

CHAPTER 2

SATURDAY

They were gone.

How long had I been away? Fifteen minutes? Twenty minutes? I played my hunch and began moving in the direction of the departure gates. I scanned every passenger ahead of me, both afraid of being spotted and afraid of losing them altogether. Something in the back of my mind though, was keeping me from a face to face encounter with him. Was it merely the fact that this man had been presumed dead? Or was it the tense furtive glances he gave his surroundings that suggested something more sinister? Either way, if this man really was Jerry Cassidy, I couldn’t afford to lose him. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but if he boarded a plane to an unknown destination I would have no way to confirm that he was actually alive. Anger began to replace shock as I thought of my sister, devastated at the loss of her husband, her life shattered. And I remembered my three nephews, so young, so in need of a father to help shape and direct their young lives.

Ahead of me the crowd slowed, and we began to approach security. I hung back not wanting to be forced into a line that would expose my presence. Then as I turned I saw them approaching behind me. Damn! I slipped off to one side, taking out my cell phone and turning my head as if to make a call yet still able to observe them.

She was teetering on high heels scrambling to keep pace with his stride. Without slowing he crumpled his Starbucks coffee cup and dropped it into a trash container. Then they took their place and worked their way through the security procedures. When they were both collecting their belongings, I joined the lineup betting that they would continue to their gate. When I was finally ushered through they were out of sight.

Now I had to be very cautious. Once at their departure gate, and waiting to board with little else to do, they’d be in a position to spot me very easily.

The first gate appeared with only a handful of passengers. No sign of them. The next gate appeared a little more crowded but again, no sign of them there. I approached the next four gates using my fake phone calls to allow me time to observe the waiting passengers. Still no sign of them.

I was beginning to panic. How could I have missed them? Or worse, had they spotted me and somehow eluded my attention?

Then, with only two departure gates remaining, I saw them ahead of me. I dared not go much further, but I had to know which gate. Unexpectedly, they stopped, spoke briefly and then parted. He moved to the gate on the right and she began to walk directly towards me.

My heart stopped. What did this mean? Was she some kind of decoy? Had they suspected they had been followed? Once again I turned away from her approaching direction and deployed my cell phone call. When she walked past me, I could have reached out and touched her. Then I saw her move towards the women’s restroom, and I followed. As best I could tell, she had paid no attention to me.

Inside the restroom, several of the cubicles were occupied. While I busied myself washing my hands she emerged from one of them, moved to one of the many sinks on the long counter, washed her hands and then extracted a cosmetic bag and began freshening her make-up.

I had guessed her age to be early thirties, but my closer view added at least another five years. She had a sultry sexy look about her enhanced by meticulously applied make-up, and dark hair swept up in the back to fall in casual curls around her face. Black pants, a white blouse tied at the waist and spilling ample cleavage at the neckline enhanced a very voluptuous body. All of this was then complimented by bangles, earrings and rings. It was a come hither appearance, enough to make most men come back for seconds. She was obviously Hispanic, but even in Southern California’s large Mexican population, she could also be from anywhere in Central or South America.

That left me with another uneasy thought; their destination. She finished her primping, snapped her handbag shut and left the restroom. A moment or so later I left following her to the departure gate where he stood waiting for her.

The podium was now staffed, and airline personnel were readying to call for the departure.

Southwest Airlines Flight number 6304 is now preparing to board...

Please, I whispered to myself, not a flight to say Costa Rica, or Colombia or Venezuela. I waited for the words I needed to hear.

Puerto Vallarta.

I let my breath slowly escape. I now knew exactly where they were going.

CHAPTER 3

SATURDAY

Minutes later they disappeared into the mouth of the boarding ramp, and I began to rapidly retrace my steps as I glanced at my watch. I was late for the arrival of my clients and could only hope they were delayed in getting off the plane. Then just as I was passing the security gate, I spotted the refuse container where Jerry Cassidy had disposed of his coffee cup. I slid the swinging lid open and looked inside. Instead of the single coffee cup I counted five! All the same size, all the same brand. Quickly I scooped one inside another and emerged with a small stack I hurriedly put in my shoulder bag. I glanced around, but it seemed passengers were intent on the details of either boarding a flight or arriving home and no one seemed to have paid me any attention.

Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland were at the arrival gate expectantly looking for their name on a placard carried by tour guides as a means of contacting their clients. I was about to slip mine out of my bag when I recognized the elderly couple, handsome and well-dressed, from the photos I’d already seen of them.

I led them down to baggage claim, arranged a porter to stand by for their luggage and left to retrieve my car and fifteen minutes we were leaving the airport. Only then did they beg off the sightseeing we had planned and immeasurably relieved, I saw them settled in their Sheraton suite, confirmed the bouquet of flowers had arrived, and the bottle of champagne was waiting in the mini fridge for them, gave them their magazine and map and agreed to pick them up at 10:00 in the morning.

While I maneuvered my way onto the ramp to 5 heading north, I surreptitiously speed dialed my sister.

She seemed to take forever to answer, and when she did her voice was unsteady.

Kat? I queried. Is that you? You sound awfully strange."

Oh… hi. No, everything’s fine, she answered.

The boys? I asked. Are they okay?

Oh, they’re fine.

I sensed something had happened. "Look, I’m on 5. I’ve just left Hotel Circle. I’d like to stop by and get some files before going home because I’ll be busy with clients in