Death on the Water

By Alex Ashe

When the local cruise ship sinks unexpectedly in the frozen water, the town of Lake Pleasant springs into action to restore the ship. But there’s something more sinister going on. Investigator Mena Young, along with her colleagues, discover that not all secrets are best shared. Join Mena in her third novel, "Death on the Water."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Ashe
• Release date: Sep 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9780989083065

Alex Ashe

Alex Ashe writes novels from her home in New Hampshire where the environment and natural beauty inspire plot lines, characters and settings.New England offers a variety of historic sites, legends and landscapes that influence Alex's work. The close knit communities, architecture and Yankee mentality help to fuel plot lines and create rich characters.As the author explains, it is time female private detectives stole the limelight.“There are thousands of private detective stories out there, but ninety nine percent focus on the work of men. I wanted to show that females can be equally as cunning,” says Ashe.Continuing, “My upcoming series of novels will feature Mena Young as the protagonist, along with a series of mysteries that would certainly leave her male counterparts scratching their heads.”Since its launch, the book has garnered a consistent string of rave reviews.“A shocking murder mystery filled with intrigue! A very interesting read and fantastic start to the series! I cannot wait for book 2!” says Ashley, who reviewed the novel on Amazon.Another reader, Nika, was equally as impressed. She said that, “This was a terrific book. I love murder mysteries, and this one was gripping! Anyone who likes a murder with a twist, beware, you will be addicted!”With so much success on her hands, Ashe refuses to lose sight of what is really important.“Readers crave a private detective novel that is laced with mystery, suspense and a chaotic series of twists and turns. There are many wild and wonderful scenarios up my sleeve, all of which will be making it into my future books,” she concludes.Alex's first book Death of a Player takes place in a small New Hampshire town and is available for Kindle, Nook and iBooks. Her second book Death at the Notch will be released in mid 2013 and is set in northern New Hampshire.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I walked into the Lake Pleasant Police Station for the first time in twelve months. Aside from an unfamiliar face at the dispatch window, nothing had changed. After explaining that I was there to meet with Chief Cunningham, I was granted entry and buzzed into the waiting room that I had been in so many times before. I scanned the room and, to my relief, found that it was empty. I didn’t want to engage in small talk or be quizzed by someone who had heard about one of my previous investigations. Under most circumstances this interaction was beneficial to my career as a private investigator. It was good business for people to talk to me and crucial that I listen, but for the past twelve months the last thing I wanted was to be recognized.

I took the chair furthest from the entrance with my back to the wall, as had become my habit of late, and waited to be let into the offices. The overhead lights hummed and I heard muffled voices and sounds from the dispatch operator. I basked in the familiar setting and felt the tension in my shoulders subside. I placed my bag on the floor between my feet and exhaled. Finally, the door to the offices flew open and Dean Cunningham burst into the room.

Mena, it’s good to see you, he greeted me with open arms and enthusiasm. I stood up and returned his hug.

It’s good to be back, I responded.

I’m sorry if I kept you waiting; I was on the phone and didn’t realize you were already here. I would have sent someone to let you in- Dean continued, but I interrupted.

It’s all right. I’ve only been here a few moments.

Thanks for coming so early. I know the sun isn’t up yet, he said.

I doubt we’ll see the sun today. It was snowing on my drive up. I added, You know I don’t mind the early morning. It’s usually peaceful.

The chief looked at me intently and stood quietly.  He was staring too intensely and our conversation about the weather felt forced. It was as if he were sizing me up and trying to determine if I was all right.

Let’s go to my office and get caught up. Then we can talk shop. He unlocked the door using a numeric code and held it open for me as we headed into the hall. The walls were draped with plastic tarps held up by painter’s tape. Be careful where you step, he warned me. The painters only work at night and we have the air circulating, so the paint should be dry, but just in case. He placed his hand on my arm and guided me away from the wall. As we made our way to the chief’s office, Sergeant Pulaski came out from an office to our left and greeted me with a warm smile. She was wearing a puffy parka and holding a hat and gloves.

Mena, how are you? Are you back at work? she asked while stepping closer for a hug.

I embraced her and kissed her cheek and felt the jacket’s zipper brush against my face. Krystina, you look beautiful. I heard you’re getting married. Congratulations.

Krystina looked towards the chief and gave an embarrassed shrug, Kyle and I are planning to elope to Vegas next month, she smiled proudly. But some people don’t know when to keep quiet, she nodded in the chief’s direction.

Hey, you needed time off; I gave it to you. I just think you should get married before Kyle finds out how tough you can be, he joked.

Krystina rolled her eyes dramatically and smiled. My shift’s over for today. Glad you’re back, Mena, she beamed and nodded at the chief.

Be safe, Sergeant, he ordered.

You too, she zipped up her jacket, pulled on a knit cap over her auburn hair, and headed down the hall. We continued towards the chief’s office while narrowly avoiding the tarps swaying in the artificial breeze caused by the vents.

We entered the chief’s newly remodeled office, which still gave off an odor of fresh paint.  The walls were coated with a golden honey color and the ceiling was painted a light blue, which added a warmth to the previously industrial work area. A large desk sat in the center of the room, complete with a recessed monitor, shelves, and paneling that matched the color of the walls. Two modern, overstuffed chairs were placed in front of his desk, and the four old chairs that previously sat there were placed in the back of the room.  The only object on his desk was a single photo of his family taken at Christmastime. Plaques of recognition and achievement hung on the wall along with a map of Lake Pleasant and a large watercolor of the town hall.

The office looks great, I noted. I hadn’t been here in over a year’s time and seeing this new space gave me an uneasy feeling. The previous office was utilitarian and pragmatic, but I was accustomed to it. There is security and comfort in the familiar, and it would take me some time to adjust to the new look. The chief pointed to the overstuffed chairs to indicate that I should take a seat. I took the one closest to the wall and shifted it so my back was angled safely away from the door.

The chief took a seat at his desk and leaned back in his chair. The renovation is almost complete. My office was the last to be done, but during the last three months every office has been repainted. We moved some furniture around, added a second interrogation room, and updated the kitchen. Everyone is very pleased with that. We’re on track for project completion by the end of January… two months ahead of schedule. We’re coming in slightly under budget which will make the selectmen very happy.

I nodded. Again, there was an awkward silence.

Let’s cut right to the heart of the matter, Mena. I spoke with Susan and she assured me that you’ve been cleared to return to work, he hesitated for a moment, and when I didn’t reply, he continued. Dr. Harrison, Susan, says that not only are you cleared to work, but you’ve already returned to work over six months ago. He looked toward me and I realized his statement was more of an accusation. He sounded hurt, but his face reflected only concern.

That’s correct, I confirmed. I hadn’t worked with Chief Cunningham or the Lake Pleasant Police in over a year. My last investigation was a string of missing persons in Coos County, located in the most northern part of New Hampshire. The chief asked me to look into those cases as he had ties to one of the missing girls. Dean referred me to the Dryden Police Chief, who is also his brother, Rick Cunningham. I spent over a week investigating the disappearances with the Dryden and State Police. We were successful in finding the perpetrator, but it wasn’t without consequences. I spent three nights in the local hospital recovering from a concussion, two fractured ribs, and a broken ankle. I was sexually assaulted and beaten unconscious. The NH State Police, accompanied by the Cunningham brothers, arrived just in time to transport me to the local hospital for emergency treatment.

The healing process continued for months with physical therapy and minor cosmetic surgery in Boston. I healed rather quickly and was back on my feet in a few short weeks, but I continued to seek treatment for the deeper wounds that I only discussed with my husband Luther and Dr. Harrison.

I relived the attack thousands of times and recounted the biggest mistake of my life. A year ago, I made the split second decision to surrender my weapon and have spent every day regretting that decision. I hadn’t discussed that with Dean, who I knew carried his own misgivings about the consequences of the investigation. He knew everything that happened, not only because he read my statement, but because he spent the first twelve hours in the hospital with me. He held me when I woke up screaming in fear and watched over me when I rested with the help of a sedative. He was weighed down with guilt from taking responsibility for what happened to me, but I didn’t hold him accountable. Dean called daily and Luther fielded the calls. I asked my husband to explain to Dean that he wasn’t to blame, but I just didn’t want to discuss the attack with him. Dean continued to phone weekly and send flowers to the house, but I didn’t take his call or try to contact him. I didn’t object to Luther discussing the situation with Dean, but I just couldn’t bring myself to talk to him. I didn’t want to be pitied or to see our relationship change.

Dean claimed that he understood my request and their weekly chats continued. The chief always ended the conversation by asking me to contact him when I was ready. Luther relayed the messages to me, but never offered suggestions or advice on what to do. Luther’s patience and willingness to let me call the shots with the chief was the most supportive thing he could have done. Once again, Luther was a source of strength and love in my life.

Finally, in mid-December, I picked up the phone and left the chief a voicemail. I felt apprehensive about seeing him again. We hadn’t discussed the outcome of the investigation, aside from the legal matters, and I knew it was bound to come up.

I was glad to get your message that you’re able to return to work, er, I mean, that you’re ready to come back to work for us, he smiled.  We’re ten days into January and I’m sure we can use you. You look well, but are you sure you’re up to it? he asked cautiously.

I’m ready to come back to work, I affirmed.

Dean nodded, leaned back in his chair, and put his hands behind his head. Back in April, Luther told me you were staying in Boston. At the time, I thought it was recovery related, he admitted.

No, in April I was doing personal security for an eighteen-year-old. Her parents are politicians on the west coast and she needed a chaperone while looking at colleges.

How did that go?

Aside from the Boston Marathon bombings? I posed.

Oh, don’t tell me you were there? he sighed.

We were basically above them at the restaurant Top of the Hub. Her parents were flying in for the day and we were supposed to meet up for a late lunch. After we evacuated the building, like everyone else in that part of Copley, we returned to her townhouse where we waited for news. Her parents touched down at Logan, but doubled back to California without getting off the plane. Our interviews and tours were cancelled for the week, so I brought her and her driver back to Lake Pleasant with me for a few days. What started as a five day engagement wound up lasting six weeks.

Six weeks? You must have grown attached to this girl, he stated.

I admit that I did. Abby was cooperative, appreciative, and well beyond her eighteen years, I conceded.  At her parents request, we looked at colleges all along the east coast. Since we were up north, we went over to Dartmouth and then to Bates in Maine. After things quieted down in Massachusetts, we went back and looked at Harvard, BU, and BC. Then we worked our way south, from Columbia to Tulane.

From New Hampshire to New Orleans? She’s covering all her bases, he joked.

You bet. It’s hard work touring universities, I smiled. I accompanied her back to Sacramento and then met Luther in Tampa for a little vacation of our own.

How was that? his asked, his voice softening.

The tension drained from my shoulders and I began to relax. Just what I needed. But then, so was the security work. I felt tears build up in my eyes, but fought them off.  Suddenly, I wanted to explain to him why I didn’t come back to the Lake Pleasant Police. I exhaled, I needed to get out of here… make some decisions and feel like I was doing something other than feeling sorry for myself. I looked down and paused, and the chief sat quietly, which gave me space to continue my thoughts. When I work, I immerse myself in all aspects of the investigation. I focus on the people and their histories. I read their files and talk to witnesses and friends. It’s all-encompassing and leaves little time for anything else. I shared this thought even though it wasn’t completely accurate.

I relive the attacks every day, but when I am working on an investigation, I can push my memories away and focus on something more urgent instead of being haunted by my past.

The chief and I sat in silence for a few moments. He began to wring his hands, but when he spotted my gaze he stopped. Mena, I am wracked with guilt about what happened and not a day goes by that I don’t regret the way things played out. He reached across the desk and gently placed his fingers on my hand. Mena, I am sorry, he breathed.

We sat there without words. The chief closed his eyes and I could feel that my body had tensed. I worked on easing my shoulders and slowing my breathing. I placed one hand on top of his and simply said, Chief, I’m all right. He looked up at me and tried to blink to clear away tears. We can talk about this when you’re ready, Mena. Or not at all, if that’s what you want. I just want you to know that I am here for you.

I know we haven’t spoken about this since that day you found me and took me to the hospital. I-I, I stammered and then took a deep breath. I am ready to come back. I slowly pulled my hand away from his and took a deep breath. I’ve been cleared for work and I passed my firearms certification, I informed him, retreating to the comfort of a more professional level.

I know that too, Mena. Thom called after you took the test,

He did? I questioned, surprised that the state examiner called the local police chief.

He asked if there was anything he should know.

I told him about the shooting, I admitted.

The chief dismissed my explanation, That wasn’t his concern. He wanted to know why you insisted on taking the test three times, even after you passed each time.

I needed to be sure. I whispered.

That’s what I thought. I told him that you wanted to be confident and that you never did anything half-assed. He wasn’t surprised by that. He told me that he’s seen cops come in and insist on taking the test until they got a perfect score after a shooting, so he wasn’t worried.

The chief shifted his weight in his chair until he was comfortable. Have you spoken to Rick? he asked, referring to his brother, my former colleague.

Hearing Rick’s name lightened the mood as I recalled happier memories up north. Yes, I spoke with him just before Christmas. Luther and I spent a few days in Dryden with Natasha. Rick and his family joined us for dinner.

Joannie and I went up at the end of the summer and visited with both Rick and Natasha. She’s doing quite well. I understand she’s buying a place down south. Near Luther’s family? he inquired.

Yes, I think it’s already done. We plan to meet up with her later this winter in Florida, I nodded and smiled.

Dean smiled back after a brief but comfortable pause, All right, Mena. You’re ready for this? he asked, changing the subject from personal to professional.

I am ready to come back to work, Chief.

He exhaled, smiled, and said, Good. We’ve missed you. He swiveled in his seat and unlocked a drawer in the cabinet behind his desk. He pressed buttons and I could hear beeping sounds with every depression.  An electronic door opened and he removed a black canvas pouch from the safe. He shut the door, relocked the cabinet, and slid the pouch over to me.  Remember this? I’ve been holding on to it since the Hidden Pines investigation.

Despite not being able to see inside the pouch, I knew it was my .45 Smith & Wesson pistol used in the shooting at Hidden Pines. I took the pouch, unzipped it, and saw that the pistol was inside with the slide locked open.  An empty magazine lay alongside it. After verifying it was my pistol, I zipped the pouch and placed it inside my purse.

Thank you for holding on to it.

Did you get your 9mm back from the state investigators? he asked.

Yes, Captain Bauman returned it to me personally.

Dean cracked a quick smile. So you’re all set with your firearms? he checked.

All set, I agreed.

Okay then, I’ll give you a call when we need you. The way these things go that could be a few weeks or a few days."

I nodded happily and was grateful that things were slowly returning to normal. I stood up and gathered my bag. The chief rose from his seat and came around the desk to give me a gentle hug.

I’m glad you could make room in your schedule to give us a hand, he teased. I know that you’ve been busy with the highfalutin people in the big city. I hope you haven’t grown too attached to Boston. We need you back in small town New Hampshire, he quipped.

How will I ever survive without a Starbucks on every corner? I teased back, happy to return to the comfortable rhythm we spent years building.

Chapter 2

I left the station feeling more buoyant than I had in months. The cold air whipped around my scarf and burned the inside of my nose, but I felt refreshed and energized.  I started my car and checked the time while the wipers pushed the fallen snow off the windshield. It was barely 7:00 a.m.. I had time to get a cup of tea before my 7:30 appointment with Dr. Harrison. I drove half a mile from the station to Ella’s Cafe and parked my car on the street. The parking lot was buzzing with cars leaving fresh tire tracks in the snow. I pulled the brim of my hat down on my forehead and walked up the snow covered steps just as a young man wearing an apron and gloves came out of the door holding a snow shovel.

Morning, he nodded as he held the door for me.

Good morning, I replied, walking into the cafe. The smell of freshly baked muffins and flavored coffees wafted through the air. Sweat beaded on my brow at the sudden temperature shift and I unzipped my jacket to cool down.

What can I get you? the woman behind the counter asked.

A cup of green tea and two muffins to go, please, I requested.

We have carrot or blackberry-walnut? she offered.

One of each, I responded, thinking of how Dr. Harrison would nibble on the muffins before sharing them with her dog. The clerk handed me a waxed paper bag containing the muffins and I gave her a ten dollar bill. I’ll be right back, she said, returning shortly with my change and hot tea.

A voice from behind me asked, How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while, Mena.

I turned around and smiled at the woman, and though I recognized her face, I couldn’t remember her name. Good morning! I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name, I admitted.

Beth. We talked last year, she paused. When I didn’t respond, she looked around and smiled at someone who just came through the door, then turned to me and whispered, About the woman who was killed at Hidden Pines.

It all came back to me. It was a local woman named Beth Nellum. I had interviewed her for a case last year. I nodded, Yes, I remember now. How have you been?

Oh, if we can just get through this winter, I’d be great.

Are you still playing tennis? I asked, remembering her obsession with the sport.

Oh, yes! she answered with a huge smile and newfound excitement. I’m headed to play now, she gestured with her cup of coffee.

Nice to see you again, I replied, and started to move towards the exit.

What about you? Are you still working with the police? she asked.

Yes, I am, I answered automatically, without even thinking about my year’s sabbatical.

Well be careful, she smiled.

Why? I questioned, my voice barely above a whisper. I hoped that the concern in my tone was construed as interest and not fear.

We’re expecting six inches of snow today. Drive carefully out there, she answered.

I gave her a faint smile in return and feebly replied, You too. I hurried to the car with the bag of muffins in one hand and the cup of tea and car keys in the other. I drove through the steady snow across town to Susan’s home, which doubled as her office.

The first thing we discussed when my session began was my reaction to Beth’s question. I thought that I was in danger; I didn’t think she was talking about something as mundane as the weather, I complained.

Mena, it is understandable that you would have that response. When you recognized Beth, it was because  you had interviewed her for a murder case. Is it any wonder that you interpreted her ‘be careful’ remark as a warning?

Susan, in my job I can’t interpret everything someone says to be a warning.

No? Isn’t that what investigators do? she challenged.

No, they listen and then interpret.

You were speaking to someone who was a witness in a murder case. She told you to be careful and you inquired as to why she was saying that. It sounds to me like you were doing your job.

I shook my head slightly and thought about what she said, then confessed, I wasn’t simply doing my job. I was scared.

Susan nodded, Yes, you were.

I don’t want to be scared, I blurted out without consideration.

Why not? she met my gaze and didn’t give me a second to back down.

Because I can either do my job or I can be scared, I reasoned.

You were doing your job, she challenged.

I was weak, I admitted.

I disagree, but explain to me, how were you weak?

I was in no danger, but I panicked.

That’s not what I heard, Mena. You interacted with someone who said something that caused you concern. You weren’t incapacitated. You didn’t run or hide. You responded to her comment with a question so you could delve further into what she said. That is what you do and what your job entails. Dr. Harrison leaned forward in her chair and reached for a dish of wrapped butterscotch candies on her desk. She offered me one, but I declined. She chose a candy, and then, thinking better of it, tossed it back in the dish. You went through a terrible ordeal and are coping with the outcome. That can be more challenging than the attack. I think you are too hard on yourself, Mena. You are a private detective. You investigate criminal acts and protect people by placing yourself in harm’s way. Your senses are sharp and need to be tuned for danger. In a way, your business is to be paranoid, but I prefer to think of it as unusually curious.

So the fact that I think everyone’s a potential suspect is my version of normal, I laughed.

Something like that, she grinned while opening the muffin bag and peeking inside. Susan pulled out the carrot muffin, broke off a small piece, and tasted it. Breaking off a larger piece, she held it in her hand by the side of her desk. Her terrier, Rhett, who was laying at my feet, quietly walked over and sniffed the morsel in her hand. He gently licked at the muffin and took it from her grasp. Rhett brought it back to the floor by my chair and lapped at it while we chatted.

I met with Dean this morning and told him I was ready to return to work, I explained. I was surprised when he offered me my job back.

Why were you surprised? You started back to work months ago, albeit working personal protection rather than investigation. You were cleared to work medically and you passed your firearms qualifications with flying colors.

I haven’t seen Dean in almost a year. I wasn’t sure what to expect.

And? she pried.

He’s a little grayer and has a new office, but not much else has changed. I was dancing around the issue and Susan knew it.

Susan broke off another piece from the muffin. Mmm, she acknowledged, while nibbling on the pastry.

I was dreading the visit, I confessed.

Why? You’ve met with the chief hundreds of times through the years.

Well, yes. I was prepared to meet with the chief and I was even prepared for us to part ways professionally, if that’s what he wanted.

Mena? Did you really think that’s why he wanted to meet with you? she raised an eyebrow and sat motionless.

I wasn’t certain that he would want to continue working together. I looked over to Susan and saw her brow furrow. She moved slightly to the edge of her seat and leaned towards me. Her body language indicated that she disagreed with my statement. She was skeptical of my words.

You returned to work in April and then in December you decided that you were ready to work with the chief again. Are you the one reconsidering?

I exhaled, and this time I didn’t continue.

Go on, she prompted.

Not at all. I want to work with the chief and the LPPD. I was actually reassured by the visit, I confided.

How so? she asked. Her posture returned to a more relaxed state as she reclined slightly in the chair.

He wants me back at work even though-, I realized I answered too quickly and stopped mid sentence.

Go ahead and finish your thought, she encouraged.

He wants me back despite everything. Dean knows what happened in Dryden better than most. He was one of the people who saved me, I reminded her.

Dean, Rick, and the State Police arrived on the scene, but no one saved you. You rescued yourself. She amended my statement.

I ignored her correction and continued, Dean rode in the ambulance with me and stayed at the hospital until Luther arrived. He saw me at my worst, when I was inconsolable and had to be sedated. I inhaled and held my breath, then slowly exhaled. He would be well within his rights to find another investigator… someone without my history.

Susan interrupted, I think it is important to clarify that at that time you had just been through a traumatic incident. You were literally fighting for your life when the calvary showed up. You were in shock, injured, and dehydrated. Chief Cunningham has worked with many people in similar situations, as have you. Susan readjusted in her seat and moved her arms slowly. She chose her words carefully, Chief Cunningham runs one of the most decorated police departments in the state of New Hampshire. He carefully chooses his team of detectives, officers, and investigators. Because of this, he has one of the highest conviction rates and is a model for other agencies. He only hires people that he believes are the best. Do you have any reason to second guess him? she asked firmly.

I thought of Dean and everything I knew of him throughout our long history. Granted, he was a skilled administrator and excellent chief of police, but I also knew personally that he had the ability to be unusually compassionate.

He’s known me since I was a child… the little girl he removed from an abusive home. I’m not the little girl he needs to protect anymore and I don’t want him to think of me that way.

Susan nodded slowly. All right, Mena. I hear that you are concerned that Dean views you as a victim.

Yes, I whispered.  She finally understood.

Tell me, why did you return to Dryden? she challenged.

Dryden? You mean at Christmastime?

Yes. A year ago you survived a very traumatic experience in Dryden. Yet you returned. Why? Susan sat still and listened attentively.

Her question confused me. Why would I hesitate to return to Dryden? You know I was visiting friends.

Yes, but it would be understandable for a person to never return to the place where they were attacked. You say have friends there and I’m guessing you’re talking about Natasha and Rick. They could easily have visited here in Lake Pleasant or you could have met halfway in Plymouth. Tell me why you went to Dryden.

My body temperature rose and I could feel the hair on my neck stiffen. I detected a panic attack building. I took a breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. Square breathing allows me to calm myself and stay in the moment during bouts of claustrophobia or when waking with nightmares.

Susan remained patiently composed while I struggled to find my balance.

I had to go, Susan, I breathed. Of course I wanted to visit Natasha and Rick, but I needed to go back.

Did you go to the Metallak? she asked, referring to the crime scene where I was found.

I nodded. Luther came with me.

What did you find? she pressed.

I smiled. Not what I expected. The building was almost unrecognizable. It had been repaired and painted. It was snowing when we arrived and it was surprisingly peaceful.

You just smiled, Mena.

I nodded. I was hesitant before I went, but I had to know that I could do it. I had to see what it was like.

What did you find?

I found out that I could do it. I was scared, but I set it aside to focus on what was important to me. It was then that I realized that I could choose what defines me.

Susan nodded.

"Let’s look at this from a different perspective. You’ve been a private investigator for years now.