Death Times Two

By Karl Tutt

The Ghostcatcher is back. T.K. Fleming has sailed north to join Sunny, his lady love and newly appointed professor of Psychology at a small campus in near the Chesapeake Bay in Virginia. Key West is behind him and he thinks he's escaped his legacy as a reluctant investigator of grisly crimes. But when the Ghostcatcher arrives, death can't be too far behind. Sunny persuades him to help a small time bar singer, a simple woman who channels Janis Joplin and a host of blues artists who can turn your heart inside out. It could be simple, but then again . . . it is murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karl Tutt
• Release date: Feb 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310761843

Karl Tutt

Karl Tutt is a retired English teacher from a dropout prevention program in Florida. He is a veteran cruiser who has published several sailing articles in national publications. His two new offerings, The Children of the Wolf and The House at Hull, continue the mastery of murder and mayhem demonstrated in the Ghostcatcher series with T.K Fleming, and his female sleuth, Dee Rabow, in the Diabla series. Quick, engaging, and satisfying . . . those words describe the approach that has lured thousands of readers to the pages of his murder mysteries.

Book preview

DEATH

TIMES

TWO

by

Karl Tutt

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Karl Tutt 2015

All rights reserved without limiting the copyright reserved above. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, brands, characters, places, media and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction which might have been used without permission. The publication use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Thanks to Carolyn and Rosalie, my patient readers, and Sue, an editor who is generous with her time and attention.

Prologue

I stared at my hands. It had been a couple of hours. The blood had dried. I turned on the tap, picked up the soap, and scrubbed until they were raw, but traces of the scarlet were still embedded under my nails and the cuticles were stained with sick reminders of what I had discovered.

I did what Pam asked. They were identical twins, just like she’d said. Even through the dope ravaged features, I could see the two of them side by side, smiling like mirror images in the photograph. Soon she would know.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Now I was in deeper than I could ever have imagined. Sunny’s image flashed in my mind, but I had no one to blame. Some believe in destiny, a predetermined fate that we all pursue mindlessly, never fully aware that the die is cast. Despite how we have been schooled by our parents, our teachers, our religions, the whole of western philosophy . . . we really have few choices.

I propped myself up on the settee and my mind began to drift. Things were better when I actually believed I could escape. But now running away simply wasn’t an option. Besides, how do you run away from a murder?

Chapter 1

Key West is behind me – and I hope some of the evil mantle that drapes my legacy is gone with it. I’ve just entered the Gulf Stream on KAMALA, my beautiful and strong O’Day 31. The wind is from the southeast at 10-12 knots and the swells off the starboard quarter hold her in their sweet, gentle sway. The full main and 130% Genoa are full and drawing, whispering the secrets that waft on the breeze. The GPS says nine knots over the ground. The sun is low on the horizon and the orange and gold tint the blue indigo current that races north up the Atlantic Coast until it meets its cold antithesis in the endless fathoms off Cape Hatteras, NC. But I have secrets of my own and they stalk me like malignant wraiths that refuse to be silenced.

I never wanted to be the Ghostcatcher. After all, I am simply an English professor whose retirement was hastened by the murder of a friend. Actually that’s a nice way to put it. The truth is that I became imminently expendable when I became involved. The university offered me the opportunity to resign with full pension and I snapped it up. Let’s face it, I was damaged goods and they needed me gone to avoid the publicity . . . all of it bad. But that’s an old story. If you want details, I have an unlisted number.

I sought sanctuary . . . more honestly, escape . . . in the blue water and the confines of the benevolent chaos that is Key West. I had devoted friends on the dock at Land’s End Marina. Fritz and Chris were people I cherished in their own ways . . . and ultimately trusted. I met Samantha Marie Elgar, my Sunny, a woman who transformed me . . . gave me sustenance, and ultimately, love. In many ways, she was the reason for this voyage. Those thoughts danced with the dolphins as I skirted up the coast.

It all seemed so simple until the first death. I thought it was a one-time affair . . . a chance to help my old buddy, Captain Sal and her crewmate, Billy. There was Frank Beamon, the affable detective on the Key West Police Force. He and I had joined forces and found the killer. I thought it was over, but the Voodoo and the imprimatur of the Ghostcatcher was upon me.

Next it was Fritz, a friend of over thirty years. He wanted my help. I couldn’t say no. We had saved his daughter from a living death of drugs and a multitude of evil scars on her body and her soul. Now she was a Private Investigator in Fort Lauderdale and fighting her own personal war against the demons, the pain, and the injustice they wrought.

The death of Hallemina’s husband had been the most recent . . . and I thought, the last of the horrors I would be forced to confront. Then the Ghostcatcher could go to a quiet place and dissolve into a misbegotten past. Each case was different, but they were all the same. The sycophants and the idealists would have it all be very simple. Good versus evil. The black and the white. Defeat the darkness and it will refuse to return. Bu there is one problem that refuses to lay its head to rest. It’s man, himself. The inherent nature of the beast is a host of contradictions, some dark, some light, but mostly an infinite array of shades of gray. The lines we draw are ours and none of us knows where we will draw them or how they will shift until the circumstances dictate paths that lead us to heaven or hell.

These were the things I wanted to leave behind. I was on my way to join Sunny. She had taken an offer last August to teach psychology at a small branch of her alma mater, the University of Virginia. It was in Norfolk near Hampton Roads, the southern entrance to the Chesapeake Bay. When I met her, she was the best damned bar tender in Key West and according to her male patrons, had the best ass in the state of Florida. I hadn’t seen her in three months or so, but I bet she still did. Despite all of the mayhem, I was happy on KAMALA at Land’s End, but without Sunny beside me, I didn’t think that could continue. It took me a while to wrap up things in the Keys and say my goodbyes, but I was gone.

This voyage was to be my catharsis. Chris had offered to crew with me on the offshore jaunt, but I figured that singlehanded, I could collect the pent up emotions and the terror in parts of me and simply consign them to the deep. I had already rented a slip at Tidal Refuge, a marina just a short bike ride from Sunny’s apartment. Another few days in the Gulf Stream, and if all went well, KAMALA would be tied up and I’d be in the arms of a woman who would help banish any remaining demons. A sweet scenario.

It almost worked.

Chapter 2

The days at sea were long, but the wind held steady. I had left Cape Fear to port and made landfall through the inlet at Beaufort, NC. Exhausted, I pulled into the city marina for an overnight respite. A few icy beers at the Dock House and some damned fine guitar playing by one of the locals set me at ease. I slept like the proverbial brick. The next morning after an engine check and some slight re-provisioning, I was off through Adams Creek and into the Neuse River, ready for the pounding slog up the Pamlico Sound. A couple of anchorages and the Dismal Swamp Canal later, I pulled into the Tidal Refuge at Norfolk, VA. Sunny came down the dock as I was securing the last of the lines.

It was like a scene from a Nicholas Sparks novel. The afternoon sun sparkled through her hair like a thousand fine diamonds. She wore tight red shorts and a white tank top that shimmered with every breath. It had only been a few months, but