Marty’s Master

By Suzanne Elizabeth Reed

Blue Forge Sailing Club is an exclusive, high-class establishment, which is why no one ever suspects it to be a front for things like child abduction, female trafficking, and slavery. Secrets must be preserved to keep the business running. Its only the beginning when a murderer gets away, his victims body hidden at the bottom of the lake.

The club caretakeran avid triathlon competitorbriefly encounters the murder victim and her children before he meets with a terrible accident that leaves him paralysed in a foreign country. Were his injuries truly an accident or another way to keep the curious quiet? Cocaine and illegal rare-fish deals continue under the cover of a routine fishing competition.

A little boy gets taken from his family, unaware that his childless aunt will raise him in Northern Cyprus. Three girls from Ukraine get separated and find themselves controlled by ruthless captors, powerless to escape their lives of misery and abuse. Somehow, all roads lead to the sailing clubbut can anyone put a stop to something so powerful and evil?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524683481

Suzanne Elizabeth Reed

Suzanne Elizabeth Reed is director of a variety of clinical and educational settings and an inspector of university programmes. In a career spanning fifty years, she has published several successful healthcare textbooks and articles, won a Nightingale overseas study scholarship, and earned master’s degrees in psychology and clinical quality. This is her first novel.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

MARGARET’S DEAFENING SILENCE

While not locating a parking space when you really need one might seem trivial to some people, it is yet one more aggravation to add to my list of life’s injustices. My heart sinks as I contemplate a much longer walk than I planned. As I proceed along the narrow lane adjacent to Blue Forge Lake, I seriously think about turning back. Instead, I process a few choice swear words in my head, because by now, it has begun to drizzle, producing that damp, depressing atmosphere so uninviting to walkers of my low calibre. I think of how easily the council could have added a few more parking spaces. After all, the road has plenty of spare space on it. The council members would just need to draw a few lines with white paint, and voilà, more parking, with very little cost incurred.

Eventually, I locate a tight space between two trucks and manage to squeeze my little Corsa in without too much bother. I started late when it came to driving lessons, and I must admit, my parking skills are not the best, particularly when I have larger vehicles on either side of me. I quickly pull on my walking boots and gloves and retrieve my walking poles from the car boot. Recent acquisitions from the Internet, the sticks were advertised as trekking or hiking sticks, useful for avid walkers on any terrain. I feel confident they will aid my balance where some of the grass verges will probably be muddy and slippery, after last night’s downpour.

The lake, a little off the beaten track, is a favourite of walkers, fishermen, and members of Blue Forge Sailing Club. I have walked the entire perimeter of this lake on the occasional Sunday morning for years, so I know the path like the back of my hand. Today is special, though, in that I will walk it alone for the first time ever. My husband is decorating our new conservatory before family come to stay for Easter, and he said he would never make it ready in time if he didn’t work through today. Although slightly annoyed at having to walk by myself, I feel a slight sense of achievement at having enough confidence to embark on my little solitary adventure. To be honest, right up to the last minute, I had been certain he would relent and take an hour or so out of his busy work schedule to join me on the walk. Now, though, there is no turning back, for I would rather die than lose face by admitting I don’t have the confidence to go by myself.

As I begin the walk, an old saying strikes me: The silence is deafening. Today, I do not even hear the sound of dry twigs crunching under my feet. Even on dry, sunny days, the overgrowth of brambles and hedgerow keeps this east side of the lake dark and damp. Two black-and-white ducks glide towards me, expecting me to feed them, but I fear I will disappoint them today, as I completely forgot to bring them any bread.

In the distance, I can see a few fishermen scattered around the lake, some working on their own and others assembled in either pairs or small groups. Some of the fishermen have little pop-up waterproof shelters designed to enable them to sit half-in and half-out, allowing them to pursue their sport during rainy conditions. I wonder if fishing is indeed a sport. To my mind, it shouldn’t be called a sport if no real activity or skill is involved. It isn’t very technical, although I can see that it requires some knowledge of equipment and types of fish. No, to me, fishing seems more like a gathering of like-minded outdoor people who can conduct their hobby in either a social or solitary fashion, as preferred.

Before too long, on the east side, I know I will reach the more open areas of the lake, so the present dark, damp ambiance does not perturb me too much. Surprisingly, in spite of the depressing weather, I actually enjoy the walk, mostly because of my improved fitness levels and weight loss. I veer slightly off-track to avoid the uneven terrain; thankfully, my trekking sticks keep me from losing my balance. I see a small, soft, pink toy rabbit partially trodden into the mud, and it occurs to me that there will be tears when its owner reaches home without it. Two of the fishermen look down to the water, avoiding eye contact with me as I pass them; normally, they would nod or pass the time with some inane statement about the weather, but not today. I suppose it is