Death at Sixty Feet

By Carle f. Howell

It is March 1991 as three American couples head to a Belizean resort on the northernmost tip of Ambergris Caye for a scuba-dive adventure. Lance and Brittany Johnson, Scott and Debbie Del Rosa, and Steve and Leigh Meadows are all battling internal demons while trapped in a triangle of lust, fear, and revenge. But as their lives intersect on a day trip with dive master Irwin Carlos Gates as their guide, none have any idea that only five of them will make it back to Belize alive.
After the boat drops its anchor, Lance and the other divers jump into the water. Moments into the dive, Lance seemingly runs out of air and dies, despite everyone’s best efforts to save him. A short time later, the dive master escapes Belize with a fake passport and Lance’s children accuse Brittany of murder. As insurance claims investigator, Alex Endecott, steps in to investigate the alleged accidental death, he is led down a complex path where he must determine whether Lance was murdered and, if so, who was behind it.
In this engaging whodunit mystery, an insurance claims investigator sets out on an ambitious quest to determine whether a scuba diver’s untimely death in the beautiful Caribbean waters was accidental or intentional.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Mar 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781480888531

Carle f. Howell

Carle Howell has spent fifty years in the insurance industry working in roles that have included claims, sales, and underwriting for Lloyds of London. He has enjoyed writing poetry and short stories since he was young, and has published a book about the United States Constitution. Carle currently resides in Richardson, Texas.

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Copyright © 2020 Carle F. Howell.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-8854-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-8852-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-8853-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020903108

Archway Publishing rev. date: 03/26/2020

Contents

Belize

Irwin

Union Life—Chicago Office

Alex

Lance Johnson

Case Review

Not Again

Alex Growing Up

Dallas

Brittany

Johnson and Hamilton

Chicago

Los Angeles

Back in Dallas

Debbie’s and Steve’s Apartment

Westin Hotel

Chicago Apartment

Bellamy

The Mansion

Back at the Westin

Awake at the Mansion

Morning at the Westin

Call to Mitch

Dinner with Rabyn

Exposed

Alex’s Apartment

Carlos in Brazil

Old Leigh Returns

Alex’s Trip to Belize

Steve’s House

Another Murder

Ambergris Caye

The Letter

Brittany and Her Future

Return to Dallas

Murder Conspiracy

Bellamy’s Surprise

Dedicated to my loving wife, Mary Lou.

Belize

There was a murderous pall over Dallas. There was a murderous pall over Los Angeles. There was a murderous pall over Chicago. Three couples in a triangle of lust, in a triangle of fear, in a triangle of revenge. Three couples whose lives would intersect.

Six people waiting for their flights in the cold winter while a warm, gentle Caribbean breeze stirred the white sand on the beach at their final destination—Journey’s End, a Belizean resort on the northernmost tip of Ambergris Caye with its thatched-roof casitas and villas, beautiful freshwater pool, array of water spots, and Caribbean dining specialties. A place where you could forget all your troubles while relaxing in the sun. It was March 1991—a technological abyss compared to today.

Lance and Brittany Johnson were in Dallas. Lance knew that on this trip, everything would be over and done with and he would be free. On the other hand, Brittany was thinking only about her lover and the new life she would begin.

Scott and Debbie Del Rosa, two of Chicago’s finest, were relishing the thought of killing the person who had caused Debbie’s father to commit suicide when she was a teenager. They generally spent their days putting criminals behind bars, but there, they planned to put one six feet under.

And in Los Angeles, Steve and Leigh Meadows were supposedly taking this trip to strengthen their marriage. Leigh thought this would be their last chance. Steve was scheming on how to end the charade.

Lance and Brittany argued all the way from Dallas to Belize City. I don’t see how this one trip is going to fix things between us. I know you’re seeing someone else, she cried at him.

I assure you I’m not, Lance retorted. When do I have time between working twelve hours a day and coming home to you? But he had to admit to himself that his flings were fun.

My parents warned me that a leopard doesn’t change its spots. I should have listened to them.

Once I met you, I changed, and this weekend is just for us to get things right. He was lying.

Their disagreement continued off and on till the plane landed and they got on the ten-seat twin-engine Cessna to San Pedro. Lance and Brittany were tired of their argument and settled in in resigned silence.

The couples all arrived by the same single-engine Thomson twenty-foot boat that was appropriately named Journey Begins and in time for dinner. As chance would have it, they were seated at tables near each other. The conversation at each was about scuba diving the next day and imaging what they would see.

Debbie and Scott got up and walked on the beach holding hands and occasionally stopping to gaze out at the sea and kiss.

Are we doing the right thing? Debbie asked just before heading to their casita.

I don’t know, Scott replied. It was a long time ago. Let’s not think about it tonight. Tonight, we’ll enjoy this vacation.

As they entered the casita, they fell into each other’s arms and could not keep their hands from following the curves of each other’s body. The moonlight, evening breeze, and alcohol enhanced their desire. Somehow, they made it to the bed with their clothes strewn across the floor. Scott’s tongue caressed every inch of Debbie’s body.

After thirty minutes of foreplay and another of wonderful sex, Scott began, Awesome.

Bodacious, Debbie cooed.

Crazy.

And so, it continued through the alphabet until Debbie said, Zesty.

Zesty?

Yes. You know, full of zest.

Scott fell asleep; Debbie read some before her head hit the pillow.

The others just went back to their rooms.

The next morning, these six people met Irwin, the dive master, at the end of the dock. Irwin Carlos Gates was the son of a British Honduras diplomat and a Brazilian mother, but he preferred the life of diving to that of diplomacy.

Good morning. I’m Irwin, and I will be your dive master for the next week. That’s Pedro, but he doesn’t speak English. He will be helping you with your equipment. I was told that Mr. and Mrs. Johnson have their own equipment and the rest of you will be using ours. Is that correct?

They all acknowledged that.

Since this is your first day, I thought we would start at Hol Chan Marine Reserve. It’s only about thirty-five feet, but it’s a good way to get your sea legs back. And then we’ll go to Shark Ray Alley. Can I please see your dive cards and logbooks?

They showed him their documents.

Okay, all aboard. As we go, we’ll fit you with a BC and regulator.

We have our own regulators and masks, Debbie said.

They boarded the twenty-five-foot dive boat Deep Blue with four other couples. Lance wasn’t his usual aggressive self and didn’t demand a better or at least a deeper dive site; he wanted all to go well.

There wasn’t a lot of time to get to know one another with getting gear assigned, but everyone did get introduced.

There was a standoffish tension between Brittany and Leigh; Steve had never gotten over his obsession with Brittany, and Leigh knew that in her gut.

It’s time to dive. Please put your hand over your mask, holding it tight as you jump in. Then inflate your BC. I’ll be last to take a head count, and then we can proceed down to the bottom.

Everyone checked his or her gear. Lance was first in followed by Steve and the rest.

The water was a crystal-clear blue all the way to the bottom.

Irwin counted twenty heads (the three couples and other guests) and then started toward the bottom. All followed.

The bottom was pink coral, and there were fish all around them. The divers looked like a line of ants wending their way back to their home. Everywhere the divers turned, there was another type of fish and moray eels of various colors sticking their heads out of their cubbyholes in the coral.

Diving conditions were perfect: warm water, limitless vision, calm waters, and breathtaking scenery—the exact opposite of the conditions on the Deep Blue for lunch.

Everyone got back on the boat ready for a bite to eat. A cool tension and a low-brewing current could be felt, but there was still an air of civility.

How could you plan this trip knowing your ex-girlfriend would be here? Leigh spat under her breath to Steve.

I didn’t know. It’s just a coincidence like the time I met an ex-coworker on a cruise ship two years after leaving the company and moving a thousand miles away. Once Brittany told me her trip was set, I arranged to be here, Steve thought.

Seeing Steve and Leigh together was giving Brittany second thoughts. Maybe Lance is right. This is a time to start over, but not as I planned. Maybe it’s my imagination and the way I’ve been treated all my life. But then reality hit her; she thought of how Lance had been treating her. Long nights away with flimsy excuses, her loss of self-worth—It’s time to move on.

During the next day of diving, a cloud of suspicion developed and descended upon the six passengers as the boat left the dock with only them, Irwin, and Pedro on board. The mask of camaraderie was still letting the divers enjoy their time in the clear-blue water, but the veil was beginning to wear thin among the soon-to-be assassins biding time, the couple seeking revenge, the woman hater pursuing retaliation and submission, the wife just wanting out, the woman questioning her husband’s actions, and the husband wanting to start anew.

Debbie and Scott were more talkative that day engaging the other two couples but being careful about their intent. Everything had been planned down to the last detail, but they wondered if they would be able to complete their task.

Lance, you told us last night you’re in real estate. Exactly what do you do?

I create and manage partnerships, bundling properties, and then selling them for a profit. Some of the money is mine and some is other people’s.

Have you been doing it for a long time? Scott asked.

Yeah, about fifteen years. Why? You want to invest?

Lance, this is neither the time nor the place, honey, Brittany said.

I’ve been doing it a long time and have made some people very rich. But it’s a tricky business especially when the market turns as it did a few years back.

Debbie was getting visually upset at how cavalier Lance was about the losses.

How did you fare?

Well, as the general partner, I wasn’t hurt as badly as others were, but I still had to close down the business. I did start again, though, and this time, I’m doing things differently. Just ask Brittany.

We’re coming up on the site. Get ready and follow the same procedures we used yesterday, Irwin said.

Deep Blue stopped. The anchor was tossed overboard. The divers jumped into the water one by one. Irwin counted twelve heads (the three couples and other divers), saw twelve thumbs up, and then swam down the anchor line—thirty feet, fifty feet, and stopped at seventy feet.

They started following Irwin through a channel. Scott and Debbie were off to the left, and Steve and Leigh were as close to Irwin as possible. Leigh didn’t especially like being down that deep.

All around them was life. Lance was taking pictures of the menagerie of fish at the Tres Cocos dive site¾harlequin bass with their pale-yellow underbellies and series of dark dots and dark tiger-like bars, two-foot long trumpet fish with long, thin mouths, silver schoolmasters with yellow fins and tails, and many more species. The temperature was eighty-five degrees, and visibility was ninety feet. Perfect.

Lance and Brittany had descended easily following Irwin down the gentle slope of the reef through schools of blue chromis and gray angelfish following a brightly colored parrotfish. Lance reached behind and scratched his neck.

They admired the corals from pale pink to the most vibrant orange and watched reddish squirrelfish darting in and out of the reef. Lance stopped to investigate the home of a green moray eel. The coral swayed gently in the slow current.

Jennifer, the resort manager, had advised them to cover their bodies with suntan lotion as the stinging pica pica would avoid the covered areas. A few days earlier, a guest had forgotten to smooth lotion under her breasts and was suffering from that slight oversight. That morning, Brittany had generously applied sunscreen to all parts of her body. Lance sprayed his body and asked her to spray his back. In the rush to make the boat, she had forgotten to take the seasick pill Lance had carefully left out for her.

Leigh had just spotted a loggerhead turtle swimming aimlessly