Misty River, page 22
Blake let out a chuckle, shaking his head at Ralph’s misunderstanding. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.
“Remember the time when we went out drinking, and you announced that you had to leave early to take care of Roxanne?”
“Ralph, that’s not my girlfriend. Roxanne is my Maine Coon cat.”
“Thank God. You were beginning to worry me.”
Blake shook his head in disbelief at the comical turn of events while Jennifer, who had been quietly observing the exchange from the corner of the room, burst into laughter. “Ralph, what in the world are you smoking these days?” she teased playfully. “Cut this guy off.”
As the room filled with laughter and lighthearted banter, the mystery of Roxanne’s whereabouts was solved, leaving behind a tale to be retold in the annals of their friendship.
Ten o’clock rolled around when the phone abruptly rang, “Moretti here.” Who is this?”
“This is Detective Gleason. I apologize for interrupting your evening.”
“No problem. How can I help you?”
“You’ll never believe this, but I’m actually standing right next to Officer Fanon and Malvina Breckenridge, knee-deep in a murky swamp in the Misty Moon Wildlife Reserve,” Detective Gleason exclaimed.
Perplexed by the circumstances and unfamiliar with Malvina Breckenridge, Blake sought clarification. “Why are you standing in a swamp and who the hell is Malvina Brecken ... whatever?”
Detective Gleason proceeded to shed light on the situation. Gleason revealed that “Ms. Breckenridge is a nationally known psychic who has helped law enforcement agencies solve several murder cases in the past.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you standing in a swamp?”
Gleason replied, “Are you familiar with the case of Sandy Blevins, the eighteen-year-old woman who was reported missing in the fall of 1984?”
“Yeah, I remember. She left a bar at two in the morning, and her car was parked on the side of the road a few miles away. It was like she vanished into thin air.”
“Right. Sandy’s uncle hired Ms. Breckenridge to find her as a last resort. At Miss Malvina’s request, Officer Fanon escorted her to Sandy’s bedroom, where she touched Sandy’s personal effects and did some hocus pocus stuff. Then, he took her to where Sandy’s car had been found. She told Fanon she heard a disturbing voice telling her the missing woman’s body had been buried in swampy water, so we ended up here.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“You can’t make this stuff up.”
“That’s absolutely crazy.”
“Honestly, I thought so, too, until I found a decomposed female body with missing limbs lying in a swamp.”
“My investigator, Ralph Morgan happens to be with me. We can be there in twenty minutes. Don’t touch anything and call the medical examiner.”
“I can do that, but Blake, please don’t say anything to Hardy until you give me a chance to talk to you. There is more to this mystery than meets the eye. Things are not what they appear to be. You’re in grave danger.”
“What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense.”
“Ever since this girl went missing, three people involved in this case died, or should I say they were murdered.”
As Blake stood silently in the dimly lit study, Detective Gleason’s words echoed in his mind. The weight of the conversation settled heavily on his shoulders, and he couldn’t shake off the feeling of impending danger. The swamp, the dead body, and the mention of Sandy Blevins all intertwined in a web of mystery that seemed to be closing in on him.
“Blake, what’s wrong? You appear as pale as a ghost,” Ralph
observed.
“Nothing. Just grab your coat. That was homicide Detective Gleason. He’s located a dead body and needs assistance. I’ll explain everything in the car. You won’t believe what Gleason told me.”
Moretti’s heart raced as he tried to process Gleason’s words. Trusting someone he barely knew went against his instincts as a prosecutor, but something about Gleason’s tone made him pause.
The case of Sandy Blevins was just the tip of the iceberg. With each passing moment, the walls seemed to close in on Blake, and he couldn’t help but wonder who he could trust. The lines between right and wrong blurred as he delved deeper into the darkness surrounding him. The fate of his own life and those around him hung in the balance.
He did not realize that his journey into the depths of this mystery was far from over, and that he would eventually become entangled in a dangerous game of cat and mouse.
As Ralph grabbed his topcoat, he complained, “What’s up with these criminals? Why are they always committing crimes when I’m off duty?”
“Very funny, Ralph,” Blake, pulling on his coat, said, “Let’s go!”
Don’t miss:
Whispers From Dark Waters
A Blake Moretti Thriller
Click here to find out more ==>
https://www.davidfranceschelli.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My deepest gratitude to everyone who helped me bring my idea for Misty River, the first book in the Blake Moretti Thriller Series, to life.
My heartfelt thanks go out to my editor, Joie Davidow, for her invaluable guidance and insight in helping me understand “less is more” when writing a compelling story. Additionally, I am deeply appreciative of Paula Marais, my diligent line editor, whose meticulous attention to detail greatly enhanced the overall quality of my novel. I am immensely grateful to Rachel Kelli, the exceptionally talented cover design artist, whose creative vision brought my book’s visual representation to life. I also want to acknowledge Tessa Elwood, my web design artist, responsible for crafting my novel’s engaging and user-friendly online presence. Their contributions have been instrumental in shaping and refining my work.
Special thanks go to my beta readers, Rob Modic, George Katchmer, Tom Schiff, Meghanne Franceschelli, and Valerie Cannon, whose invaluable commentary helped shape the story.
I wish to thank my daughter Andrea for always believing in me and encouraging me to write this book. Last but not least, a special thanks to my wife, Debbie, for her guidance and patience while I authored this story. Once again, I am indebted to you.
David Franceschelli, Misty River
