A Reason To Live E-Book

Doug Simpson

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

After recently widowed Chelyan and famous TV reporter Mel bump into each other, their friendship blossoms quickly.

Both avid walkers, they decide to take a stroll together each morning. When Chelyan reveals that her husband's death was actually a murder, Mel is eager to dig deeper into the case.

Beginning their own murder investigation, the amateur sleuths are in for some startling surprises. But can they piece together the clues and bring the killer to justice?

Leseprobe

A REASON TO LIVE

DOUG SIMPSON

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2022 Doug Simpson

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Darci Heikkinen

Cover art by Lordan June Pinote

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

A Reason to Live is dedicated to all those individuals who at one time honestly believed they had no reason to live, yet persevered, toughed out the sad times, and were very thankful they did not make the wrong choice to take the easy way out.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A big thank you goes out to all the hard-working staff at my publisher, Next Chapter. You are priceless and precious. Thank you for all that you do for us authors.

PROLOGUE

I could not bear children.

Some crazy bastard made me an almost billionaire when he sent a bullet into my husband’s skull one late night.

I was alone. I had nobody, absolutely nobody. I had lots of money but money isn’t everything, and when you have nothing else, money is nothing also. I had friends, but they were all wives or girlfriends of my late husband’s business or golfing associates. None of them were personally close enough for me to even consider sharing my intimate thoughts with them.

You would not believe how many times I sat at the kitchen table with a tall tumbler of water in my right hand and a fist full of sleeping pills in my left hand.

I needed a reason to live.

Chelyan

1

Mel returned from the grocery store in Port Bramble and put away his four bags of groceries, delighted that his three days of driving were finally over for a little while. He was overwhelmed with exhaustion after the long drive north from Florida and felt like plopping into bed immediately, but it was still a bit too early for that. He knew if he fell asleep now, he would be wide awake by the middle of the night.

He unlocked the back door of his newly rented cottage and stepped out onto the covered porch. The last few rays from the setting sun glistened on the crests of the gentle waves as they meandered unobstructed toward the gently sloping, surprisingly long beach of Lake Winatachi.

Mel stood there for a few minutes and silently thanked the “Powers that be” for his amazing good fortune. He was convinced he’d been directed by these mysterious powers to this apparent paradise in the north for the summer. He went back inside the cottage and grabbed his light windbreaker before venturing out onto the sandy beachfront.

Searching east and west along the water’s edge, he concluded that he was apparently the only human out there on this chilly May evening. He could see lights shining through windows in a few cottages, but the vast majority of them were apparently still void of summer residents. He was not really that surprised, as he knew it was still rather early and chilly for summer residents to be thinking of vacations at the beach.

The next morning Mel opened his eyes and immediately noticed daylight peeking through the edges of the blinds on the bedroom window. “I slept like a baby,” he muttered to himself. “Time for your first morning walk on Bramblegrove Beach.”

Dressed in a jogging suit with his sunglasses tucked securely in a pocket, Mel decided to head west to avoid any chance of looking directly into the bright yellow, early morning sun if it decided to peek through the overcast sky. Once again, he spotted nobody else along the beach in either direction. With the daylight, he welcomed the new opportunity to investigate the neighboring cottages. Some appeared newer and bigger than others. The richer folks were probably buying up some of the older ones and building something more appropriate to their station in life, he reasoned.

Mel looked ahead and immediately noticed someone walking toward him along the beach. This individual had not been in sight the last time he looked in that direction, maybe a minute earlier, so he had no idea where they had come from. The person was bundled up nice and warm with the hood of their jogging suit tied tightly around their neck and only their face peeking out.

“Good morning,” Mel cheerily called out when they were six of seven feet apart.

“Good morning,” a clearly female voice replied softly, without looking directly at him.

Mel could not miss the sadness on her face as they passed each other and continued walking in opposite directions. He thought she might have been a little friendlier, but then sternly reprimanded himself. He had no right to pass judgment when he knew absolutely nothing about her, or her circumstances.

After walking west for maybe forty-five minutes, Mel turned around and headed back toward the east. Gazing into the distance, he saw the figure of someone who he assumed was the lady he encountered earlier, but from that far away, it could have been anyone. He was soon distracted by the sound of a motor. Checking the lake, he noticed a motorboat with four fishermen heading east. Mel waved and a couple of the fishermen waved back.

As the approaching walker got closer to him, Mel recognized the clothing of the woman he had passed earlier. He deduced that it would be insulting on his part if he simply walked by her without saying anything, so he decided to attempt a second shot at a conversation. “Ah, we meet again. It is a beautiful morning for a walk, don’t you agree?”

The lady stopped and looked directly at Mel this time with the faintest sign of a smile. “Yes, it’s certainly a beautiful morning for a walk.” After a pause she continued. “I don’t think I recall seeing you around last year. Are you new here?”

“Yes. I’ve been here a whole twelve hours or so. I’ve rented the Johnsons’ cottage for the season. Maybe you know them?”

“Oh, yes. They have been here for years. I’m surprised they’re not coming back this year.”

“Well, as I understand it, Mr. Johnson experienced a serious heart attack a few months ago, and they wished to stay close to their doctors back home. I have never actually met the Johnsons in person, but we have a mutual friend who acted as the go-between in arranging for me to be able to rent their place. I assured them that if they felt like coming up here later in the summer, I would gladly move out whenever they wanted to return.”

“That was nice of you. I hope you enjoy it here with us.”

“Thank you. I do too. Have you been coming up here for many years?”

Her face suddenly turned sullen, and she looked down at the sand as if contemplating her response. “Yes, my husband and I have owned our place here for many, many years.”

“That’s wonderful. I look forward to meeting him too.”

Her eyes became teary, and she bit her bottom lip. Mel immediately knew he should not have said that, but he had no way of knowing this ahead of time.

“I wish you could too, but he passed away two months ago,” she whispered before bursting into tears.

Oh crap, now look what I’ve done, Mel thought to himself as he just stood there in his confused state watching her and wondering what he should do next.

She covered her face with her hands and continued to sob uncontrollably. After what felt to Mel like an eternity but was probably not much more than a minute or two, Mel stepped closer to her and gently placed his arms around her. “It’s okay. Cry it all out,” he said softly, close to her ear. “You’ll feel better after you let it go.”

She lowered her hands and the tears continued in rivers down her cheeks. She attempted to say something, but no words came out. Then she pressed her body against Mel’s and wrapped her arms around his neck. She shook uncontrollably as she sobbed on his shoulder while the two of them clung tightly to each other. It felt like an eternity to Mel before the sobbing showed signs of subsiding, but eventually she began to calm.

With the sobbing behind her, the lady released her grip on Mel’s neck and stepped back, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I am so sorry about that,” she whispered. “Here you are a total stranger and I’m having a breakdown right in front of you.”

“You have nothing at all to be sorry about. You should feel better now that you’ve been able to release some of that pent-up sadness and anger. I’m happy that I was here and was able to offer a little bit of comfort to you.”

“Actually, I’m glad that you were here too, and graciously offered me a shoulder to cry on. I’ve done lots of crying over the past two months with very few shoulders around to offer me any comfort.”

“Oh, that’s truly unfortunate. Hopefully I’ll be here for the entire season and I want you to remember that my shoulder will always be at your service whenever you need it. Do you hear me?” he said kindly.

She cracked the faintest grin. “Thank you. I’ll remember that, and please believe me when I say I am truly grateful that your shoulder was available this morning. My name is Chelyan Morrison,” she said and held out her hand. “It‘s an unusual spelling. C H E L Y A N.”

Mel gently shook Chelyan’s dainty hand. “I’m Mel Haldane. Pleased to meet you. I live about four cottages further east. You probably know where I’m staying because you’ve known the Johnsons for some time?”

Chelyan smiled. “Yes, I know exactly where you’re staying. I live about four cottages to the west. If you like, you can walk me home.”

“I would love to walk you home. Are we ready?”

They walked along in silence for a couple of minutes until Chelyan stopped in front of one of the newer and larger two-story cottages. “This is our place,” she said. “I guess I need to get used to saying my place. Would you like to come in for a few minutes for a warm drink?”

“Thank you for your kind offer, but my stomach is telling me I need to get home and have some breakfast. Do you walk every morning about this time?”

“Every morning.”

“Me too. Would you like a regular walking partner, or do you prefer to be alone?” Mel asked.

Chelyan paused for a moment. “You know, I think it’s time for me to have a walking partner again. I gladly accept your gracious offer.”

“Super. I’ll meet you outside your door tomorrow morning. What time would you like to start?”

“I also walk in the evening before dark,” she said. “Do you?”

“As a matter of fact I normally do. What time shall we meet tonight?”

“How does seven-thirty sound?”

“I’ll be here.”

Chelyan flashed a smile and turned to go inside. “Bye, and thanks once more for being here for me this morning.”

I must say I can certainly describe this morning’s walk as interesting, Mel thought as he watched Chelyan enter her cottage.

2

With his standard breakfast of fresh fruits consumed, Mel carried his oversized coffee cup into the spare bedroom where he had set up his computer station. After checking his emails and responding where required, he summoned the manuscript of his newest work-in-progress, still untitled.

The last time he tried to compose something on it, a week ago back in Florida, he had contracted a nasty case of writer’s block. After staring at the page for a couple of minutes, he gave up in disgust. All he could think about right then was the sobbing Chelyan.

Mel conducted a computer search for “Chelyan,” hoping he remembered the correct spelling, and was shocked by the results that popped up on the screen. After numerous references to the village of Chelyan, West Virginia, near Charleston, the next most-common result was coverage of the murder of Dieter Morrison, where his wife Chelyan was also mentioned.

Mel was curious as hell to read some of the posts, but his common sense outvoted his curiosity. He now knew why she broke out sobbing so easily. But if she ever opened up to him down the road about her husband’s death, then he didn’t want to give her the impression he knew any of the details ahead of time. The last thing he wanted was to cause her to suspect he had been checking up on her and wonder why. She will tell you what she wants, when she wants, if she wants, he told himself and went back to staring at the last completed page of his manuscript.

Mel left his rented cottage at seven fifteen in the evening and walked along the beach to Chelyan’s cottage. He wanted to be there waiting when she exited her back door, so he accepted the notion that too early was a better option than being late. With each step on his deliberately slow journey, he continuously mentally coached himself to be exceptionally careful what he said to her to hopefully avoid another bout of uncontrollable sobbing. He waited maybe five minutes on the beachfront outside Chelyan’s lot, watching the gentle waves lap against the wet sand, before he heard her voice behind him.

“Good evening, Mel.”

He never heard her cottage door close, so she somewhat startled him out of his collage of extraneous thoughts. He turned around and smiled at her. “Good evening, Chelyan. Are we ready?”

“We’re definitely ready. Which way would you like to go?”

“This is your beach. You pick.”

“No,” she replied contemplatively. “It’s time for me to set aside some of my old routines and get on with my life, so I want you to make the decision, please.”

Mel quickly remembered that he had walked west, away from the rising sun in the morning, but she had walked east towards it. So, if she sought change then change she would have. “Okay, let’s go west and enjoy the sunset.”

“Sounds fine to me.”

Keeping his cautious approach foremost in his mind, Mel remained silent as they strolled, not exactly briskly but definitely not slowly, along the deserted beach. The silence seemed daunting to him as Chelyan also remained contemplative, and he wondered what he should say to pierce the silence.

Chelyan rescued him. “This is certainly a perfect spring evening for a stroll along the beach.”

“It definitely is a perfect evening compared to the blustery and chilly conditions we endured this morning,” Mel responded.

“You have my vote on that one.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Silence reigned again for a few minutes and Chelyan once more seized the initiative. “Well, Mr. Mel Haldane, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? I assume you’re here alone as you haven’t mentioned anyone and apparently needed a walking partner”

“Yes, I’m here alone. I’ve never been married and don’t have any children. I have cohabited with several very nice ladies over the years, but my occupations were not exactly conducive to family life, so long-term relationships never proved very successful, I’m afraid.”

“I see. So, what were these occupations you referred to?”

“I spent many years as a newspaper reporter for numerous dailies in several cities. I thrived on being where the action was, so much of the time I was out investigating the breaking news. Years later I was recruited by a television network, and over the years worked for four different networks covering the action in many different countries where the exciting news was occurring.

“I was in Iraq when they were looking for Saddam Hussein and in Afghanistan when they were looking for Osama Bin Laden. I was in New Orleans right after Hurricane Katrina went through there, and in Galveston after Hurricane Ike clobbered the city, just to name a few of my sad but exciting assignments. Four years ago, I reasoned I experienced enough devastation for one lifetime and retired at forty-eight, with a pretty nice bank account and investment portfolio, to start writing books using some of my experiences reporting our world’s nastier moments.”

“Wow! That is some résumé, I must say. I can certainly see why you switched to the serenity of writing books. I can also understand why you could never keep a lasting relationship with your female companions.”

“Life is full of choices. I’m not convinced I made all the correct choices, but my life certainly has not been a dull experience this time around.”

“I should say so. Okay, it’s my turn to share a little of my background with you. I married my college sweetheart. I studied history and geography with the intention of becoming a high school teacher. My husband, Dieter, was a math and science whiz and studied electrical engineering. Fortunately, he was gifted with this marvelous inventive mind. He figured out how to build-a-better-mousetrap, as the old saying goes, and before he even graduated from university, he had improved the designs or capacity, or whatever they call it, of four or five electronic components or devices. He received numerous jobs offers before graduation and did work for two companies for a few years before starting his own electronics corporation called Dieter Technologies. It was quickly a roaring success, receiving numerous million-dollar contracts from big corporations.

“I never did become a schoolteacher. Dieter insisted that I enjoy the luxuries of a millionaire’s wife, so I became involved in several charitable foundations. I have enjoyed a marvelous life, except for the fact that I wasn’t able to bear children, and just two months ago I unexpectedly became a widow.”

Mel noticed that Chelyan began fighting back the tears as she concluded her brief summary of her life with her husband. He hoped that she didn’t break down into another sobbing session. After a minute or two she looked at him with glassy eyes and apologized. He considered giving her another hug like in the morning. But he quickly concluded that doing so might just be the trigger that activated another sobbing session, so he refrained from any contact between them.

After a few moments of silence, she looked at him and said, “That was a close one, but I’m okay now.”

They had never stopped walking throughout their chat, and Mel decided it was time to check his watch. “What do you say we turn around and head for home?”

3

Mel and Chelyan walked together each morning and evening for the next ten days. Neither one of them asked the other any deeply personal questions, and basically no new personal information was offered during their chats. The main topic of conversation was their still-absent neighbors. There were exactly eight cottages between them. Chelyan also knew some of the neighbors on the west side of her cottage, as well as some on the east side of the Johnsons’ cottage, giving her roughly a dozen to fifteen families or individuals for which she could relate to Mel a variety of tidbits or interesting stories.

The families with children generally planned activities together and were only present at Bramblegrove Beach while school was out for the summer. The older couples and individuals tended to congregate more together and enjoy activities that were not conducive to school-age children.