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His wide shoulders, height, and good looks usually tagged him as some sort of Billy Budd, but this particular Budd held two diplomas and a doctorate in underwater forensics—investigating shipwrecks with an eye to what brought them down. His long, sandy blond hair curled up from below the hat. As always, he maintained his regimen of exercise to keep in peak athletic shape. A former Navy Seal, he routinely involved himself in various triathlons across the country and overseas. Ingles’ attention was suddenly drawn to a figure pushing through the crowd, a young woman who offered a reporter a sharp reply to what looked like either an annoying question about her mercenary tendencies, or an annoying pass. Ingles guessed who she might be, and he thought her stunning, and from her catlike reaction to the reporter, she didn’t take anything sitting down. He noticed how she took in the crowd, eyes darting in every direction as if searching for someone she’d hoped to meet on the pier, someone other than reporters. Looking over her shoulder like me these days, he wondered, thinking maybe they had something in common —detesting reporters. Regardless, he found himself unable to take his eyes from her. He watched her go about in a circle, making him wonder why she was taking her time on the pier. Looking for a boyfriend who was supposed to see her off, no doubt. Still searching it seemed, when she suddenly looked up at the ship and straight at David. He blinked and pretended to look away. He then turned and leaned into the railing, hair lifting in the breeze. But he soon looked back. Had she found who she was looking for? Was she in search of the socalled hero, David Ingles? Was she a pushy, snooping reporter or was she Dr. Kelly Irvin? Irvin was another of the divers whose specialty was marine biology and creatures of the deep. Word had it that Woods Hole insisted the expedition have a marine biologist aboard, and they expected specimens brought up from the deep. But if she’s a reporter in search of a story here to ask me to repeat my harrowing escape from death, David told himself, just watch how quickly I’ll lose interest in the woman, despite her beauty. Then again perhaps she’s not a reporter at all. In fact, she looked like a photo he’d once seen of Dr. Kelly Irvin, and if so, perhaps there was an up side to the hero business, he inwardly joked. After all, she is damned gorgeous and obviously in wonderful health. When he again focused on her whereabouts, she was storming aboard, her gaze set on him. At least it seemed so, which is what he told himself. As she neared, smiling, a hand extended, David gave her a firm nod to acknowledge their mutual stare, and he instantly regretted it when she rested a duffle on wheels that trailed in her wake, her honey hair blowing like wheat in the ocean breeze. Dressed in jeans and a safari blouse, the returning sun bathed her in light. Tall, he thought, fair-skinned, eyes matching the color of her hair. Carries herself with a distinct elegance and pride, he surmised. But it was suddenly apparent that indeed this was Dr. Kelly Irvin, one of his co-divers, when she stepped up to him and Dr. Alandale—her duffel bag carrying the universal sign for divers. She gave David a perfunctory nod but showered Alandale with a beaming smile, grabbing his hand and pumping it in a handshake. She then proceeded to tell him how she had read everything he’d ever written while still pumping his arm as if she might discover some secret if she only shook long enough. She certainly appeared enthusiastic in her admiration for the elderly man beside David—perhaps one of those father complexes; perhaps simply in awe of being in his presence. “Such genius…such genius,” she said in a mantra while David frowned. Meanwhile, entirely ignoring Ingles as if he were a fixture—treating him like one of the crew—she began a tirade of questions for Dr. Alandale, all surrounding Titanic and her last night at sea in what appeared an effort on the part of the student to make the teacher believe that she was his number one pupil and entirely enthralled—and apparently, she was. By now Ingles wasn’t sure it was a bad thing to be ignored by Kelly Irvin. At the same time, he had to give it to Alandale; the man knew as much about patience as that shown by the biblical character Job. He also knew every detail of Titanic and her first and last ‘maiden’ voyage in 1912. In the parlance of gang mobsters and salvage crews, people said of Alandale ‘He knows where the bodies are’. Dr. Kelly Irvin finally introduced herself to Alandale, and then continued a rain of questions, until Alandale stopped her with a single word. “Enough.” “Enough? I’ve just begun,” she countered. “You’re an expert on marine biology as well as—” “Enough for now; we’ve weeks at sea together. I must pace myself…I’m an old man.” “Oh, not at all, sir.” “Calling me sir further ages me.”
“Oh, no! I-I’m so sorry.” Alandale waved it off, and she changed the subject with ease, asking, “Just exactly where’re the private quarters for the dive team? So’s to stow my gear?” “Now you sound like one of us,” offered David, garnering a smile from her. “There’re central changing rooms belowdecks center, but aft you’ll find private quarters for your personal effects.” Alandale pointed to the nearest stairwell door that would take Kelly into the ship. She gushed once more at Alandale, gave David a micro-smile, and she then took Alandale by the arm to guide her off. Alandale’s body language told David that the older gentleman wanted to part company with her at the stairwell entryway, while her body language insisted that Alandale escort her belowdecks. David laughed when the pair disappeared with Alandale still on her arm and in fact helping her out with her belongings. It appeared obvious that men found it hard to say no to this woman. Pushy, he thought. Then again, perhaps he was wrong in his assumptions about her, as first impressions could not always be counted on. Still, she came off as rather cold and somewhat manipulative even if she was genuinely fascinated by Alandale’s history and accomplishments. He wondered what she’d be like for the rest of the trip, especially toward the ‘hired help’—which she obviously thought David happened to be. Then again a person whose life is given over to marine life, plankton, krill, and the like was probably not the most socially graceful of individuals. David decided he’d withhold judgment. See what comes of it, he told himself and returned his attention to the circus on the wharf, a full-blown news conference about the latest Titanic expedition, one that had cause a great stir or controversy even before it had begun. Fin Chapter Nineteen - Kaye George – A Patchwork of Stories Kaye George, an Agatha nominated short story writer, is the author of CHOKE, due from Mainly Murder Press, May 2011, as well as A Patchwork of Stories, a collection of her previously published stories. Her story ‘Flash Mob’ appeared in Future's Mystery Anthology Magazine, February 2005, and was second place in the Fire to Fly short story contest. She reviews for Suspense Magazine and other articles occasionally appear in newsletters and booklets. She, her husband, and a cat named Agamemnon live together in Texas, near Austin. They can be found there sometimes, but they often visit children and grandchildren because a couple of them have decided, for some reason, to live in Tennessee and Virginia. You can catch her at www.TravelsWithKaye.blogspot.com , her solo blog. She also joins other writers at www.AllThingsWriting.blogspot.com and www.DialogForMurder.blogspot.com Author website: http://kayegeorge.com Amazon book page: http://tinyurl.com/23wcglt Publisher website: http://mainlymurderpress.com Copyright © 2010 Kay George Short story, from the book A Patchwork of Stories ‘Flash Mob’ Two hundred beepers woke up and chirped their signals to their keepers. The ones being paged read the scrolling messages, smiled, stuck the devices in their pockets and purses, and headed out. *****
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www. BestsellerBound.com Sample Ant
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Cloaked in the darkness of his car,
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“Hell, no. When a damsel’s in d
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Even when his mother's cries grew l
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Judd sounded miserable. "Me, too. B
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“Just to give you a heads up,”
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Abe and Bert Ladies and Gentlemen -
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Bert paused to assess Abe’s react
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He had a particularly low tolerance
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with vine designs carved around the
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“Okay,” I said running out of h
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It was ridiculous, of course. Not j
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The women hissed again. The first o
Page 28 and 29: She opened her mouth, then closed i
Page 30 and 31: My journals from that time period s
Page 32 and 33: “Henry Blackheart Hanover.” Ecl
Page 34 and 35: “I didn’t mean you shouldn’t
Page 36 and 37: “I’m coming,” said a middle-a
Page 38 and 39: another night. The thin, hard mattr
Page 40 and 41: and midnight black detonated behind
Page 42 and 43: “Shut your mouth, Van.” Brody,
Page 44 and 45: Marla nodded her head. “Only a co
Page 46 and 47: The last of them were approaching,
Page 48 and 49: “Just tell her someone needs some
Page 50 and 51: “Thanks,” I jumped up and rushe
Page 52 and 53: As his eyes adjusted, he took in hi
Page 54 and 55: their squad had been assigned to de
Page 56 and 57: “Well how the hell was I supposed
Page 58 and 59: “You are the crème de la crème,
Page 60 and 61: actual happiness. Eleven years ago,
Page 62 and 63: He didn’t even look at her as he
Page 64 and 65: opening up the gate to Greg’s lif
Page 66 and 67: She lifted her glass for another si
Page 68 and 69: “Mr. Crowe, you were the last per
Page 70 and 71: The sound of a 15 passenger van pul
Page 72 and 73: “What is it?” McAffey directed
Page 74 and 75: And for no reason he could fathom,
Page 76 and 77: on Earth—or rather below the seas
Page 80 and 81: Melissa breathed a barely perceptib
Page 82 and 83: Maybe this would be the last sessio
Page 84 and 85: Melissa looked at her watch. Time t
Page 86 and 87: He stalked to a small desk under th
Page 88 and 89: No one waited on either side. She s
Page 90 and 91: She was thin next to his roundness
Page 92 and 93: “I seem to recall that you could
Page 94 and 95: Just as she started to think she im
Page 96 and 97: his two apprentices pull the great
Page 98 and 99: Lower, between a cleft in the hills
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