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Write On The Water Books

A Wes Darling Sailing Mystery/Thriller - Book 3

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Murder in the Bahamas.

When Wes Darling and his friend Elvis, the phobic psychic, take a trip to the Bahamas, they find themselves drawn into a fast-paced mystery filled with treasure and danger. You’re sure to enjoy the array of quirky characters and constant mayhem you’ll meet in this riveting tale of adventure.

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I've lived on my boat for so long that it only took me half a minute after being thrown onto the floor to realize where I was. It was the how and when of my waking up on Rough Draft that I was having trouble with.

The fading buzz of a powerboat suggested that some inconsiderate bastard speeding through the anchorage had thrown a wake, shaking me from a sound sleep and rolling me off the settee.

I fought to keep my eyes focused, scanned the cabin, and groaned. It looked like a Tasmanian Devil had spent the night making love to just about everything I owned. I'd landed on a small mountain of clothing that shouldn't have been lying in the middle of the boat. Something dug into my back and when I thrust my hand under the pile it came out with a can of baked beans. I tossed it onto the port settee and studied the mess surrounding me.

It wasn't a pretty sight. All of my clothes had been dragged from the cupboard where I kept them and tossed onto the cabin sole. Dishes, cookware, and cans and packages of food were scattered everywhere. Fortunately, plastic dishes and stainless-steel cookware are pretty much indestructible.

It didn't take a genius to realize that the passing motorboat hadn't raised enough of a wake to cause this damage. Someone had methodically searched my boat while I was passed out on the settee.

A wave of nausea rippled through my gut as I picked myself up off the floor and my head began to spin. I felt sick and drained and had absolutely no idea what had happened to me or my boat.

As I began to massage my temples, vague snowy images of a blond girl in the world's tiniest bikini flickered through my mind. Flashes of a wicked smile, sensual lips, and pale eyes that made me feel naked and vulnerable overwhelmed me. Finally, sluggish memories began to filter through my subconscious as her image took shape.

I remembered our meeting the previous afternoon at the annual Stranded Naked Cheeseburger Beach Party held at Fiddle Cay in the Bahamas. The problem was, I had much clearer memories of the days leading up to the party than I had of the party and the hours since then. The one consistent thought I had was, "Damn you Gil and Lynn."

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