Claire Gulliver #06 - Carnage Goes Coastal Read online

  Carnage Goes Coastal

  A riveting mystery that won’t let go until the final pages, February 6, 2011

  By Midwest Book Review (Oregon, WI USA)

  This review is from: Carnage Goes Coastal (Paperback)

  Everything going well can turn into everything going awful quite quickly. “Carnage Goes Coastal” follows Claire Gulliver as she works with Karen Rallins who faces the cruel reality of someone being out to take her life. With a mystery that entangles in the CIA, Karen world falls apart, and Claire might be the only one able to find out why and help her piece it back together. “Carnage Goes Coastal” is a riveting mystery that won’t let go until the final pages.

  Please, tell me it’s not the end of this series, February 4, 2011

  By Martin

  This review is from: Carnage Goes Coastal (Paperback)

  Wigglesworth’s book keep getting more and more exciting. Action packed from start to finish. Please, tell me it’s not the end of this series.

  A great ending to this series..., January 14, 2011

  By grammi-cc

  This review is from: Carnage Goes Coastal (Paperback)

  Carnage Goes Coastal is a great ending to the Claire Gulliver series. Gayle wrapped up all the loose ends. Brought back some of our favorite characters and introduced us to Jack’s daughter Karen. I enjoyed every minute of this story. The only bad thing I would have to say is it is the end of the series. Can’t wait for Gayle’s next book.

  Also by Gayle Wigglesworth

  Gayle’s Legacy,

  Recipes, Hints and Stories

  Culled from a Lifelong

  Relationship with Food

  The Claire Gulliver Mysteries

  Tea is for Terror

  Washington Weirdos

  Intrigue in Italics

  Cruisin’ for a Bruisin’

  Malice in Mexico

  Other Mysteries

  Mud to Ashes

  Other Books

  Gayle’s Tales,

  Light Romantic Stories

  To Make you Smile

  Carnage Goes Coastal

  by

  Gayle Wigglesworth

  Copyright © 2010 by Gayle Wigglesworth

  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 or retrieval system, without prior written permission from Gayle Wigglesworth, except for the inclusion of quotation in a review.

  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 coincidental.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2010940111

  ISBN: 978-0-9800098-5-9 - 1st Printing, Paperback

  ISBN: 978-09825519-6-7 - 2nd Printing, E-Book

  Gayle Wigglesworth

  www.gaylewigglesworth.com

  Acknowledgements

  I was working away at this book enjoying the story that was developing when I realized I had written Claire into a moral dilemma. That stopped me cold. For quite a while I struggled with this problem I had created, discussing it with my reviewers, my editor and my husband. They all suggested I rewrite the book and so I let them convince me, and I did. But somehow it still wasn’t right. I felt that what I had written had already happened. So I went back to the original story and we struggled through the situation, learning to live with what had happened. In the end I think, regrettable though the situation was, Claire has learned from this mistake and she has grown into a stronger, more sensitive person.

  And as I worked through the twists and turns in the plot of this book I seemed to dead-end constantly at a point where I needed more information. Thank goodness for the Internet. Its availability enabled me to research everything from karate, to pistols, to the U.S. Senate right when I needed the information. And of course, as I always do, I sort through my friends and acquaintances for people with experience in areas I do not have and then bombard them with questions. So finally, I was satisfied that I got it right, and my initial reviewers agreed. So here it is, the next installment of Claire Gulliver’s story. I hope you enjoy it.

  Thank you again to my husband, Dave, my daughter, Janet Hancock and my friend, Dr. Martin Lorin for your careful reading, your pertinent questions and your gentle suggestions, which helped me complete this story in its present form.

  And a special thanks to Bob Perkins, who is Claire’s number one fan. Bob has been very vocal in expressing his opinion that I treat Claire with the love and respect he feels she deserves. Bob, I hope this story satisfies you.

  Dedication

  For Janet,

  who has been Claire’s special friend since the beginning.

  Contents

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Part 2

  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

  Part 3

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  PART 1

  CHAPTER 1

  April, 2003

  Her feet hurt, and her back ached. All in all, she thought as she made her way down the grimy subway stairs, it had been an awful day. She released the catch on her umbrella to lower it, shaking the icy rain off as she folded it and headed for her platform. The weather was just one more bit of nastiness in a day where nothing had gone right. She couldn’t wait to get home and into her pajamas. She was already thinking longingly about heating a can of tomato soup and sprinkling a liberal handful of crushed Cheez-its on top.

  The train was coming. She could feel the wind pushing ahead through the tunnel as she waited near the edge of the platform. Suddenly she was flying forward, her arms waving in a panic, reaching for something, anything to stop her from diving into the empty space in front of her. A hand grabbed her arm jerking her back to the platform so her toes again felt the security of something solid beneath them. Another jerk had her balanced on the balls of her feet once again, and the man’s second hand steadied her as the suction from the train sliding to a stop at the platform in front of them still tugged at her. The doors whooshed opened. She felt dazed as she glanced at the man who was still tightly gripping her arm. Then the crowd surged forward sweeping them along, still attached, into the car.

  “What happened? Are you all right? Did you faint?” he murmured softly, his face filled with concern, as the crowd kept pushing.

  She tried to smile her thanks, but it was no use
, her face seemed frozen in shock and her lips couldn’t stop shaking enough to stretch into a smile. He was pushed further into the car, his hand finally released her when she refused to let go of the pole she was hugging near the doorway. She was hanging on for dear life, fearing her quivering knees wouldn’t hold her up much longer.

  When the train started moving she couldn’t see the man. By then he must have been pushed back somewhere near the end of the subway car. As she scanned the faces in the crush of bodies around her she wondered if the person who pushed her was amongst them. That thought frightened her even more so she clutched the pole tighter. She remembered the feel of those hands on her back. She still felt the power in that mighty shove which had sent her hurdling forward, with no way to stop from falling on to the tracks in front of the train.

  But she did stop, she reminded herself sternly. She didn’t fall thanks to that man in the wet raincoat, standing next to her. He was quick enough to grab her flailing arm, and strong enough to jerk her back, stopping her just before she dropped into space.

  Did it really happen? She wondered silently, could the whole incident have only been her imagination?

  No one was staring at her. No one seemed to be concerned. She looked from person to person in the packed car. That’s when she realized how fast the train had been progressing through its normal string of stations. She recognized they had just left the station before hers. The people she had been studying near her had been constantly changing as new people got on and others were positioning themselves to get off. Probably none of these people had even been standing near her on the platform when she was pushed. She still couldn’t see the man who saved her. But he might have gone through to the next car. She wasn’t even sure if she would recognize him if she saw him again.

  When the train opened its doors and spit her out along with the others wanting this stop, she stumbled to the stairs and then up to the street to find it was still raining. It wasn’t until she went to open her umbrella she realized she was no longer carrying an umbrella. She must have dropped it in her struggle on the train platform. It hardly mattered, she thought, she’d been wet before. She turned up her coat collar and hurried down the street, anxious to reach the safety of her building, the warmth of her apartment.

  She was thoroughly chilled when she finally let herself into her apartment, and now she was more interested in a hot shower than the soup she had been hungering for. When she emerged later, warm and cozy in her old shapeless sweats she remembered the can of Campbell’s Cream of Tomato soup. While it heated in the saucepan, she found the box of Cheez-its and crammed a fistful in her mouth while she assembled the bowl, spoon and a glass of milk. She somehow managed to put what happened in the subway out of her mind while she fixed her simple meal. But later, the bowl of soup only half finished, it all came back in such a rush she had to fight to keep the soup down.

  Now she couldn’t forget one bit of it as it played over and over in her mind. She huddled on the sofa, wrapped in a soft throw she kept folded on the back, sipping a mug of herbal tea trying to make sense of the whole thing. By the early hours of the morning she had decided only one thing. She had to get away for a bit. She needed some space to decide what to do about this situation. She needed to make a lot of decisions about her life and her future. She dialed her boss’s extension at the office, confident no one would be there to answer at this time of the night, or to ask her a lot of questions she didn’t want to answer. She left a voice message saying she was taking a couple days off for health reasons and would contact him early next week to explain everything. That settled, she was relieved enough to doze on the couch for the remaining few hours of darkness.

  In the morning she was on her way to Grand Central Station by nine o’clock. She was towing her small wheelie bag and had her big pouchy purse hung over her shoulder. She only paused for a bit at an ATM to get some cash and then continued on her way. She knew just where she was going. She had visited this little town once on her way to somewhere else and had been impressed by it. It was too long a commute for city workers to settle there, so it remained small and picturesque. The shopping area was a little larger than a village, but not really a city, nevertheless there was a nice selection of shops and restaurants. And she remembered in particular a small bed and breakfast on the edge of town that had looked charming. The day she was there she had noticed the wraparound porch with rocking chairs, which invited guests to sit and contemplate the lovely gardens surrounding the house. She knew there wouldn’t be anything blooming in the garden this early in spring, but she could still sit on the porch and think. She had lots to think about.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Prior May

  She perched wearily at the bar in the Oak Room at the Plaza wondering how much longer she was going to have to hang around. This wasn’t her kind of fun; generally she preferred one of the clubs where the music attracted people closer to her age. But since she had made the arrangements for the party, she felt obligated to act the part of host, even though she wasn’t really. Her boss’s boss was retiring from Crocker, Berry and Sneed Agency after thirty years of devoted service to the company. The custom was to have a dinner celebration to bid the retiree adieu. And since her boss was being promoted into Ben’s soon to be vacated position, he volunteered her to organize the dinner.

  She hadn’t really minded. She liked Ben and she liked her position as Mark Irving’s right hand man. Executive Assistant was her official title. Someday, after she learned the business from the ground up, she intended to be a power in the organization. Meanwhile, she put together this company sponsored dinner to be held in a private banquet room at the Plaza, consulted with Ben Goldmeir’s wife on the choice of a parting gift for him and got the staff committed to being there. It was a lot of work, but so much easier when someone else was paying the bill.

  And the dinner went well. Everyone seemed to have a good time, especially her boss, who now had control of the finance department at the agency; and Ben Goldmeir, who was soon heading off to visit his grandchildren in Tel Aviv for six months.

  In fact people were having such a good time that, rather than leave, they just migrated into the bar to continue the party. Most of the younger crowd had drifted away already, but the older ones were still there, getting louder and more raucous as the evening progressed. She had been a little worried about the group’s reception in the sedate, posh atmosphere of the Oak Room, but so far the maître d’ seemed willing to tolerate them.

  They were still going strong and showed no signs of calling it a night. She didn’t have the stamina they had so had distanced herself from them while waiting to settle up the bar bill when everyone was finally finished. She had stopped drinking a while ago so she was nursing a flat Seven-Up while struggling to keep her eyes open when the man sitting next to her asked, “You part of that big group?”

  She nodded.

  “So what’s the occasion? They look like they’re having too much fun for just a drink before bed.”

  She sat up then and took notice. He was attractive, tall, with broad shoulders, dark hair and startling blue eyes, framed by little laugh lines crinkled at the corners. But mostly she responded to his smile, framed as it was by a slightly flamboyant dark beard and mustache. It sent shivers up her spine.

  “Retirement party for one of the favorite vice presidents. He’s been with the company for a long time so there are a million stories to tell. I’m afraid they’ll be hours yet.”

  He nodded with a sympathetic smile. “And you have to stay to the end because why?”

  She smiled back, it felt good. “Someone has to take care of the bill....”

  “Ahhh..., you?”

  She nodded. “My boss volunteered me,” then shrugged, “It’s my job.”

  “Sounds like a fun job. Can I get you another drink while you’re waiting?”

  She nodded again, suddenly not feeling quite so tired. “Seven-Up, with lots of ice, please.”

  After the barten
der replaced her drink and she raised the glass to him in thanks, he said, “I’m Scott Hutchins, from Philadelphia.”

  Of course it was only polite to reply. “I’m Karen Rallins, from New York.”

  The rest of the evening flew by. When the bar finally closed she was almost annoyed it was time to settle the bill. Scott thanked her for her company, as he escorted her to the door and waited politely until a cab picked her up.

  She was filled with disappointment when he let her go without asking for her phone number or address. She was young and reasonably good looking, so she expected to be hit on in New York bars. She had been sure he would make some effort to entice her to agree to a romp in a hotel room before the night was over. Scott, apparently, was too much the gentleman. Disappointed, she shrugged it off. It had been a delightful few hours and this encounter had provided lots of material to build into dreams for those nights she found it difficult to fall asleep.

  The next day was a long struggle to stay alert, but at least she wasn’t the only one at the office who was operating with a sleep deprived brain. It was during the last countdown to quitting time when she answered the phone to find Scott on the line.

  “How did you find me?” Her face flushed with pleasure while her heart beat a happy tattoo in her breast.

  “I just asked information for a number for Crocker, Berry and Sneed. I didn’t think there would be many of them. And I was right.”