Black Orchid

Laura Burke

Description

In a small Connecticut fishing village known as Watch Hill, walking on the beach at sunset has become a rather enjoyable pastime for Wayne Minor.
Watch Hill is not a very big village and, in fact, it is situated on a small island. It is a very peaceful setting until several mysterious Black Orchid blooms are found on the beach. Suddenly, the residents begin to die one by one, as tis quiet town becomes a place of terror.
Everyone begins to wonder where the blooms are coming from and who is behind leaving them for the residents to find.
Nobody is safe from the deadly blooms. Even the police baffled and begin to die. One police detective is so angry that his fellow officers are being tortured and killed that he vows to find the killer or killers no matter what the cost.

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thrillers
• Mystery
• Murder
• Suspense
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: iUniverse
• Date de parution: 30 décembre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781663233455
• Langue: English

Extrait

Black Orchid
 
 
 
 
 
 
Laura Burke
 
 
 
 
 

 
BLACK ORCHID
 
 
Copyright © 2022 Laura Burke.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
 
 
 
 
 
iUniverse
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.iuniverse.com
844-349-9409
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6632-3386-8 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-3345-5 (e)
 
 
 
 
 
iUniverse rev. date: 12/24/2021
Contents
Dedication
 
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Dedication
I’d like to dedicate this novel to Jeri Giblin, who is a great friend and inspiration.
One
I n a small fishing village in Connecticut known as Watch Hill, walking on the beach at sunset became a rather enjoyable pastime for Wayne Minor. It was not a very big village; in fact, the village was on a small island. The main village ran from east to west, covering only about five miles from the Lighthouse to the last house. The south side of the island was rocky—almost mountainous. Nobody lived on the south side because the rocky surface made it inhabitable. Nobody could argue that there was a better place to live than Watch Hill. Everyone knew everybody, and all were like a big family.
Most of the island was covered in tall pines and other foliage. In the overgrown areas, children built their play forts and huts. Those areas kept the children’s secrets from all others. All the children had grown up, and most had moved away. The only clear places on the island were the residents’ homes on the east side. From the shoreline, you could see the early morning mist over the water. It was almost magical to watch as it blanketed the static, sparkling surface.
The residents of the island had everything they needed. The island allocated power to all the houses and shops from one centralized generator. In the wintertime, some folks went to leave the island for the mainland, but a few old timers would stay, heating their homes just as their parents did with wood-burning stoves and fireplaces.
The only way you could reach the island was by boat, and most say it was worth a thirty-minute ride to paradise to see the lush trees and breathe the fresh air. There was no pollution on this island. There were only a few vehicles, mostly golf carts, and everyone walked to wherever they wanted to go; nobody needed to drive for everything was in walking distance.
Wayne loved walking on the beach at sunset, for there was always something different that would wash up on the shore. This evening was no different. The waves rolled gently in on the shore, washing the sand back into the sea. The tides were higher than usual and the water was murkier than he had ever seen before. The moon would be full this night, and that would have caused the change in tides. The sound of the surf was hypnotic—tranquillizing. Slow and rhythmic, it never skipped a beat. He listened to the sounds of the sea washing in and out.
He walked slowly, looking at items that had washed up on the seashore. Picking up several small pieces of driftwood, he pondered what he could make with them. They were small, but rather unique. This was a hobby he loved, and could always come up with something unique and different from any of his other pieces.
Wayne was an artist, and had lived in Watch Hill for the past five years. He had several paintings on display at the local antique general store in town. His real passion was making things out of what he found on the beach. Making small animals and birds was what he liked best. Painting was all right, but creating small creatures on driftwood was his real passion now. It was a great seller, and it kept food on the table.
The tourists loved trinkets like that. The island was perfect for those who wanted to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city for a week or two to relax. The only time they would come was summer, and by the end of August, all the tourists would be gone and only a few of the locals would remain through the winter months. There were never more than ten guests at a time, for the inn on the island could not accommodate more than that.
This evening felt different to him. The sun was setting and there was suddenly a chill in the air. He quickly zipped up his jacket and continued to walk the beach line. The breeze picked up and the waves became furious as they slapped the shoreline. He looked out across the water, but the sky still looked clear. The white caps on the waves told a different story. The breeze had been very light, but became suddenly strong. It didn’t look like a storm was brewing, but it must be, he thought. The breeze chilled him to the bone as it became stronger. He decided it was time to head back to the small house he owned.
It was the end of April and the temperatures were usually warming, but this evening felt as if they were in for a cold snap—something the folks did not want. They’d had a severe winter, and all of them were looking Wayne was rather tall with a great, muscular build. He worked out daily. At sunrise, you could set your watch by him jogging down the beach. His usual routine was to jog five miles down and five miles back, come rain or shine. Even in the wintertime, he would bundle up and do the same routine. He had a room added on to his house just for working out. Everyone in town thought he was crazy, but he believed in staying in shape.
He was becoming concerned about the tide as he started for home. He was high up on the beach, trying to get away from the water, but because the tide was so high, the water was still hitting him. His house wasn’t too far from the beach, and now the idea of it getting flooded ran through his mind. The water had never raised this high before. He had lived there long enough to know his home was safe, but on this night, he became concerned. Even during seasonal storms, he had never worried before.
Wayne saw a light in the distance. He always turned on a light before taking his walk because his jog usually lasted until it was dark. He began to run faster and by now as he was soaking wet from head to toe.
Just as he rounded the big rock on shore, he saw it. It was small boat. Wayne tried to make out whose it was, but could not make out exactly who it was or what they were doing out there. He stood on a huge rock to see better, but still couldn’t tell who it was. The rain suddenly poured down without warning and as he looked down, he stopped and scratched his head, for there in the sand lay a perfect bloom of an orchid. In the light from a flash of lightning, at least it looked like a bloom of an orchid. He couldn’t make out the color of it, but he was certain it was very dark. It was in perfect shape—as if it had been just picked.
There were no leaves on it, just the bloom. He looked around to see if anyone had dropped it. Not seeing anyone, he bent down to pick it up. It looked very delicate, and he was afraid of crushing its petals. He had a pair of gloves in his jacket, so he put them on before picking it up. The delicate bloom was so perfect that it seemed as if it was made of wax or plastic. He hurried to his house.
Inside, he listened to the crashing waves on the beach. The sound was magnified to the point that it was almost deafening. He laid the orchid on the table, and took a small glass bowl from the cabinet and filled it with water. Gently lifting the orchid with his gloved hands, he placed it in the water. After examining the bloom, he realized it was real, and the color was unbelievable. It was solid black!
Taking off his jacket and gloves, he sat at the table, looking at the orchid’s magnificent shape and color. It was so amazingly breathtaking that he had to tell someone about it. The color was black as midnight without the moon, and the structure was impeccable. The hard surf had not damaged the bloom at all. “So where did you come from?”
He knew of only one person on the island knew anything about orchids—the kind you buy at the gardening store and make corsages from. There wasn’t anything like this that he knew of. The bloom was nearly six inches across and four inches deep. This was the biggest orchid bloom he had ever seen. Even the ones they make corsages out of were not this big. The fragrance of the bloom filled the air of his small cottage in only a few minutes.
It completely captivated him for several hours and he had forgotten about the small pieces of driftwood he had found earlier on the beach, which were still in his jacket pocket. His jacket was on the back of the chair. The pocket of the jacket was poking him in his back. Wayne reached back to see what was poking him and remembered the small pieces.
He pulled the pieces of driftwood from this pocket and laid them on t