Terror Flower (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 5) Read Online Free Page A

up to his eyes and he raked the beach.
    “You see anything?” asked Tench.
    Smote shook his head. “I look at the land for a clue as to what my grandfather did here that morning.”
    Tench began to look also, to search the water for anything that might resemble an anchor line.
    “You think he would have anchored, I mean, lost that anchor, this far out?” asked Tench. They had moved past the pier area where the yacht was landing.
    “I don’t know. We got another puzzle too.”
    “What?” asked Tench?
    “He must have gone in the water close to shore, someplace shallow, and then tried to wade ashore. I think that’s the way he lost one of his boots. They fit him tight, but getting in this mud might have pulled one off. Say he was running away and his feet got stuck, what do you think, Jimmy?”
    For the next ten minutes, Smote continued well offshore. He reached a spot opposite the far end of the cleared beach, an area where fallen trees and brush obscured the shoreline.
    “Where are we heading?” asked Tench.
    “A hunch,” said Smote.
    “See anything?” asked Tench, panning the water and the brush with his binoculars.
    “Nothing yet,” said Smote as he turned the wheel to starboard to steer closer to shore. “The guards I think they do not see us up the beach this far.”
    “Remember, the water is too shallow for your grandfather to have run the Emmy to the beach along here,” said Tench.
    “Not too shallow for standing and seeing things from further out,” Smote answered.
    After a few minutes, Tench managed to spot something white barely cresting in the water, and caught in some of the weed close to the beach. He pointed to the object.
    Smote gunned the boat closer, Tench up on the bow, watching the depth as the prow moved through the weed. He could see the seaweed running below the bow. Then, with the basket of a crab net, Tench reached forward over the water and snagged the white thing. As he pulled it in he could see that it was the end of a white line, dirtied by the water but still white. Tench pulled it to him and then aboard. Smote grinned as he recognized the line.
    “I told you we get somewhere. That’s the Captain’s anchor line.”
    Tench pulled on the wet line that still went out in front of them. The line moved inward then stopped and pulled hard caught on something. Tench yanked and it broke free. As it came up from the mud bottom, Tench saw, attached to its end, a triangular shaped piece of steel with sharp prongs, fouled with weeds.
    Smote nodded. “His anchor, Jimmy,” he said. When Tench had it aboard, Smote touched the metal tenderly with his fingers.
    “You’re sure?” asked Tench.
    “I have seen that damn thing so many times out with the Captain. I even remember when he bought it,” said Smote, studying the anchor. He looked at the beach, at the many old and gnarled fallen trees touching the water. “He must have put it overboard and waded ashore here.”
    Tench examined the end of the line. He held the line up for Smote to examine.
    “See the knife cuts in the end?” Tench said.
    “Captain Bob would not cut his lines,” said Smote.
    “What do you think?” Tench asked.
    “That anchor cost a lot of money. Too much to leave here. If he did lose it, he would have gone back to find it,” said Smote.
    Tench saw the bushes move at the top of the bank. Then he saw the barrel of a rifle pointing at him. He crouched down on the bow. The muzzle moved with him, not more than twenty feet away.
    “I guess I was wrong. We have company,” said Smote, watching the weapon.
    A deep voice drawled, “The land here is posted. You all might just push off.” Tench recognized the accent as one used by the Africans who guarded the compound, a kind of British tone.
    Tench could not see the man talking to him. The rifle barrel was pointed directly at his chest.
    “Yes sir, we’re going,” Tench said.
    “I wouldn’t give them no pleasure,” said Smote, in a whisper.
    “You don’t