David Banner [Banner - Lowcountry Seaside Mystery Box Set

Dead South

THE LOWCOUNTRY MYSTERY SERIES: BOOK ONE

David Banner

Published by Golden Pineapple Publishing.

Copyright 2017 by David Banner.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance or similarity to any person, place, or event is purely coincidental. While I try my best to keep the geography of the beautiful state of South Carolina correct, some of the places in this work are fictional. Some are omitted for personal reasons, such as the sheriffs office. Which in this book will be referred to as the Charleston County Police Department. No part of this book may be reproduced without author consent.

Other Books By David Banner

The Dangerous Waters Thriller Series

Echoes From The Water

Secrets In The Breeze

Dead On The Docks

Shadows In The Gulf

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Chapter One

If Detective Ryan Devereux would have known a simple phone call was going to change his life forever, he probably wouldve thought twice before stepping off his houseboat. Thats the thing about life-changing moments though. You almost never see them coming, and this one was miles away from what Ryan expected to find on his first week back with the Charleston County Police Department.

Having grown up in what was often referred to as the friendliest city in America, he was the definition of a true Southerner. Ryan grew up on sweet tea, Sunday mass, and more fried chicken than any one person had the right to eat. Unless, of course, that person happened to be raised by Melissa Devereux. Known as one of the best cooks in all of Charleston County, it wasnt long after having her babies that Melissa decided to open her own little caf. Besides, it wasnt as though she had much else keeping her busy with her husband gone off to only God knows where to defend his country.

And wouldnt you just know it, Ryan was named an employee on the spot. It never seemed to bother his motheror anyone else, for that matterthat the young boy could barely see over the counter. His sweet smile and bright blue eyes were enough to make almost all of Mrs. Devereuxs patrons light up with joy every time they walked through the door. Yes, the fried chicken may have been cooked to perfection, but to the elderly church-going folks around Charleston, it was the soft smile of a little boy that made for a sweet ending to their meals.

The call came early in the morning, just as the bright orange sun began to rise out of the eerily still Atlantic waters. Since moving into his houseboat, Second Wind , hed gotten accustomed to staying up a bit later than he was able to with a wife lying next to him. And now that that kind of thing was no longer a problem, he found himself enjoying more late evenings than he had any right to.

There was something so undeniably soothing about the crashing waves and the moonlight. With a cold drink in his hand and a few old memories on his mind, Ryan always managed to find himself lost in the idea of the ocean and the possibilities it seemed to hold.

The property owner found her this morning, said a red-haired officer. He was new to the force, a rookie in every sense of the word, which meant hed seen far less than the seasoned detective. A good thing, if you were to ask Ryan. So good that he might just tell the young cop to consider a different career path before becoming too jaded with the harsh reality of being in law enforcement.

He knew better, though. Being a police officer took a certain kind of person, one with the desire to make things right, to find the truth in the lies, and to hold the guilty accountable for their crimes. That kind of thing was just in a mans blood, period. Once he found it, there seemed to be no turning back, no denying it.

There was no crunch of leaves, no snapping of twigs underfoot, and no rustling of dry foliage in the breeze. The previous nights heavy spring thunderstorm had made sure of that. The detectives shiny black shoes sank into the soft marshland with every step, covering them in a thick, sloshy mess of leaves and mud. It was nothing new, though. Living in South Carolinas Lowcountry meant many things, and chief among them was the understanding that shoes werent meant to stay shiny.

Property owner? the detective asked, following behind the young rookie.

The words struck his ears like church bells, loud and sudden if you werent expecting them. Waverly Plantation hadnt been in use for the last ten years, ever since Old Man Waverly was found at the end of his driveway with a broken leg and the morning mail scattered around him like gossip at a cotillion.

Seeing as how his son was too busy chasing his dreams up in New York somewhere, Ronald Waverly had spent the last five years of his life being cared for in the local rest home. The idea of such a thing always rubbed Ryan the wrong way, leaving the man who raised you with strangers. In his eyes, it simply lacked proper respect.

Yes, the young man replied. The property was bought a few months ago by someone out of Valdosta, Georgia. A family, I think. The owner was out exploring the marsh when he spotted an old rusted-out boat and decided to check it out.

I see, Ryan answered. And where is the owner now?

I believe hes being questioned in the house. I dont believe weve met. The young man cleared his throat, then awkwardly extended his hand. My name is Carter White.

Good to meet you, Officer White. Ryan shook the young mans hand. How long have you been on the force?

About a month now. I started in early June. There was a shaky hesitation in his voice, one the senior detective interpreted as nerves. Though honestly, he couldnt remember being so shy, even as a rookie.

Well that explains it, Ryan said. I was out for the beginning of the month.

I hope everything is okay, he replied, dropping the octave of his voice just a little.

Everything is fine, Ryan answered, not particularly wanting to get into the complicated story of his current situation. Just needed to get a few things together.

If theres anything I can do to help

I appreciate it, Ryan interrupted. Ill manage. Now where is the victim?

Officer White pointed. Just past this tree line.

Waverly Plantation was one of the largest properties in Charleston County. The land had seen many changes over its long history. Built as a rice farm, which any true Southerner would claim as one of South Carolinas most important antebellum crops, the land was home to a long line of Waverly men in the years that followed. A large white plantation house sat at the end of a long tree-lined driveway. In the back sat a series of small houses, once home to a number of slaves in its early stages. After the shameful defeat of the Civil War, however, Waverly Plantation had transformed into a produce farm.

There was still something thick in the air, something a little darker than the dense southern humidity. Like so many places, lives had begun and ended on that property. Each one was a different story in the rich tapestry of Charleston County, each one remembered by the people who, generations later, still walked the same land as their ancestors.

The sound of Detective Devereuxs phone rang out through the swamp-covered land, ricocheting from the moss-covered trees before vanishing into the dark woods. Removing the device from his pocket, Ryan saw a familiar face fill the screen, one that caused him to feel a series of emotions, each one conflicting with the last.

Be careful. Carter pointed. I dropped my phone in a marsh last week. Instant water damage.

Its okay, Ryan said, taking stock of the lithe-limbed man. I live on a boat. My case is waterproof.