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  Discord

  A Cin Fin-Lathen Mystery Novel

  By Alexie Aaron

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ~

  Copyright 2012 – Diane L. Fitch writing as Alexie Aaron

  Revised 2015 dlf

  ALSO BY ALEXIE AARON

  HAUNTED SERIES

  in order

  The Hauntings of Cold Creek Hollow

  Ghostly Attachments

  Sand Trap

  Darker than Dark

  The Garden

  Puzzle

  Old Bones

  Things that Go Bump in the Night

  Something Old

  The Middle House: Return to Cold Creek Hollow

  Renovation

  Mind Fray

  The Siege

  NOLA

  Never Forget

  PEEPS LITE

  Eternal Maze 3.1

  Homecoming 3.2

  Checking Out 9.1

  Ice and Steel 9.2

  CIN FIN-LATHEN MYSTERIES

  Decomposing

  Death by Saxophone

  Discord

  The Wages of Cin

  To: Jim my eyes in the sky.

  Michael for the Manhattan lunches and introducing me to the Redlands Christian Migrant Association.

  My family and friends who inspire me daily.

  Table of Contents

  South Florida

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Alexie Aaron

  South Florida

  It wasn't the poverty of the area that took Father Michael Williams by surprise, it was the people. These were people that still had hope behind fatigued eyelids, who laughed at old jokes that survived the English/Spanish translation and back again, and migrant workers that saw greener pastures along with the strawberries they picked. Someday was a constant subject discussed across the rows of fruits and vegetables to harvest, up and down ladders of citrus to be picked, and someday always held sunshine and bounty.

  The workers were wary of the tall good-looking priest approaching them, not perceiving him as a worldly threat but as a divine one, a source of guilt due to the number of days since their last confession.

  Carlos, just having confessed last Saturday, bravely approached the priest. “Is that your car, Father? Someday, I’m going to have a car like that, only cleaner."

  Father Michael smiled at the worker and glanced back at the rental car and its accumulation of road dust. "It's a rental car, but if it were my own, I think I would have chosen a red one."

  "Someday, Father, I’m going to have a red one."

  "Someday, I'm sure you will."

  "Why are you here, Father? Has someone died? Is there trouble?" Carlos said as he twisted his hat with his hands.

  Michael raised his hand. "No..."

  "Carlos," the concerned man supplied.

  "Carlos, I’m looking for someone. I’m worried about him."

  "His mortal soul, Father?" he asked.

  "That I couldn't tell you, but you know that already, don't you?" He smiled and placed his hand on Carlos's shoulder, ignoring the accumulation of dust. "I’m looking for a man named Manuel Perez. I heard he sometimes drives buses."

  "Bus driver? Manuel, ah, Manny. He used to drive for Metts Farms, but now I think he drives for the charity school on the east side of the big lake."

  "Thank you, Carlos, I will look for him there." Michael started to leave, but Carlos grabbed his arm, letting it go immediately, after realizing he had touched a man of the cloth.

  "Father, forgive me, but I must be bold and give you some advice."

  "Please."

  "On the other side of the lake there is danger. Stay away from those who will not talk to you. They look like us but they’re not."

  "Not Catholic?"

  "Not men of Mexico or Guatemala. Same but different. Be careful, they’re bad news."

  "If they’re the same how will I tell those that will not talk to me?"

  "Father, their eyes. They have no someday in their eyes."

  "Thank you, I’ll be careful." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. "Carlos, when you get your red car, come and visit me."

  Carlos took the card and carefully placed it behind the picture of his family in the worn brown wallet that he returned to his pocket. "I will visit you in my red car, Father, someday."

  ~

  Manuel Perez was a difficult man to find. After arranging a visit to the preschool under the guise of Williams Foundation business, Father Michael arrived to find that Manny hadn't been to work in several days. No one knew where he lived as he moved around a lot. One of the children mentioned that Manny liked to smoke cigarettes across the road at the old mill. Having no other leads, he drove his rental car across to the old mill, parked it and got out to have a look around. This would be his last stop. He had spent a considerable amount of time on this problem of Father Peter's, and it was looking like a failed mission.

  Maybe he would drop in on his friend Cin Fin-Lathen before returning. He couldn't break silence on why he was in Palm Beach County, but he could stay a while and enjoy her company. Cin was forbidden fruit according to his aunt. She was a divorced woman with whom he had spent a great deal of time while searching for his lost uncle in Cornwall, England. They had their moments of chemistry but had been able to just be friends.

  Still though, in the haunted hours, he did think of her. He wanted to be around to torment her, pull her pigtails, kick her in the shins and run away. Just like a childhood crush. It nagged him that a forty-some Jesuit priest could have these thoughts. Was this why his aunt was so concerned about him having anything to do with Cin? Did she see things in himself that he couldn't acknowledge? That would be scary, giving Aunt Diane that much power. He filed away this new problem and proceeded to work on the one at hand.

  There was a lot of activity in the yard for a sugar mill that was no longer functioning. Most of the buildings were locked, but Michael saw several men rummaging through piles of old machinery looking for items that could be sold or recycled. If Manuel came over here to take a break and smoke his cigarettes, he may have been meeting up with other workers - an outdoor water cooler as it was. Perhaps some of the other men would know where Manuel was living presently.

  As he approached the group of workers, they disbanded and walked away before he could ask them any questions. As he followed one of the men, Carlos's words of warning came back to haunt him. "Beware of those who will not talk to you." He continued to follow the man but hung back a bit. If these were dangerous men, would it not be more valuable to find out why they were dangerous instead of leaving them be? What had Manuel Perez got
ten mixed up in?

  The man disappeared into a large building of corrugated aluminum, sitting on a poured concrete foundation. The sickly sweet smell of burnt sugar greeted him as he entered the building. Although the processed sugar had long ago gone, its odoriferous echo remained. He looked around the large open space with the limited light coming in from the door. Behind him he could see that there was no one about. Off to his right was a ramp that led down to a lower floor. He followed slowly, watching his footing as the cement was coarse and broken in places. The ramp evened out into another large room that was lit by many breaks in the old siding. A large amount of mill debris was piled along the inside wall. Michael walked wide of the pile and stopped as he heard a door open at the far end of the room. He heard angry voices. From what he could tell, there was an argument going on between two men in a language that Michael didn't immediately recognize.

  Approaching one man was one thing but two angry men would be foolhardy, so Michael turned around and began a quiet retreat. He had successfully navigated around the debris pile when he was discovered by another man entering the room.

  "Excuse me, but I’m lost. A tourist, lost," he explained to the man who must have followed him down the ramp.

  "Lost? Here?" The man spat. "I don't think you’re lost."

  Michael tried to step around the man but was unsuccessful. He backed up, but he knew with the approaching footsteps that there would be no escape. Still he tried. He went down fighting. And as he lay there, while the men argued his fate in that same strange language, he watched them and saw with horror that Carlos was right. These men had no someday in their eyes.

  Chapter One

  I opened my eyes and he was still there. I shut them again with the hope that he would go away. It was the most perfect south Florida day. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle, and errant clouds aside, I stood a good chance of getting a tan today. Harry had spoken to me, but I pretended to be asleep. He hadn’t bought the act and repeated himself.

  “No, no and no,” I growled at my permanent houseguest. My answer didn’t even crease his brow. He stared back at me as if I hadn’t spoken at all.

  “No, as in you’ll think about it? No, as in you’ll listen to my side of things?” He smiled as he kicked some water from the pool’s edge where he was sitting, destroying my peace. “The last no I can’t figure out.”

  I sat up so I wouldn’t have to look at him over my midlife midriff. Maybe mid-drift was a better word as in my forties things were drifting south, joining with the effects of crème brûlèe, causing a rippling effect not unlike the sandy sea floor. There’s a thought, I should have gone to the beach instead of sunning here by the pool. Harry wouldn’t have found me at the beach. At least I hope he couldn’t.

  “No, as in no I don’t want to set up a detective agency. No, I don’t want to become the next crime-fighting duo. And no, ah, no, damn, lost my train of thought.” I grabbed the sunscreen and shook the remainder down out of the bottle and applied it to my legs.

  “You’re not being fair.”

  “Fair?”

  “When Noelle asks you to find the missing Copland composition, you fly across the ocean, drop everything, and leave your partner at home.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I tossed the bottle into the pool. I wanted to hit Harry with it. We hadn’t even reconnected when I went to England. He wasn’t getting away with twisting the truth. “You know I was conned into going to England by Bobby Bathgate. I was attacked and had to defend myself. Noelle was helping me. I didn’t leave you, as you’re not mine to leave, and we’re not partners!”

  Harry retrieved the bottle by edging it over with his barefoot. He got up and unrolled his pant legs. “Cin, you crush me. Who saved your life when Manfred and Tobias poisoned you?”

  “You did.”

  “Me,” Harry emphasized. “Who figured out it was the old farts poisoning everyone first?”

  “You did.”

  Harry flashed me a self-satisfied smile as he pulled his hands through his jet-black hair.

  “You don’t need me, Harry O’Rourke. Change your major, become a cop. Sergeant Dave would help you or maybe Tony. Or better yet, finish school and get into the FBI, CSI, CIA, ABCDEFG.” I stopped for effect. “Do anything, but leave me out.”

  “You’re being selfish!” he spat out. “You know very well you’ve got all the press. Hell, all the free publicity you got in England would put us in the who’s who of detective agencies.” He walked over and sat on the bottom of my lounge chair.

  Great, not only was he blocking my sun but any graceful way to exit the chair to get away from him. “All that publicity is no compensation for being shot at, knifed or having the crap beat out me.”

  “That wouldn’t have happened if I was there. No, instead you had that priest and Noelle,” he said with disgust.

  “Father Michael saved my life as did Noelle. And that has nothing to do with what we’re talking about. You need a license to be a detective, not to mention training. I don’t want to be a detective. The kids would kill me. I don’t want to have to explain my actions to the police, or kill anyone else,” my voice quavered at the end. I wasn’t really up to Harry’s grilling. I hadn’t had a drink in months, and my new sobriety was forcing me to deal with the deaths of Ivana Penny and Michael Sherborn. Even though it was self-defense, I did kill them. I was responsible.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to upset you. I just think we’re missing out on cashing in here. What about consultants? Hey now, that would be a way to get around the legal roadblocks.”

  “No. Damn it! Listen to me.” I grabbed his polo shirt with both hands and brought his Irish Catholic face close to mine. So close that he was fogging up my sunglasses. “All I want to do is to mind my own business. Play in the band and be safe.”

  “Safe is boring. You won’t like it. You’ll start drinking again.”

  He said it. I knew it. He was playing the AA card. Even though I never stood up anywhere and said I was an alcoholic, I suspected I might just be. So I thought that I would give myself a ride on the sober wagon. Give it a try to see if I really needed to drink. I loved whiskey. I loved the burn, the high and the smell. But I could do without the headaches, circles under my eyes, bloating, and the broken capillaries that tried to sprout on my freckled face. Face it, I had good but shallow reasons for not drinking.

  I let go of his shirt and leaned back. “Harry, what am I going to do with you? You drive me nuts.”

  “Well, it isn’t too far of a drive, now is it?” He smiled and got up. “What about our freelance writing?”

  “That was just a cover we used to interview Brian and Billy.”

  “We got paid.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out an envelope.

  “Really?” I tried to snatch the envelope but he was too quick. Settling back, I pointed out, “You know Noelle edited that article for us, she gets fifteen percent of it. The rest is yours. After all, it was your idea. How much?”

  He opened the envelope and held the check where I could read all the zeros. “So, you wouldn’t be opposed to maybe a joint venture in the freelance area?” he asked quietly.

  “No, I guess I wouldn’t be.” I was rewarded with a smile and Harry’s overly quick retreat into the house. As I checked my tan line and adjusted my suit, I began to wonder what I had really agreed to.

  Chapter Two

  Flying along the road in my BMW with the evening sun just starting to set, I sang along with the radio. Tonight was the first practice of the Coconut Palms Community Band after our forced hiatus. The serial murders of the conductor, theater manager and several players by two of our own bassoon players, Manfred and Tobias, had brought the band to a grinding halt. Although, Bernice had said that all the remaining season tickets were snapped up. Press, even bad press, sold tickets.

  I had prepared for this rehearsal by actually practicing scales and etudes, instead of my norm of just thinking about it. My alto clarinet was in gre
at working order as it had just returned from a spruce up with the genius that maintained my woodwind instruments.

  Instrumentally, I was in great condition. Physically, I was still mending. Outwardly, I looked pretty good, having lost a few pounds. It’s really surprising what running after, and away from, murderers does for one’s thighs. True, I still had scars courtesy of Ivana Penny, but they were tiny and hidden - with the help of a great cover-up that I got at the mall - though for its hefty price you’d think it should grow new skin. But hey, it worked so I wouldn’t have to be self-conscious and answer a lot of questions.

  The racket that greeted me wasn’t exactly music to my ears, but it was a comfort of sorts. Musicians were warming up and playing scales, while the less talented were showing off with ear-piercing blasts. I rolled my eyes at the conductor as I passed him on my way to my seat. Bernice was already sitting down, playing court to her admirers. She raised a hand and mouthed that she would like to talk to me at break. I sat down and was assembling my instrument when a tall form cut the light from above. I looked up to see Dwayne, one of the Baritone players, standing, holding a stack of papers.

  I put my hand out expecting to be presented with a new set of rules for the band and was surprised by a flyer requesting toys for a holiday toy drive.

  “Already? It’s October isn’t it?” I questioned the paper, not expecting it to answer.

  “Starting early, I lost my partner on this drive, so I thought I would seed the waters early,” Dwayne replied, still in earshot.

  “Don’t you mean, chum the waters?”

  “You chum for sharks. I want toys.”

  I was still trying to figure out what seeds had to do with toys when the conductor tapped his stand for us to begin.

  ~

  “So, Harry thinks you both should be gumshoes?” Bernice commented as we walked over to the refreshment table for coffee. I had filled her in on my day, and she was trying to help me sort things out. “Your children and ex-husband wouldn’t like it. I don’t think the kids would sleep nights knowing you and Harry were out in the mist following suspects.”