Jack Beale 00 - Dangerous Shoals

I story by Marshall Dodge and Bob Bryan, the one about the two lobstermen who caught a body in their line and couldn’t decide whether to pull it in and report it, or put it back because it was fishin’ good.”
    Benny just shook his head. He looked down on the body, still covered with lobsters, and mumbled, “You are one sick puppy.” Then, as he looked back at Art, who was still hunched over with laughter, he too began to laugh.

Acknowledgments
    Writing a book is never a solitary endeavor. From the first germ of an idea until you hold the finished book in your hand, many people touch the project and leave their imprint.
    Of all those people, I must first thank my wife, Nancy, without whose support and encouragement I could not have done this.
    Others who deserve special mention are:
    My good friends Chip and Deb for their comments and observations
    Chief Kevin Walsh of the Rye, NH, Police Department
    Veterinarian Dr. Mark Richards
    The Chemistry Department at UMASS Lowell
    Renee Nichols, Kim Arney, Claire MacMaster, Paul Donovan, and my Mother were the team that took Dangerous Shoals from manuscript to book.
    If I missed anyone else, please accept my apologies and heartfelt thanks.

Coming Soon
    Excerpt from the next Jack Beale Mystery by K.D. Mason
    HE INHALED DEEPLY , closed his eyes, then exhaled slowly as he reopened his eyes and looked around in the pre-dawn darkness. He wasn’t alone, there were over a hundred other runners gathered in the field on this clear, cold, crisp fall morning. He chuckled to himself thinking that to an unknowing observer it must look like some kind of an alien gathering. Each dark, shadowy shape wore a small, bright headlamp that bobbed and weaved as they moved about, lighting up just enough in front of them so they could move about without tripping or bumping into something, or each other. Occasionally two lights would come together and for a brief moment both faces would be lit as they greeted each other. Then the lights would shine back at the ground and they would separate.
    He was dressed for running, not standing around. His teeth began to chatter and his arms were covered with goose bumps. It was cold and as the early morning breeze rustled the few remaining leaves in the surrounding forest, it sounded even colder. His whole body shivered. The only other sounds were the soft murmurings of quiet conversations as everyone prepared for the start of the day’s ordeal. He would be running a full marathon, 26.2 miles, on difficult trails through the Willowdale State Park in Ipswich, MA. That would be daunting enough, but others would be running the companion event; fifty miles, hence the pre-dawn start. Glancing down at his watch he saw that it was nearly time to start, a fact confirmed when a loud voice broke the quiet announcing the same over a loudspeaker. Everyone moved simultaneously toward the voice and as all those bodies came together, he could feel their collective warmth.
    “Good luck,” an unseen voice whispered from behind.
    “Thanks, you too,” he replied, but as he uttered those words, a chill ran down his spine and fear filled his mind. He knew that voice. He started to turn his head, but the gun fired, and all the runners surged forward, forcing him to keep his eyes focused on what was in front of him. He had to run or risk tripping and falling. He moved forward with the mass of dark shapes following the trail of green glow sticks that led across the field and into the even darker woods beyond, all the while trying to convince himself that he was wrong. “It couldn’t be,” he thought to himself. “There’s no way he could be here!”