Terror Grips the Beach
A Mickke D Grand Strand Murder Mystery Thriller
A work of fiction
Steve McMillen
OTHER NOVELS
Murder on the Front Nine
Cougars at the Beach
Death on Mt. Pleasant
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 Steve McMillen
All rights reserved.
IBSN: 9781795269858
Kindle Direct Publishing platform
North Charleston, South Carolina
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to all of the Mickke D fans whose asking about the next book kept me writing. Also, thanks to my editor who helped me stay on the straight and narrow, and to my wife, Beverly, who kept after me to finish the book.
PROLOGUE
Detective Steve Reynolds of the Lancaster Police Department in Ohio is trekking up Mt. Pleasant, a 250-foot-high sandstone formation, left behind by a glacier during the Ice Age. Tagging along with him is Officer Tom Barrish and Detective Ed Connehey, recently transferred from the Reynoldsburg Police Department. Detective Reynolds had received a tip about a missing person from one of his old high school classmates, Mickke MacCandlish, aka Mickke D, a private investigator from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.
The missing person, Jake Tracy, is a high school classmate of Reynolds and Mickke D. Jake’s secretary reported him missing several days ago. He had told her he was going to climb the mountain after lunch and never returned, she’d said.
Detective Reynolds at 6’2” and 250 pounds is bringing up the rear of the three-man search team. Detective Connehey, ex-Special Forces, is leading the group followed by Officer Barrish. They reach the crest of the mountain and take a little-traveled trail that dead-ends into a large forked tree.
Mickke D had told Reynolds that there is a cave on the other side of the tree. He thinks Jake may have gone up there just to nose around. He also told Reynolds to be careful, that it is one scary place.
Detective Connehey is first over the tree, followed by Barrish and Reynolds. There is nothing visible on the other side except for a ten-foot-wide path, which is blocked about fifty feet away by another large tree, making the path impassable. The men carefully gaze over the edge at the 200-foot drop straight down and at a twenty-foot-high vine-covered rock wall behind them. The three men pretty much take up the entire area of the path. If they had to move in a hurry, they would be in a world of hurt.
Officer Barrish is the first to speak. “I don’t see a cave. Are you sure Mickke D said it was here? I don’t remember him saying anything about a cave when I helped him over that tree the last time we were here.”
Reynolds replies, “Of course not, he had been shot and was completely out of it when you helped him over the tree.”
Connehey gives Barrish a hard look. “If he said there’s a cave here, then there sure as hell is a cave.” Connehey knows Mickke D is also ex-Special Forces.
Reynolds adds, “He said to look behind the vines and to be very careful.”
Connehey carefully examines the vine-covered wall. Several of the vines have been cut and he can see that it would be possible to squeeze through to the other side. He turns and addresses his comrades, “Someone get a flashlight ready.”
Connehey unleashes a large hunting knife from the sheath strapped to his leg and begins to cut away the vine foliage from the rock wall as Barrish shines his flashlight into the unknown black hole. A pungent smell wafts out to greet the three men, as well as a low growl, a cat-like hiss, and the sound of metal clinking together.
“Oh, my God, that smell is gross, and what was that noise?” Barrish calls out, gasping for air.
“Are there any bobcats around here?” Connehey asks, as all three men slowly back away from the vine-covered wall.
Reynolds immediately makes a call on his cell phone. “This is Reynolds. Get me a forensic team up here on Mt. Pleasant right away. Tell them to drive their vehicle up the trail to the crest and we will meet them there. I also want someone stationed at the foot of the trail leading up here. Don’t allow anyone up here until I give you the okay.”
As Barrish focuses his light on the black hole, Connehey looks at Reynolds and Barrish. “So, are we going in?”
Again, all three hear the low, spine-tingling growl and hissing sound, as well as a metallic clinking noise. “No, we’re going to wait until the forensic team shows up,” Reynolds finally answers, as all three men continue to back away from the wall.
Barrish asks, “How are all of us going to share this small ledge? What if whatever is in there decides to come out. Who’s first over that tree?”
“Good point.” Reynolds gets back on his phone. “This is Reynolds again. Send a couple of guys with a chain saw as well.” Then he turns toward Barrish. “I’m going to have that tree cut down and if that thing comes out and we can’t kill it, then everyone’s on their own. But remember, I do have seniority.”
Barrish snickers. “Yea, but remember if that thing comes out, I don’t have to outrun it. I only need to outrun you.”
Reynolds makes a decision. “All right, let’s go back up to the crest and wait for the forensic team and tree cutters to show up.”
They wait and listen for a few seconds; however, the cave releases no further sounds. The growl is gone along with the hissing and the sound of metal on metal. The overpowering smell of death remains. They all look at each other as their heart rates quicken. They move promptly back over the tree and on to the crest of Mt. Pleasant.
Conversation is at a bare minimum as they sit on the concrete steps leading to the top of the mountain waiting for the forensic team to show up. Reynolds is thinking to himself, Mickke D, you were right. That is one scary ass place.
Reynolds receives a call telling him that the forensic team will be delayed, but the tree cutters are on their way. They show up about twenty minutes later. Reynolds, followed by Barrish and Connehey, shows the two men the tree he wants removed. Reynolds calls down to the police at the foot of the trail and tells them to send someone around to the side of Mt. Pleasant where the tree is located and make sure no one is in harm’s way on that side of the mountain. They hear the roar of the chain saw as the men proceed to slice into the tree. Ten minutes later, a cracking noise resonates. The tree begins to lean, but then all hell breaks loose!
Everyone hears a gentle rumbling sound and the ground the men are standing on begins to move. “Holy shit!” Barrish exclaims. The ground around the men starts to shake with much greater force. “Get out of here now! It’s an earthquake!” The side of the mountain begins to crumble.
Spine-tingling shrieks and screams come from the direction of the cave. The three men along with the tree cutters scramble away just in time, as that portion of the mountain where the cave and the path were located disappears behind a cloud of dust and debris.
After the dust settles and the rumbling subsides, Reynolds, Barrish, and Connehey slowly and carefully venture back toward the location of the cave. They reach the forked tree, which is now dangling over the side of the mountain supported only by shreds of bark. On the other side of the tree, the path and the vine-covered entrance to the cave are gone; only a rock-strewn debris field remains. The cave is now a sealed tomb.
CHAPTER 1
Detective Sam Concile of the North Myrtle Beach Police Department has her cell phone in hand, contemplating making a call to a local private investigator to help with a couple of her cases.
/> Her first case is a 35-year-old male who died in a private swimming pool at a local resort on the ocean. The second case is a 29-year-old woman also found dead in another private swimming pool one day later in a different resort along the ocean. The coroner ruled both deaths accidental ODs because both victims had water in their lungs and heroin in their blood. There were no signs of bruising or other forms of a possible struggle. The families of both victims said they were both good swimmers, and both parents said their kids were not taking drugs. The families have asked Detective Concile to refer them to anyone who they might hire to investigate the death of their loved ones. She hesitates. The PI has been a real pain in the ass recently, but he is the only qualified gig in town. She sighs as she makes the call.
After seeing the name come up on my phone, I answer on the first ring. “Detective Concile, nice to hear from you. What do I owe the pleasure? I promise I haven’t done anything wrong. Trust me.”
“Yeah, right. Trusting you would be like putting the fox in charge of the hen house.” She gets right to the point. “I may have a couple of investigative jobs for you. Are you interested?”
“Depends. Fill me in.”
She tells me about the two cases. I remember reading about them in the paper. She continues, “The only thing that seems strange to me is that they were both fully clothed and the coroner found only one needle mark on each victim.”
“I don’t see the problem. Sounds like they both died from drowning after taking drugs. Had they been drinking?”
“They had some alcohol in them but not enough to impair either one of them. Anyway, the families won’t accept our conclusion and I thought maybe you could look into it and give them an answer, whether good or bad.”
I think for a second or two. “Since it’s you, Detective, I will be happy to contact them and see what I can do. Text or email me their information. But remember, since I’m doing this for you, you’re going to owe me.”
“Don’t hold your breath, Mickke D. I think you know me better than that. And don’t forget…”
I interrupt. “I know. Contact you if I find out anything.” I end the call before she can reply.
Actually, I’m glad for a distraction. An old high school friend of mine is missing back in my home town of Lancaster, Ohio, and I am worried that something bad may have happened to him. I have been pondering about whether I should go back and look into it, but now I’ll put that off until I check out Detective Concile’s cases.
CHAPTER 2
I receive the information from Sam thirty minutes later, along with the parents’ phone numbers. The first victim, identified as Skipper Chucks, was a financial planner from Rockingham, N.C. He was 35 and single. He had not been listed as a missing persons and he was not registered at the Rio Bravo Resort where the body was found floating in the pool by a security guard around midnight.
The second victim was Linda Evans, age 29, from Georgetown, S.C. She was a nurse at the Georgetown Hospital. She was also single and not registered at the Shark Fin Resort where her body was discovered, 24 hours later, floating in the pool around 12:30 a.m. by a resort guest who went for a late-night swim. The police were unable to find any type of a relationship between the two victims.
From experience as an investigative officer with Army JAG while in Special Forces, I know interviewing the family of a deceased child is never easy, no matter how old, especially when they are taken away too soon. The parents never think their child would do anything wrong no matter how the evidence is stacked against them.
My first call is to Earl and Vanessa Chucks, the parents of Skipper who died at the Rio Bravo Resort. Vanessa answers. “Mrs. Chucks, this is Mickke MacCandlish. I’m a private investigator in North Myrtle Beach and you were referred to me by Detective Concile of the North Myrtle Beach Police Department. I am so sorry for your loss.”
After a big sigh, she replies, “Mr. MacCandlish, thank you so much and thank you for calling. We want to find out what really happened to our son.”
“The way I work, Mrs. Chucks…”
“Oh, please call me Vanessa.”
“Okay, Vanessa. You can call me Mickke D. The way I work is I gather some information and do some preliminary work. If I find justification for a further investigation, we can go forward. Is that all right with you?”
“That’s fine, but we are willing to pay you up front.”
“That’s not necessary. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about your son?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Was your son married?”
“No, he was divorced. He married Tommie Lu right out of college. He was 23 and she was 20. It lasted about four years. Thank goodness, they never had any children. Divorce is always so hard on the children. He’s been single for almost eight years now. He had just turned 35.” I can hear grief in her voice.
“Did he have a girlfriend or was he dating anyone?”
“Oh, I’m not sure if he had a steady girlfriend. He really didn’t discuss those things with us.”
“What exactly did he do as a financial planner?”
“Well, all we knew was that he helped people invest their money. He said he had some very rich clients but he never told us who they were.”
“Was he in debt to anyone? Did he have a big mortgage on a home or business?”
“I don’t know. He had a big house outside of town and an office in a nice building in town.”
Now I ask the tough questions. “Did he have any health issues? Did either of you know he was taking heroin?”
With disdain in her voice, she replies, “Oh, no. Our son was not a drug addict. He was into this holistic health thing. He had a so-called mentor here in town for a while, but for some reason he gave up on her and started going to another person in the Myrtle Beach area. He used to make two trips a month to the beach. Oh, my goodness, maybe that was why he was in Myrtle Beach.”
“Did he own a home or condo in Myrtle Beach?”
“Not that I ever knew of.”
“Well, thank you, Vanessa. You’ve been a big help. By the way, does his ex-wife still live in Rockingham, and do you remember the name of his mentor there?” I ask.
“No, Tommie Lu moved away right after the divorce and he never mentioned the name of his mentor.” I thank Vanessa again, tell her I will get back to her, and end the call.
I make some notes and then make a call to the parents of Linda Evans. Jim and Candy Evans live in Michigan and Candy answers my call. I again offer my condolences and explain why I am calling. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions about your daughter, Mrs. Evans?”
I can hear her take a deep breath before answering. “Not at all Mr. MacCandlish, and please call me Candy. Jim and I are so glad you called. We will do anything to help you find out what really happened to our daughter. And, we want you to know one thing: our daughter was not on drugs. She was a nurse and despised the thought of people taking illegal drugs.”
“How long has your daughter lived in Georgetown?”
“She moved there almost three years ago. She hated the cold and snow up here in Michigan.”
“Did she have a steady boyfriend or was she in any kind of a relationship?”
She hesitates before answering. “Well, not that I know of. She did go out with friends but I don’t think she was serious about anyone, although she did tell me she had met a nice guy.”
“Did she give you the name of her friend?”
“No, she had only met him a couple of days ago.”
“Was she in debt to anyone or did she have any large bills?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Did she have any health problems you know of?”
“Oh no, she was a health nut. She was into holistic medicine. That’s why I know she was not taking heroin.”
I pause. “Did she have any type of a holistic mentor in Georgetown?”
“No, she was going to someone in the Myrtle Beach area, I think.”
; “Did she ever mention her mentor’s name?”
“No, I don’t think so. What does that have to do with her death?”
“I’m not sure, just trying to gather information. I think that’s all I need for now. I’ll be back to you as soon as I learn something.”
“Thank you, Mr. MacCandlish.”
After hanging up, I say aloud, “So both of them were into holistic medicine. I guess I had better call Detective Concile.”
CHAPTER 3
Sam answers on the first ring. “If you’re going to tell me you solved both cases already, I’m going to come over there and shoot your sorry ass.”
“I’m good, detective, but I’m not that good. No, I was wondering if you know anyone in the field of holistic medicine in the area.”
“And what does holistic medicine have to do with the cases?”
“Maybe nothing, maybe everything. Do you know anyone?”
She ponders the question. “You know what? I think the lady I buy my eggs from is into holistic medicine. She lives in Little River and everyone calls her the crazy chicken lady. I’ll text you directions.” She laughs. “You two are going to get along just fine.”
I’m not sure what she meant by that, but I hang up and go down the hall to Jim Bolin’s office. Jim is a retired FBI special agent and my neighbor. He actually runs the private investigation side of my business ventures. I ask him to see if the Bureau has any information on either one of Sam’s deceased victims. He tells me he will check with his contacts and let me know.
I receive the directions from Sam, jump into my vehicle, and drive over to the address she texted me. The paved road quickly turns into a dirt road with huge live oak trees lining the way and providing a canopy of shade. I make a sharp “s” curve and turn into the first driveway on the left. It has a large gate surrounded by a chain-link fence. I notice a large NO TRESSPASSING sign on the gate. I see goats, pigs, chickens, and a cow wandering around inside the fenced-in property, along with several boats in all shapes and sizes. I cannot see any sign of a house or building. I locate the monitor on the post next to the gate and push the button. After a few seconds, I push it again. Finally, a woman’s voice, sounding rather irritated, answers, “Yes, what can I do for you?”
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