Vanished

by S. L. Menear

  The ceremony took place on the castle lawn, overlooking the placid North Sea, and the queen and prince were seated in the front row. Afterward, the reception was held in the castle’s great room, which was a bit larger than a basketball court. The royals didn’t stay for the reception, but my twin brothers Mike and Matt were there with their dates, LIA flight attendants Barbi and Cindy. They shared a table with Lisa and Derek.

  Recently returned from a week-long honeymoon, Tiesha and Banger shared a table with Lance Bowie, marine engineer Vicky Edwards, marine biologist Kip Peterson, Captain Jeff Rowlin, his son Max Rowlin, and Max’s wife.

  Sir Charlie Moncreiffe and his parents, and Dame Emily Brown and her parents, shared a table with Lord Colin and Lady Suzanne Covington.

  Commander Robert Metz and a long list of friends, noblemen, and dignitaries were also at the reception.

  Metz said, “I caught the mole at Camp Baledogle. Turned out it was the base commander. He’s scheduled for a court martial with a possible life sentence for treason.”

  “Wow, Bob, I bet you were shocked it was him. I know I am.” He nodded, and I excused myself to greet guests.

  After a delicious dinner followed by chocolate wedding cake with white icing, and the traditional toasts, bouquet toss, and first dance, everyone enjoyed a festive evening of fine wine and dancing.

  Ross took me into his arms for a slow dance, and my heart rate bumped up as I melted into him. He held me close as we glided around the dance floor. When the music stopped, he took my hand and led me outside onto a cliffside terrace. A full moon illuminated the glistening North Sea below us.

  He turned me to face him and dropped to one knee. “Sam, you’re the love of my life, and I want you to be my wife.” He pulled out a ring box and opened it. A round, six-carat solitaire heirloom ring in an antique gold setting sparkled in the moonlight.

  He looked up at me. “Will you marry me, Sam?”

  My breath caught as I gazed into the sincere eyes of the only man I had ever loved and gave him my answer.

  “Yes,” I said with a huge smile as I pulled him up and kissed him.

  He slipped the ring on my finger and leaned me over in a long, romantic kiss.

  Loud cheering interrupted us. Apparently, everyone had gathered at the doors and windows and witnessed the proposal.

  In seconds, we were surrounded by well-wishers. Mom and Duncan pushed through the crowd and hugged us.

  Mom grabbed my left hand and admired my ring. “I guess we’ll be neighbors soon.”

  I smiled at Ross, Mom, and her husband. “A year ago, when I met Duncan on my first day in Scotland, I never dreamed Mom would end up married to him, a handsome Highlander like the men in her romance novels. And now someday soon, I’ll be married to a Highlander too. I guess this is one of those times when life really does imitate art.”

  My twin brothers, Mike and Matt, pushed in.

  Matt asked, “Have you set a date?”

  “Uh, no, he literally just asked me.” I held my hand in front of my face and admired my ring sparkling in the moonlight. “Give me a minute to get used to being engaged.”

  “Maybe you should get hitched while we’re all still here,” Mike said, grinning.

  “What’s the hurry?” I playfully punched his arm. “I don’t even have a wedding dress.”

  My mother stepped in. “Hold your horses, boys. Your sister deserves a special wedding day of her own, understand? Sam’s wedding will not be rushed.” She winked. “Besides, Duncan and I need time for our honeymoon first.”

  “Excuse me.” Max took me aside and showed me a text message on his encrypted phone. It read: Silver sphere sighted over mountains in Peru. He leaned in. “Any chance that’s the one you have?”

  Frowning, I whispered, “I checked on it early this morning. It’s right where I left it on the bottom of the North Sea.” I gazed over at Ross, who was busy accepting congratulations and hadn’t noticed our worried looks. “Don’t tell my fiancé. I want him to enjoy this special night.”

  Banger sauntered up and noticed the look of concern on our faces. “What—”

  I whispered, “Don’t ask.”

  Max showed him the text.

  He shook his head. “Ah, my queen, the adventure with you never ends.”

  Afterword

  All the places Sam visits in Africa are real except the subterranean city under Tassili n’Ajjer. The Lost Sahara Civilization is believed to have existed based on fossils recovered, ancient art picturing the pre-desert paradise, and satellite imagery showing evidence of a prehistoric megalake beneath the sand, but the civilization has not yet been found.

  Camp Baledogle near Mogadishu in Somalia is a real American military base.

  All the sites Sam visits in Egypt—Luxor, Thonis-Heracleion, the Great Sphinx, and the Great Pyramid—are real, and some experts believe (based on evidence) that both the Sphinx and the Pyramid are more than ten thousand years old. Some engineers believe the chamber beneath the Great Pyramid was a pumphouse, as described in this story, and that it was intended to operate the pyramid’s power plant. An American Egyptologist used a seismograph to discover chambers beneath the front paws of the Great Sphinx (one was rumored by Plato to contain an Atlantean Hall of Records), but Egypt will not allow the chambers to be explored.

  The eleven monolithic churches in Lalibela, Ethiopia, are real and are scientifically inexplicable, but King Lalibela’s hidden tomb has not yet been discovered, and the passages Sam found beneath the churches probably exist only in the author’s imagination. The Blue Nile Falls and Blue Nile River are real, and so are the hippos who inhabit the river.

  The Cradle of Humankind near Hadar, Ethiopia is real, but the author invented the cave Sam’s team explored. The other Cradle of Humankind, located primarily in the Sterkfontein Cave system northwest of Johannesburg, South Africa, is also real, as is the underground lake there in Milner Hall, and the nearby Dinaledi Chamber (Chamber of Stars) in the Rising Star Cave system.

  Dragon’s Breath Cave beneath the Kalahari Desert in Namibia is real and is as described in the story (including the enormous underground lake and the Golden Cave Catfish), but the underwater cave leading to the Blue Dragon is a figment of the author’s imagination. Or is it?

  Underwater Atlantis: An underwater city has been found near Cuba in three thousand feet of water. The city has a huge pyramid, but the site isn’t Atlantis. The author created her version of Atlantis based partly on that discovery.

  Bwindi Impenetrable Forest in Uganda is a real place.

  The 1939 Bücker Jungmann biplane in the opening chapter and the Russian Antonov AN-2 cabin biplane mentioned later are real and are as described in the story. The author has owned and flown several Bücker Jungmanns and has also flown an Antonov AN-2.

  Any factual errors in the story are the sole responsibility of the author.

  Before You Go…

  Your Opinion REALLY Matters!

  Reviewing Vanished at your favorite retailer expresses your appreciation to the author and helps other readers find and enjoy this book. Please take a moment and review Vanished now.

  Do You Enjoy FREE and Discounted eBooks?

  Sales and FREE book offers are announced through eBook Discovery. You can receive eBook Discovery’s FREE Daily eZine and Special Offer Alerts by visiting HERE.

  ePublishing Works! Wants To Hear From YOU

  We enjoy hearing from readers and welcome your comments and feedback on Vanished. Please contact us via EMAIL at info@epublishingworks.com.

  Happy Reading,

  ePublishing Works!

  Page Ahead for an Excerpt From:

  Murder on Banyan Isle

  Murder on Banyan Isle

  Jett Jorgensen Mysteries, Book One

  As my flight approached Palm Beach International Airport, I spotted my family home on Banyan Isle. Named Valhalla by my Danish great-great grandfather, the home was built as a tribute to his Viking heritage. When it was passed down to my p
arents, the Norse theme seemed a bit out of place for my mother, a Cherokee shaman, but she loved it. Tall and slender with golden skin, high cheekbones, black hair, and golden eyes, my mother could’ve passed for royalty in any culture. Fortunately, I looked like her, except I had my father’s light-blue eyes.

  My lifelong best friend, Gwen Stuart, met me at the airport and drove me home. “It’s good to have you back, Jett.”

  “I missed you too, Gwen.”

  When we turned between giant stone pillars and followed the tree-lined drive to my family’s home, I said, “Let’s leave my luggage in the car until the rain stops.” I held a huge umbrella over us as we navigated to my front door through an afternoon downpour.

  She said, “Too bad your ancestor failed to include a porte cochère when he built this Nordic stronghold.”

  Heavy raindrops hammered puddles, splashing me with tepid water. “And stubborn Jorgensen descendants would rather get drenched than alter their patriarch’s grand design for his South Florida home.”

  “Huh, typical Vikings,” Gwen said. “Except you, Jett.”

  We rushed inside, and the heavy mahogany door closed behind us with a firm thud.

  As I crossed the foyer, I caught a whiff of perfume and froze. Had I imagined it? It wasn’t Gwen’s or mine. It reminded me of my late mother’s favorite fragrance. The weird thing was Mom hadn’t been in the house since she and Dad had perished in a plane crash two years ago. The house was empty, yet the fragrance was real.

  Gwen noticed my hesitation and stopped in front of one of the eight-foot winged Valkyrie statues flanking the twin staircases that curved up both sides of the two-story foyer. A brief image of Valkyries escorting my parents to Valhalla flashed through my mind. The fragrance I’d noticed seconds ago wafted past me again, jolting me back to reality.

  “Are you okay, Jett? You haven’t been home in almost two years, not since the funerals. Would you like to spend a few nights next door at my place?”

  I bit my lip. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m not sure.” A feeling of foreboding prickled my skin as I glanced around the dark foyer. Lightning flashed, reflecting on the white marble floor, marble stairs, and something else.

  I gasped and dropped to one knee, tracing the moist marks with my fingertip.

  Wet footprints, barely visible, glistened in the gray light cast by floor-to-ceiling windows and continued up the left staircase. Two sets, one from a man’s shoes and the other from a woman’s high heels.

  Shoes like my parents had worn.

  Thunder boomed, and I shivered as I pointed at the footprints. “My . . . my parents—”

  Her jaw dropped when she spotted the faint trail leading upstairs. “No, it can’t be.”

  “But—”

  She interrupted, “Listen to me. I know your mom was a Cherokee shaman, but that doesn’t mean your parents’ spirits have returned. And ghosts don’t leave footprints.”

  I gestured at the security panel. “The system is on, and the only way to enter without triggering an alarm is with the key and the code, so who—” I inhaled through my nose. “Is that cigar smoke? It smells a lot like Dad’s favorite brand.” My mouth went dry.

  Gwen tilted her head, strands of her long red hair falling out of a hastily constructed French twist. “The odor seems to be coming from the second floor.” She drew her police issued Glock 40. “Ghosts don’t smoke.” She transformed into her cop persona as she started up the steps. “Stay behind me.”

  We stopped at the second floor and followed the odor into the north hallway.

  She hesitated. “Did you hear that? Sounded like a groan.”

  “Could be the wind.” A humid breeze ruffled my hair. “The cigar smoke is coming from that guest room.” I pointed at an open door.

  We crept closer.

  Gwen grabbed my elbow. “Wait here.”

  “But.”

  She gave me a look, and I nodded.

  I waited a few moments. Indignant about the intrusion, I followed her anyway.

  She eased up to the open door and peered inside. “The door to the balcony is open, and a cigar’s smoldering in a dish on the nightstand.” She glanced back at me. “Oh geez, there’s also a whisky bottle and two glasses.”

  I peeked over her shoulder and scanned the room. Curtains billowed in the fresh ocean breeze as I followed her through the door and caught another whiff of perfume. Goosebumps prickled my skin. “Is that a man’s shoe sticking partway out from under the bed skirt?”

  “Yep, he must’ve undressed and kicked his shoes under the bed. I’ll check the bathroom.” She moved to the inner door and peeked inside. “Nobody in there.” She turned to me. “I’ll search the closet while you check if the shoe is your uncle’s size.”

  I eased up to the massive four-poster bed, leaned down, lifted the leather loafer, shrieked, and jerked my hand away like I’d just touched a tarantula. “There’s, uh, there’s a foot in it!”

  Not the best reaction from a Navy Intelligence officer, but I was exhausted from the long sequence of flights from Afghanistan, and the foot had startled me.

  Gwen rushed over, dropped to her knees, and lifted the lace bed skirt.

  “Not just a foot—there’s a body under here.” She paused. “Make that two bodies. There’s a woman beside him.”

  To purchase

  Murder on Banyan Isle

  Click HERE to visit your favorite retailer

  OR

  visit the S.L. Menear eBook Discovery Author Page

  Discover more with

  eBookDiscovery.com

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I’d like to thank my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, for the many blessings he has bestowed upon me.

  As always, I’d like to thank my brilliant critique partners, mystery authors Fred Lichtenberg and George A. Bernstein, for their helpful insights and sage advice. Thanks, guys!

  A big thank you to my expert beta readers, Suzanne Berglind, Kip Peterson, Virginia V. Guido, and Robert D. Krell. And additional thanks to Kip for his expertise on specialized dive gear.

  Special thanks to my friends at the Singer Island Hilton for being so supportive of my work. They make the world a far better place, and the covered deck provides an ideal spot to dine while writing my books. The delicious food, friendly service, and fresh ocean air stimulate my creativity.

  The Islander Grill inside the Palm Beach Shores Resort on Singer Island is my favorite night spot to stimulate my creativity while enjoying delicious food, live music, and superb service. Thank you to owners Niko and Meliodora Bujaj.

  Also by S.L. Menear

  The Samantha Starr Thriller Series

  Flight to Redemption

  Flight to Destiny

  Triple Threat

  Stranded

  Vanished

  The Jett Jorgensen Cozy Mystery Series

  Murder on Banyan Isle

  Life, Love, & Laughter: 50 Short Stories

  About the Author

  S.L. Menear is a retired airline pilot. US Airways hired Sharon in 1980 as their first female pilot, bypassing the flight engineer position. The men in her new-hire class gave her the nickname, Bombshell. She flew Boeing 727s and 737s, DC-9s, and BAC 1-11 airliners and was promoted to captain in her seventh year.

  Before her pilot career, Sharon worked as a water-sports model and then traveled the world as a flight attendant with Pan American World Airways.

  Sharon also enjoyed flying antique airplanes, experimental aircraft, and Third-World fighter airplanes. She has flown many of the airplanes in her Samantha Starr Series featuring a woman pilot, Flight to Redemption – Book One, Flight to Destiny – Book Two, Triple Threat – Book Three, Stranded – Book Four, and Vanished – Book Five. Samantha Starr will return after Sharon takes a short break to begin a new mystery series—The Jett Jorgensen Mysteries, starting with Murder on Banyan Isle. She also co-wrote Life, Love, & Laughter: 50 Short
Stories, with her mother, D.M. (Dorothy) Littlefield.

  Her beloved timber-shepherds, Pratt & Whitney, were her faithful companions for almost fourteen years, and she enjoyed riding her beautiful black and white paint stallion, Chief, who kept her mother’s mares happy, fathering several adorable foals.

  www.slmenear.com