Copyright © 2019
Published by DOWN ISLAND PRESS, LLC, 2019
Beaufort, SC
Copyright © 2019 by Wayne Stinnett
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express written permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Library of Congress cataloging-in-publication Data
Stinnett, Wayne
Rising Spirit/Wayne Stinnett
p. cm. - (A Jesse McDermitt novel)
ISBN-13: 978-1-7339351-3-5
ISBN-10: 1-7339351-3-4
Cover photograph by Popoudina Svetlana
Graphics by Wicked Good Book Covers
Edited by The Write Touch
Final Proofreading by Donna Rich
Interior Design by Ampersand Book Interiors
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Many real people are used fictitiously in this work, with their permission. Most of the locations herein are also fictional or are used fictitiously. However, the author takes great pains to depict the location and description of the many well-known islands, locales, beaches, reefs, bars, and restaurants throughout the Florida Keys and the Caribbean to the best of his ability.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Foreword
Dedication
More Jesse
The Gaspar's Revenge Ship's Store Is Open
Map 1: Jesse's Island
Maps: Shenandoah Valley, Virginia
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
More Books by Wayne Stinnett
About the Author
In 2001, I moved from Florida to Travelers Rest, SC, in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. It was a big change for me, but it wasn’t completely foreign. You see, as a nineteen-year-old Marine, I went through cold weather survival training in Fort Drum, New York. We worked and trained outdoors for the whole two weeks. At the time, the common belief was that the next big land battle would take place in the frozen wasteland of northern Europe, so we trained for it. The Cold War wasn’t just a phrase about political attitudes.
Jesse went through that same training with me. So, I thought I’d take him back to a snow-covered mountainside and see if he’d lost his edge. Throughout this story, many characters kept telling Jesse that as a Keys charter boat captain, he was out of his element. On top of that, I thought I’d throw him a curve ball and bring back a couple of women from his past.
I enjoy putting my characters into unusual situations to see how they’ll react. Unlike many writers, I don’t create an outline for my work. I set the location, plop the characters into it, and they tell me the story from their points of view. I quite literally make it all up as it goes along and have no idea how it will end until I get there. In writing the story, I experience the twists and turns much the same way that my readers do. It took me four months to reach the end. I hope you’ll find the read a little faster.
This one took a little longer to write than most of my stories. I started it in May and didn’t finish until September. It was summer, I had a new boat, and the 30th annual Novelists, Inc conference was fast approaching at the end of September. Serving as the organization’s 2019 president took quite a bit of time away from my work and my boat! But being elected by my peers to lead this very prestigious organization was very humbling. I like to think I did the job well.
While at the conference during the last week of September 2019, I was able to sit down with several team members. My editor, Marsha Zinberg, was there meeting new and old clients, as well as my narrator, Nick Sullivan, and my co-author in the Charity series, Kimberli Bindschatel. We all had dinner together and were able to discuss ideas and plans several times before and during the conference. Thanks for the companionship and friendship.
With every book, I thank the many members of my beta reading team. I call them that for lack of a better name, as they are the first ones to read my manuscripts after me. I have to say it again: without these folks, all experts in various fields, my stories would be far less accurate and enjoyable. Among this group are doctors, lawyers, pilots, boaters, locals, air traffic controllers, military, law enforcement, and spec-ops folks, and old friends from my teen years. Trust me, they know they can’t hurt my feelings. They point out many flaws, give me great ideas that make the story better, and provide expert advice during the writing process. They have now all become my friends and integral parts of my team. Many thanks to Debbie Kocol, Thomas Crisp, Ron Ramey, Dana Vilhen, Katy McKnight, Torrey Neill, Mike Ramsey, Alan Fader, Charles Höfbauer, John Trainer, David Parsons, Drew Mutch, Deg Priest, Glen Hibbert, and Debbie Cross for helping to polish up the manuscript.
During the writing of this story, tragedy struck the Bahamas in the form of Hurricane Dorian. A member of my beta reader team owns the small resort where Jesse stayed on Elbow Cay in Fallen Mangrove. Yeah, that was a real place! We had been planning a week-long social event there for a small number of readers and friends, scheduled for March 2020. Most of the island and many others in the Abacos have sustained catastrophic damage and many people have died.
The small resort of Crystal Waters and Villas was among the damaged properties. Early photographs show that the resort’s structures weren’t destroyed, but damage was horrific and they likely won’t reopen until sometime next year.
Look them up, book in advance for next year, and make a donation along with your deposit. I can promise it will go to those who need it most in the form of materials to rebuild.
Islanders are tough people and the Abacos will bounce back. It’s been five weeks since the hurricane as I write this, and last night I watched a news story about a dog that was pulled alive from the rubble of a house, though severely malnourished and dehydrated. The Abacos are still in clean-up and recovery stage and it will be years before things are back to normal.
I’d also like to thank my incredible publishing team under the Down Island Press umbrella. Editor Marsha Zinberg of The Write Touch is slowly turning a storyteller into a writer with her insights and instruction. I’ve never claimed to be a writer, just a storyteller. But there’s hope yet.
The last person to read my work with a critical eye to style is Donna Rich. She’s been a part of this process almost from the start, when she was the second proofreader of my second novel. I couldn’t think of releasing a new book without her eyes on the finished manuscript.
Veteran actor of stage and screen, Nick Sullivan, has been the voice of Jesse McDermitt since the beginning. He was the sixty-third audition I listened to and he had
me with his rendition of Rusty Thurman. Now that he is a terrific novelist himself, Nick and I have brought our characters together in our stories. His friendship is very valuable to me, and his attention to detail in his narration really puts that last spit-shine on the story. The best way to find the little mistakes is to read a book aloud. But when Nick finishes, it’s still not a book. It’s just an ugly Word file that he’s masterfully acted out on audio.
A book has a cover, and that’s where cover designer Shayne Rutherford of Wicked Good Book Covers comes in. She’s responsible for grabbing your attention and you’ve seen her work on many of my author friends’ works.
What turns all this into a book that creates an enjoyable reading experience? Professional formatting and artistic flair. That comes from the desk of Colleen Sheehan of Ampersand Book Design, who formats the interiors of my books to make them much more than just words on a page.
Thank you all.
That sounds goofy.
Thanks, y’all!
That’s better.
So, go grab a sweater, put another log on the fire, and let me take you to my ancestral home in the Shenandoah Valley region, where my 7th great-grandfather first settled in 1750, just below the Tobacco Row Mountains, south of the Valley. In Amherst County, Virginia, there are more Stinnetts than there are Smiths, Johnsons, Clarks, and Joneses combined.
Jesse’s not out of his element, but I promise that by the end of the story, you’ll be hip-deep in alligators once more.
One Human Family
To Debbie and her family, and to all the people of the Abacos.
“Courage is the most important of all the virtues because without
courage, you can’t practice any other virtue consistently.”
– Maya Angelou
If you’d like to receive my newsletter, please sign up on my website:
www.waynestinnett.com.
Every two weeks, I’ll bring you insights into my private life and writing habits, with updates on what I’m working on, special deals I hear about, and new books by other authors that I’m reading.
The Charity Styles Caribbean Thriller Series
Merciless Charity
Ruthless Charity
Reckless Charity
Enduring Charity
Vigilant Charity
The Jesse McDermitt Caribbean Adventure Series
Fallen Out
Fallen Palm
Fallen Hunter
Fallen Pride
Fallen Mangrove
Fallen King
Fallen Honor
Fallen Tide
Fallen Angel
Fallen Hero
Rising Storm
Rising Fury
Rising Force
Rising Charity
Rising Water
The Gaspar’s Revenge Ship’s Store is open.
There, you can purchase all kinds of swag related to my books. You can find it at:
WWW.GASPARS-REVENGE.COM
There, you can purchase all kinds of swag related to my books. You can find it at
www.gaspars-revenge.com
The early fall air was crisp and cool as a light breeze out of the northeast rustled the leaves. Muted shades of orange, yellow, red, and green covered the far-away hillsides of the Shenandoah Valley.
The breeze seemed to swirl the colors around, some becoming more or less intense as the wind moved the many differently colored leaves.
It was the time of year when the sun began to relinquish control of the sky, yielding more and more time to the moon as the days got shorter following the autumnal equinox.
The sparsely planted trees along the town’s busy two-lane streets tried to mimic those on the forested hillside. Their leaves were the same color, but they couldn’t quite match the grandeur of the mountains surrounding the valley. All the buildings, cars, and people detracted from the splendor.
The town had been laid out long before traffic jams, malls, fast food, and rush hours, and the buildings had been erected with a smaller populace in mind. They were built in such close proximity that the streets would never accommodate more than two lanes of traffic, bordered by narrow sidewalks and minimal parking on either side of the busy thoroughfares—unless the mostly historic buildings were torn down. And that wasn’t going to happen. So, the busy town endured the narrow streets.
The colonial-style building on the corner of Augusta and Johnson Streets in Staunton, Virginia had been built in 1901, when there were still hitching posts instead of parking lots. The new circuit courthouse had replaced the previous one on the same property. In fact, there’d been a courthouse of some kind or other on that corner since 1755. The current two-story, red brick building had a wide portico in front, supported by four brick columns painted a pale yellow.
Above and behind the courthouse entrance was a domed cupola, topped with a statue of Lady Justice, blind-folded and lifting her scales high to proclaim equal justice for all. At her side, she gripped the hilt of her long broadsword, a powerful representation of authority.
Kamren Steele stood on the corner across the street from the historic building, waiting for the light to change. “Imposing,” he commented to the woman standing beside him.
“Arrogant, if you ask me,” Sandra Sneed replied. “Built by slaves.”
He smiled at her. “It’s not quite that old.”
“Built at the turn of the last century,” she argued, staring venomously at the building across the street. “By freed black men who had been born into slavery and lived under Jim Crow laws for half their lives.”
A young African-American couple hurried past the courthouse, crossed Augusta Street just as the light changed, and entered the Union Bank building on the opposite corner.
“The times, they are a changin’,” Kamren responded, stepping off the curb after the crossing light signaled it was safe to walk. “Come on, let’s get this done.”
She stepped out beside him, shaking her head but smiling. “Only you would quote Dylan in a town like this.”
Kamren Steele was the leader of Earth Now, an environmental group made up of like-minded people who abhorred overdevelopment, and the unadulterated stripping of the land. He was tall and ruggedly handsome, with black hair graying slightly at the temples. His face was clean-shaven, and at fifty-five, lines had begun to appear at the corners of his eyes. Equally comfortable wearing a business suit in a board room, or boots and jeans on a hiking trail, he’d opted for the former for this preliminary hearing.
Sandra Sneed was an attractive woman from the North Carolina coast. She was not as tall as his five-eleven, but she was close, with blond hair, a slim figure, and long, shapely legs. Like him, she was dressed conservatively; a gray pencil skirt and blazer over a light blue blouse, and modest heels.
She’d been a permanent fixture at Kamren’s side for twenty years and was equally at home in the conference room or deep in the forest, though she much preferred the latter.
The two had met in 1999 at the dedication of James River State Park, east of the small town of Amherst, Virginia. At the time, she’d been divorced for nearly a decade; a single mother of two girls, aged ten and fifteen. Kamren had never married, had no children, and never planned to change either. The two had quickly discovered their shared passions for endurance hiking and protecting the environment, and regularly spent days together in the wilds of the Appalachian Mountains, her kids packed off to her parents or to boarding school.
With her girls grown and now living in Florida, the couple had more time to pursue their common interests. Earth Now was a growing organization, and Kamren found himself more at the forefront these days, wearing the suit. With Sandra at his side, Earth Now’s ranks had quickly swelled to over five thousand members, mostly in Virginia, Maryland, and North Carolina. They worked tirelessly to raise a
wareness and funds for endangered species and the vital importance of wetlands and woodlands. They had picked up the slogan, Think Global, Act Local, and carried it into small towns and villages all around the tri-state area.
The judge who would be hearing their preliminary motion for an injunction would listen to both sides of a dispute over water pollution in the upper creeks and streams that flowed into rivers, and eventually reached Chesapeake Bay. It was commonsense legislation and both sides of the aisle were behind it.
The matter was quite simple, as far as Kamren and Sandra were concerned. All that was needed to stem half the pollutants flowing into the bay was for livestock to be kept out of the upstream creeks and rivers.
During hot summer months, roaming livestock sought out the cool water and often worked their way along the banks, eating the abundant grasses that grew down to the shoreline. The animals defecated in the water and their waste had been proven to be one of the largest contributors to pollution in Chesapeake Bay. All that was needed to reduce this pollution was for fences to be installed to keep the cattle out of the water. Some farmers adopted the new policy as a matter of course, but others couldn’t be bothered. Those farmers were the reason Kamren and Sandra had come to Staunton.
Within five years of implementing the new policy, Earth Now’s scientists predicted there would be a noticeable change in the amount of dissolved pollutants in Chesapeake Bay, and they projected that within twenty to thirty years, fish populations would return to pre-industrial numbers.
Kamren held the door for Sandra and together they entered the courthouse, armed with words and scientific data.
An hour later the couple was back in their hotel room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sandra looked up at Kamren. “Let’s get out of here and go up to the Trail. I didn’t like the looks some of those men were giving us.”
“It was a minor victory,” Kamren said. “These people will just have to learn that the law is the law.” He nodded at Sandra. “We’re finished here.”
“The car’s packed with all our gear,” she said, excitedly. “I’d rather not sleep in a hotel again tonight.”
Rising Spirit Page 1
