The Cast Net

by Mille West

  The Cast Net

  Original edition © 2012 Millie West

  Revised edition © 2013 Millie West

  All Rights Reserved.

  www.milliewestauthor.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopying, or recording, except for the inclusion in a review, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Published in the United States by BQB Publishing

  (Boutique of Quality Books Publishing)

  www.bqbpublishing.com

  Revised edition.

  ISBN 978-1-939371-12-6 (p)

  ISBN 978-1-939371-13-3 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012931891

  Cover painting by Rick Reinert, www.rickreinert.com

  Interior by Robin Krauss, Linden Design, www.lindendesign.biz

  Dedication

  This book is for Tony, Whitney, and Micah. Thank you for your love and support. And it is also for my late mother, Edna, who believed in me with unfaltering love.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank the following people who helped bring The Cast Net to life: Terri, Lisa, Jeff, Robin, Lori, Katy, Julie, Heidi, and the highly talented team at Boutique of Quality Books Publishing Company. I am grateful to you for giving me a chance and allowing the message of my novel to be heard!

  My editors, Eve Paludan and Megan Miller, for their countless hours helping me with my work, giving excellent advice, and strengthening my novel. Their patience and brilliant suggestions will forever be appreciated!

  My favorite artist, Rick Reinert, of Charleston, South Carolina, for allowing me to use his beautiful painting, September Marsh, as the cover for my novel. Besides being a phenomenally talented artist, he is an extremely gracious man who helped bring my vision to completion.

  Felix Kirszenbaum for allowing me to use his likeness as the talented contractor, Fritz Zimmermann. I have been fortunate to learn from this exceptional thinker, and he really does speak seven languages!

  Attorney Gary Pickren for allowing me to use his humorous flower mix-up tale; Danny Brown for his Georgia ghost story; Kristen Emptage, FNP, and Dr. Danielle Bernth for sharing their medical knowledge; and attorney Smokey Brown for his legal advice.

  Several people who helped shape The Cast Net, and whose assistance I will always appreciate: Vicki Haren Dwan, Gayle and Lou Chiasson, Charles and Sharon Weber, Dottie Ellett, Sheri Martin, Mary Emmerling, Sheri Ross, Sara Clary, and Betty Lanier. I could not have managed without the assistance of my daughter, Whitney, my husband, Tony, and son, Micah.

  Last, but certainly not least, I want to thank the Chapin Writer’s group, whose many excellent suggestions helped bring The Cast Net to completion. Elaine Allcut, Cathy Fitzgerald, Vonnie Fulmer, Ellen Menzo, Madelyn Serina, Charlotte Blackstone, Jim and Sallie Peters, Lauren Dunn, Edith Hawkins, Jessica Morris, Sue Cryer . . . to all of you, I say, thank you!

  CHAPTER 1

  Discovery–December, 1988

  M ills jumped back toward the curb as a speeding taxi ran a red light and came within inches of hitting her. Losing her balance, she slipped on slush from yesterday’s snow storm. It had been the first snow in December and had caught most of New York City by surprise.

  As she fell, Mills lost hold of her briefcase and landed on her hands and knees. She heard a man with a Bronx accent yell at the taxi driver. “Hey, look where ya goin—”

  The morning rush-hour crowd pushed by her to cross the street, and she couldn’t get to her feet before a man and two women stepped over her. She crawled out of the street back onto the sidewalk, but her path was blocked by a pair of worn brown work boots caked in salty grime. The next thing she knew, Mills was on her feet being supported by a burly construction worker—he was wearing a metal safety hat on his head.

  “Hey, you okay, lady? That cabby almost run you over.”

  Mills’s knees were shaking from the fall, and she stammered, “Yes—thank you for your help.”

  He bent over, picked up her briefcase, and handed it to her. “Now watch these New York cabbies,” he said with a smile. Before she could say another word, he turned and crossed the street with the light. Mills brushed the wet snow from her pants, took a deep breath, and crossed Sixth Avenue. As she reached her office building on West 57th, a strong gust of wind whipped between the buildings, blowing snow from window ledges into the air. The powder descended to the ground as twinkling ice crystals, glittering in the early morning sunlight. When the air cleared from the blowing snow, Mills saw the red flashing lights of an ambulance that was underneath the front portico of her building. She froze in place.

  Paramedics briskly pushed a stretcher out to the ambulance from inside the building. Mills watched as a man with an oxygen mask on his face was placed inside the vehicle. She was mesmerized by the flashing red lights and the siren as the ambulance pulled away. A tug on her coat sleeve by the security guard, Claude Glenville, gained her attention. “Miss Taylor, are you okay?”

  “Yes, Mr. Glenville—I think so. I slipped on the snow on my way to work. Who’s in the ambulance?”

  “Mr. Wilcox—he’s a lawyer with Jacobs and Sons on the fifth floor. He was having chest pains. I hope he’ll be okay.”

  “Yes—I do too.”

  “Let me get the door for you—it’s supposed to warm up this afternoon, so most of the snow should be gone later today.” He went ahead of her, opening the glass door.

  “Thank you,” Mills said as she passed him.

  “Have a good day now,” he said as she entered the foyer on her way to the elevator. Mills smiled at him and waved before pushing the up button. By the time the elevator arrived, a small crowd had formed and went in with her. When the doors closed, she asked a man at the front to press the button for the tenth floor. Then her thoughts went back to the man on the stretcher, the red lights and siren of the ambulance, and the sparkling crystals of the blowing snow in the sunlight. As the elevator doors opened on her floor, she took a deep breath and went to her boss’s office.

  Knocking on the oak door, she waited until her boss Harry called out, “Come in.”

  She opened the door and entered his office. He turned and studied her appearance for just a moment, his eyes lingering on the wet marks on her knees. “What happened to you?”

  “I was almost run over by a taxi this morning on my way to work.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, just a little flustered from the experience.”

  “Well I guess so—catch your breath and when you’re ready, let’s take a look at the advertisements you did for the Roberts’s account.”

  She inhaled and then removed several sketches from her portfolio spreading them out on his desk.

 
He studied her work before saying, “Mills, this is excellent. I believe that Roberts will be very happy with what you’ve done.”

  “Thank you.”

  As Harry continued to look over sketches, Mills noticed a newspaper article from The New York Times on his desk, neatly folded to display the photograph of a man. The date on the article: November 12, 1988. The caption read: “Cooper Heath, of Heath Brothers Shipping, Newark, NJ, and Charleston, SC.” Mills thought him very handsome with dark, wavy hair and well dressed in a business suit.

  “Who is this man in the newspaper photograph?”

  “He’s an old friend of mine. We attended the Air Force Academy together.” Mills picked up the paper and scanned the article. Apparently Heath was a shipping executive from Charleston, South Carolina, and his wife had been missing since August. “Why was this reported in The New York Times?”

  “My friend is from an old Southern family, and aside from his family’s assets, he’s done well for himself. His family owns a global shipping firm. I guess The New York Times picked up the story.”

  Mills nodded.

  Harry continued, “He phoned me several days ago, seeking a director for an educational foundation that he operates. I thought about recommending a couple of people out of our Boston office.”

  “Please tell me more about this foundation.”

  “The scholarship program is for low-income youths who maintain good grades and stay out of trouble. His mother started the program before her death and Cooper wants to get more of the community involved. He said that with his job and farm responsibilities, he doesn’t have the time to properly run the foundation.”

  “Farm responsibilities?”

  “Yes, he maintains a large farm on the Edisto River near Charleston. He uses much of the profits from the farm production to fund the scholarships. Cooper was one year behind me at the Air Force Academy; I tease him that he turned in his F-4 for a John Deere.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He traded in his jet fighter for a tractor—Cooper is a conservationist. Dating to the late 1600s, his ancestors on his mother’s side were merchants and planters in the Charleston area. They came to South Carolina from Barbados to make money, and that’s what they did—it seems to be a family trait.”

  “Sounds interesting,” Mills added.

  Harry sat back in his chair. Mills noticed a puzzled expression on his face. “What are you thinking?”

  “I went to school on a scholarship.”

  “And?”

  “I could help others get ahead—like I was helped.”

  A frown crossed Harry’s brow. “Is what happened to you this morning causing you to think about leaving? You do a nice job here, and I don’t want to lose you.”

  Almost getting killed by a taxi does give me cause to pause and think. “Harry—I nearly got injured this morning—I’d just like to read the job description.”

  “Fair enough—you can take the file on the Heath Foundation home with you tonight.”

  “Thank you; do the authorities have any idea about what happened to his wife?”

  “No, they haven’t been able to get a lead. Cooper’s been beside himself. The police, Cooper, his friends, and members of the community searched all of the roadways in the Edisto area, the waterways, you name it. Missing person posters were put up all over the Low Country. She vanished without a trace.”

  “It must be awful not knowing what happened to her.”

  “Yes. Elise Heath is a charming woman. Her disappearance is a terrible tragedy.”

  That evening Mills pored over the information in the Heath Scholarship file and found herself once again staring at the photograph of Cooper Heath in The New York Times article. The foundation’s address was in Alston Station, South Carolina—a small community near Charleston. The more she looked over the file, the more impressed she was about the positive impact that his program had on young people.

  When one of her roommates, Amber, came home that evening, Mills handed her the information on the Heath Foundation, including the newspaper article on Cooper Heath. “I think I might have a job opportunity in Charleston, South Carolina.”

  “Are you serious?” Amber replied in astonishment.

  “Yes, I am—I would be the director of an education foundation that was started by the late Julia M. Heath. I read the file—she was involved in charities in the Charleston area. She wanted to help families get out of poverty, so she started a scholarship program for young people. I think I’d like to be involved.” Amber looked at the newspaper photo before she glanced up at Mills. “Nice looking man.”

  As she began to read the article, her expression changed to a frown. “It says here that his wife has been missing for several months—she disappeared without a trace. What do you know about Cooper Heath?”

  “He’s a friend of my boss’s, and Harry says he’s one of the finest people he’s ever known.”

  “People change. Even sophisticated, wealthy people commit crimes of passion. I’ve never known you to take risks, and I’d say that you could be living dangerously. What’s wrong with your job here in New York? You’ve done very well.”

  “I want a change.” I almost died on the way to work this morning.

  “Please make sure that this is the change you should make. I’m sure there are plenty of opportunities for a smart girl like you.”

  “Thank you, Amber.” Mills smiled at her friend, but her mind was already moving ahead with her plans.

  The next morning, Mills knocked on the door of Harry’s office as soon as she arrived at work. After a moment, Harry called out to her, “Come in and have a seat, Mills. Did you think about the Heath Foundation last night?”

  “Yes, I did. I decided that I would like to speak with Mr. Heath before I make a decision.”

  “All right—he did tell me that he would be at the Newark office of Heath Brothers next week. Perhaps you can meet with him then. I haven’t seen him in months—I’ll go with you.”

  Harry had made arrangements for them to meet with Cooper Heath at Antoine’s on Madison. Christmas was less than two weeks away and the storefronts were handsomely decorated with red bows, wreaths, and garlands of green. It was the coldest day of December so far and the sky was cloudless and a brilliant shade of blue.

  When Mills and Harry entered Antoine’s, a tall, well-dressed man stood up at a corner table in the rear of the restaurant and smiled at them. “There’s Cooper.” Harry smiled back in recognition.

  They joined him at his table, and the two men embraced each other in a hug. “God, it’s good to see you,” Harry said. “Cooper, this is Mills Taylor. She’s interested in the director’s job for your educational foundation. Of course, I’ve tried to talk her out of it for purely selfish reasons—I don’t want to lose her.”

  He took Mills’s hand to shake it, and she noticed how warm his hands were. “I confess I recognized you from a newspaper photograph that Harry had of you.”

  He did not respond to her comment, and Harry quickly added, “Cooper, how are things going with your company’s contract negotiations?”

  “
I’m meeting with a representative of Perret International of Le Havre, France, Henri Duchard. If talks work out, we should increase our shipping with France and bring more jobs to Charleston and Newark.”

  Mills studied Cooper’s appearance and she thought him attractive, with an excellent complexion and an athletic build. His blue eyes exuded brightness and warmth when he smiled.

  “Mills, thank you for your interest in the directorship,” he said.

  “Yes sir. I went to school on a scholarship, and I believe I’d like to help. I’d think of it as a way I can pay back those who assisted me.” He only has a slight Southern accent, and his voice is confident and calming.

  They discussed the foundation until their lunch arrived, and then the subject changed to current Broadway plays. “I’m a big fan of theater, especially musicals,” Mills said.

  “The oldest designed theater in the United States, the Dock Street Theatre, is in Charleston. Many performances are still held there,” Cooper added.

  “Speaking of performances, Mills, you should hear Cooper play the piano,” Harry said.

  “What type of music do you like to play?” she asked.

  “Mostly classical.”

  “He writes his own songs—simply amazing.”

  “I’d like to hear you perform.”

  “I’ll be glad to play for you some time,” Cooper responded.

  Harry was especially jovial around his friend, and Mills concluded that he attempted to brighten Cooper’s spirits. After they finished eating, Harry told Cooper, “I think Mills brought her portfolio to show you examples of her work.”

  “Yes, by all means—please do,” Cooper said.

  She placed her portfolio on the table and removed its contents. The case contained magazine promotions, news releases, original art, and several business plans that were executed when she’d assisted companies as a public relations advisor. There was also a photo of her wearing her dark brown hair at shoulder length with a brief biography. She handed the photo to Cooper.