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may chCONTEST GIVE AWAY- RICHARD'S
BOOK LAUNCH: In honor of the third/final book in the series, sign up for "Richard's Newsletter" and play to win books. Drawing will be held on 2/28/21. Winner will be announced online and receive a call or email from Richard to check which of the three books s/he would like for free!! www.richardconrath.com -- 3 Kindle copies and 1 Paperback will be given as a prize! |
Cooper's Moon This is the first in this trilogy:
Meet the motley misfits in the Cooper Mystery Series
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BOOK LAUNCH newest and final in the trilogy buy on:
Feb 14th! Happy Valentine's Day to everyone... Give your sweetie a mystery to show you're still mysterious for her! 
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https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08SJ3FMBJ?ref_=pe_3052080_276849420 A COLD COPPER MOON BE ONE OF THE FIRST FEW TO ORDER THIS WEEK FREE BOOK OFFER - SIGN UP NEWSLETTER FOR CONTEST ********* LEARN HOW TO GET ONE OF THE THREE BOOKS FREE |
The Books
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BE THE FIRST TO READ THE PROLOGUE FOR BOOK NUMBER THREE: A COLD COPPER MOON
He was having trouble with the motors. They were catching on some seagrass. So he raised the twin Yamahas and cleaned out the propellers from the grass they had been hauling. Then he lowered the Yamahas back into the water and started them up again, the motors now back in tune, purring like a cat when you gentle its fur. I should have headed home hours ago, he thought, but he had stretched his luck, the fishing was too good.
Then, thump, thump, thump. Not the sound from the Yamahas idling. Another sound, echoing off the water, maybe emanating from it. He could feel the noise in the sides of the Grady White, faint, but steady. Thump, thump, like the beating of drums—but the Seminoles had put those away decades ago—or like the loud thumping of a gator’s tail, but it was too steady for that, or like the throb of his heart against the sense of danger, but he knew better. He had been in these waters too long not to recognize familiar sounds, and this was not familiar. But he headed for it anyway, guessing in his guts that he shouldn’t.
So, he idled his boat toward the thumping and it grew more distinct as he moved back into the sea grass at the southeastern edge of the Everglades. He watched the evening grow even darker as he did, knowing that he should be heading the other way, back toward the open water and safe harbor. But what the hell, it was just thumping, just a curious, persistent hammering in the water. Was it hammering now? And it was. And it was coming from the near distance, from some moving forms in the distance. Machinery? A boat? And voices carried quietly over the waters, but he couldn’t make them out. And What were they doing out here in the dark? In the Everglades with heavy equipment? He didn’t like it, but he realized too late that he shouldn’t be here because a single voice sounded an alarm, over the water, through the dark, and in his direction. Oh, he thought.
And he decided, too late, to turn the boat and urge the Yamahas on, because he heard the roar of another boat, churning the water. He knew it was a fast boat because he could see it outlined against the feeble light of the night sky, but he couldn’t get his boat going fast enough because the roar was on him like a swarm of disturbed bees. Only there was no way to escape them. Like jumping into the water to avoid the sting. He saw it bearing down on him now, two men standing and pointing, fire erupting from their hands as they pointed, and he felt the boat slip from his control, his hands losing the wheel, and his legs giving way as he felt the pelting on his body. Like sleet or hail from an icy sky. And a darkness spread through his brain, the night perhaps? No, he realized. Something much worse than that...
He was having trouble with the motors. They were catching on some seagrass. So he raised the twin Yamahas and cleaned out the propellers from the grass they had been hauling. Then he lowered the Yamahas back into the water and started them up again, the motors now back in tune, purring like a cat when you gentle its fur. I should have headed home hours ago, he thought, but he had stretched his luck, the fishing was too good.
Then, thump, thump, thump. Not the sound from the Yamahas idling. Another sound, echoing off the water, maybe emanating from it. He could feel the noise in the sides of the Grady White, faint, but steady. Thump, thump, like the beating of drums—but the Seminoles had put those away decades ago—or like the loud thumping of a gator’s tail, but it was too steady for that, or like the throb of his heart against the sense of danger, but he knew better. He had been in these waters too long not to recognize familiar sounds, and this was not familiar. But he headed for it anyway, guessing in his guts that he shouldn’t.
So, he idled his boat toward the thumping and it grew more distinct as he moved back into the sea grass at the southeastern edge of the Everglades. He watched the evening grow even darker as he did, knowing that he should be heading the other way, back toward the open water and safe harbor. But what the hell, it was just thumping, just a curious, persistent hammering in the water. Was it hammering now? And it was. And it was coming from the near distance, from some moving forms in the distance. Machinery? A boat? And voices carried quietly over the waters, but he couldn’t make them out. And What were they doing out here in the dark? In the Everglades with heavy equipment? He didn’t like it, but he realized too late that he shouldn’t be here because a single voice sounded an alarm, over the water, through the dark, and in his direction. Oh, he thought.
And he decided, too late, to turn the boat and urge the Yamahas on, because he heard the roar of another boat, churning the water. He knew it was a fast boat because he could see it outlined against the feeble light of the night sky, but he couldn’t get his boat going fast enough because the roar was on him like a swarm of disturbed bees. Only there was no way to escape them. Like jumping into the water to avoid the sting. He saw it bearing down on him now, two men standing and pointing, fire erupting from their hands as they pointed, and he felt the boat slip from his control, his hands losing the wheel, and his legs giving way as he felt the pelting on his body. Like sleet or hail from an icy sky. And a darkness spread through his brain, the night perhaps? No, he realized. Something much worse than that...
