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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
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240611 |
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Diamonds can Kill by Edward Shillitoe |
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SYNOPSIS
This is a story about two women’s love for one man. Thompson H Sinclair, the sole owner of a multi-million Dollar group of International Companies. Although happily married he falls in love with Miriam Scott. An extraordinary friendship then develops between wife and mistress who are duped into assisting in their own kidnapping and then stranded on an offshore island in the Gulf of Mexico. Unaccountably then, a ransom demand appears by 'e mail’. A demand from the dead, or is there an accomplice still alive?
Above the roar of the Cessna aircraft the pilot bawled, "OK ladies?" The clatter of the engine and noise of rushing wind through the open doorway drowned their replies. The women, poised for flight in the plane's door opening, nodded and gave the man a thumb and forefinger circle as a sign that they were ready. The pilot's brown, capable hand eased the throttle back, the engine note mumbled to low revs then with lowered flaps, the machine wallowed, nose high, just above stalling speed. "Ok girls, this is as slow as she'll go. Have a great time." Two miles above the Gulf Coast of Florida the air was crystal clear and the shoreline below was sharply traced as turquoise seas kissed pure white sandy beaches. From this height palm trees could be seen adding their final touch to this travel-brochure image of perfection. Small islands punctuated the vast expanse of blue, like precious stones and to the south, the sun glittered blindingly from a burnished sea. The two women, both dressed in colourful jump-suits crouched in the open doorway waiting for the pilot's final signal. The plane was now positioned over an outlying small triangular island. The pilot, with fluttering hair, smiled reassuringly and called, "Go, go." With thudding hearts and without hesitation the pair dived through the open doorway. The machine rose slightly with the loss of its load, the pilot opened the throttle, raised the flaps and re-trimmed for normal flight. As he entered a steep left bank turn, he thoughtfully watched the dwindling figures falling, until, at about five thousand feet, twin canopies popped open and the pair steered their parachutes for the isolated island. The pilot's tanned handsome features twisted in a sneer of satisfaction, he breathed, "Yes my little darlings, gotcha".
***** Looking out to sea from St Petes beach, Conch Island was just over the horizon in the Gulf of Mexico. The waters surrounding it were shallow and the sandbanks changed frequently making charting impractical, many vessels had become stranded there and so the little island was seldom visited by cruising yachtsmen. The area was privately owned, marine charts still proclaimed this fact, further discouraging 'Sunday' sailors from exploring the area. Many years earlier, a Florida businessman, anxious to escape the stress of his lifestyle, had built a bungalow on the island. Now, long since abandoned, the house had fallen into disrepair and stood forlornly in lonesome isolation. A snowy egret stood in motionless sentinel duty by the half open front door, looking out over a wilderness of flourishing sub-tropical vines and shrubs. A few palm trees stood languidly near the beach with green parakeets perched in their upper fronds, the birds preening themselves with scimitar beaks whilst alert bright eyes followed the final descent and landing of the two parachutists.
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