The Monarch Read online

  The Monarch

  Title Page

  Prologue

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  THE MONARCH

  Published by Shannon Esposito

  Visit Shannon Esposito’s official website at

  http://murderinparadise.com/

  for the latest news, book details and other information

  Copyright © Shannon Esposito, 2011

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover Art by Zero Gravity Design

  Editing by Karen Schindler

  Other mysteries by Shannon Esposito:

  KARMA’S A BITCH (A Pet Psychic Mystery)

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  Prologue

  Needle-like legs worked furiously trying to scale the glass. It didn’t care about the human eyes watching, unblinking, peering into its prison; didn’t care about time or the futility of trying the same thing over and over. It only cared about survival. About release.

  Wings battered the inside of the jelly jar in a new flurry of hope as the lid was unscrewed and fresh air rushed in. But it was not freedom the creature was offered. Instead a cocktail of toxic chemicals filled the jar as its keeper exhaled gray smoke and then screwed the lid back on. A tidy little gas chamber for his prisoner.

  “Have nothing to say now?”

  The sunset wings beat frantically in the fog and then the Monarch fell to the bottom—stiff and unmoving.

  “Who sent you?”

  Could it still see the eyes peering in, waiting for an answer?

  Through the smoke, two thin black antennae reached out to touch the glass. A soft, high voice resonated within the belly of the jar.

  “You know who sent me.”

  The human jerked back, his eyes dilating in surprise. So it was true. In the darkened room, the TV abruptly blared. The Pope stood on his balcony, staring out into the void, smiling.

  It was a sign. So it was God who had sent this little winged messenger to him. He squinted into the jar once again. “What is my mission?”

  “Set them free.”

  “Set them free,” he repeated. “Free, that’s what she had said…”

  Slowly, he unscrewed the lid once again. He shook the butterfly out of the jar, the smoke dissipating into the room. Its wings shuttered, the tips tapping the wood table top lightly in a slow methodical dance.

  Outside a heavy rain began to pound the curtained window. The man watched his captive’s struggles with a new intensity, a new understanding as wobbly legs came to life and lifted the Monarch unsteadily to its feet. In the background, the Pope pointed a strong finger, his voice becoming almost unbearable inside the man’s head.

  “You must have courage. Spiritual freedom requires sacrifice. Supreme power is a gift. You have that gift. Use it to set them free!”

  The man jumped up, his chair toppling over. Finally, the world made sense. He knew what he had to do. He crushed out the cigarette, rubbing it violently into an overflowing glass ashtray. Then his palm came down hard, crushing the Monarch into the table.

  After the ringing blow, silence swept through the room. Sweet, sweet silence. The TV screen was once again only a gray square in the darkness. The man didn’t smile, but he now knew relief.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Anne Serafini was tired of death. She was tired of it stalking her, bullying her and jumping out at her from every dark corner.

  She sat on the white sand beach of Anna Maria Island, a small barrier island off the southwestern coast of Florida, fingering the bottle of sleeping pills in her jacket pocket and pushing away the urge to swallow them all. When you haven’t slept in weeks, it’s hard to function, let alone be reasonable. Anne liked to be reasonable. She forced herself to focus on breathing, on just being still and waiting for a new day to begin. If she couldn't find peace and a new beginning here, on this little sliver of paradise, it didn't exist anywhere.

  The dark sky lifted above the ocean, the light being dialed up by the mysterious forces that turn a whole world toward the sun. She was starting to believe these same forces were screwing with her—turning her world toward or away from the light for reasons of their own.

  Anne shifted her legs as the morning sun began to glint off the Gulf of Mexico and unzipped her white, running jacket. It was early October, cool, with a brisk ocean breeze adding to the chill, but Anne was barely aware of the cold sand, the damp air weighing down her hair. Minor inconveniences were outweighed by the ache in her shoulder from the stab wound not yet healed and the bigger aching wound in her heart. Two weeks. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  She flinched at the brutal memory.

  Blood, so much blood. Ava screaming in her high chair as her psychotic daddy stabbed her loving mommy thirty seven times on the kitchen table. The same table Anne had helped Amanda sand down and refinish earlier that week. Anne had tried to stop him, but Bobby's knife and rage were vicious. He stabbed Anne and tossed her to the side like a ragdoll. Then he went back to finish Amanda. Only Ava had come out physically unscathed. But who knew what scars something like that would leave on a child?

  Anne’s own physical scar would heal eventually. The emotional one, she wasn't so sure about. Sorrow welled up and threatened to swallow her. Could she live with what she’d d
one, and more importantly what she hadn’t done? She had failed. Amanda was dead and she was alive. Why? She wasn't the one with a two year old daughter who needed her mommy. Thank god for grandparents. Ava would be ok. But life still seemed so maddeningly unfair.

  With tremendous mental effort, Anne pushed her way back to the present. She stood, stretching and shaking out the numbness in her legs. Lifting her gaze, she squinted at the open sky.

  Breath came so much easier here, with nothing above or around her but sky and water. No oppressing ceiling of clouds, no towering barriers of rock and no dark corners. Everything here was silvery light, sand like sugar and endless ocean. The beauty was almost painful. She felt small, lost and unworthy. Virginia lay behind her, so what now?

  Anne walked along the shoreline, letting the ocean lick her toes and the rising sun warm her aching back. Movement caught her eye about fifty yards down the beach to her left. Something big rolled back and forth in the tide. She hoped it wasn’t a dead dolphin. Dead dolphins were always so sad.

  She sighed and made her way along the curve of the wet sand to investigate, flip flops in hand, being careful not to step on the broken shells littering her path. Gentle waves made swishing noises as they rolled in and were sucked again, her footprints vanishing with them.

  Anne kept her eyes on the object as she approached it. Her nose twitched as the smell of salt water gave way to the smell of rotting flesh. She should have known then, but this place was heaven. She wasn't expecting death to find her here.

  She stood a few feet away, her mind failing over and over to process what she saw. Something large wrapped in plastic. Garbage maybe? And then the tide rolled the face toward her. A face, pressed against the plastic. Nose, mouth…empty eye sockets.

  "No, oh no," she said aloud. She’d found a body wrapped in plastic. She could tell it was a female by the long tangles of hair pressed against the plastic. But it was hard to tell more than that.

  She stood there with her nose buried in her jacket, the breeze lifting strands of hair from her temples and carrying the smell to her in nauseating waves. She bowed her head, offering the dead girl a moment of silence. What else could she do? Her own frustration with life boiled over as this girl's senseless death sank deeper into her psyche, solidifying her belief in the unjust nature of life.

  "God, why?" Just a question thrown out to the universe. She didn't really believe in a god. After everything she'd seen and witnessed in her twenty seven short years, she was starting to have a hard time believing that anything good existed at all.

  "I'm sorry this world is such a cruel place." Her green eyes watered from rising emotions. She whispered, "I hope, wherever you are, you have at least found peace."

  Fear began to brew, churning her stomach as she walked a few feet up the beach and sat back down in the sand. It could no longer be ignored. Death and violence were stalking her. No matter where she went, death showed up.

  "Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide," she recited absentmindedly. Reaching a hand into her pocket, she pulled out her keys, sleeping pills and finally her cell phone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Two officers arrived within minutes, trudging through the sand toward her wearing dark blue uniforms and sunglasses. One was tall, young, olive skinned, his black hair cropped tight. The other one was older, sporting a red mustache and confidence. Anne barely acknowledged their approach. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the discarded girl in the water. She sat hunched in the sand, transfixed both by fear and an abnormal sense of peace, the kind that happens when time stops as if the world held its breath. Palpable fear was new to her. She tried to give herself a break, considering that suffering the kind of death she saw in front of her would be her own personal hell: Her water phobia and claustrophobia rolled into one.

  But, why did she also feel a little bit envious? What would it would be like to be Snow White—eternally asleep in her glass coffin, unreachable, unaware, completely free?

  The police officer speaking pulled her from her thoughts. She needed to focus.

  The older officer spoke again and nodded at Anne. “Miss Serafini? Anne Serafini?”

  “Yes.” She looked up expectantly, shading her eyes from the glare with a tired hand.

  "I'm Officer O'Brady. I understand you're the one who found the victim?"

  "Yes."

  "All right." He glanced at the shoreline, his mouth sinking at the corners. "Officer Williams will get your statement. There’s no need for you to come back over to the scene." He nodded at his partner and then made his way toward the plastic encased body, now lodged in the sand, collecting tangles of seaweed.

  #

  Officer O'Brady squatted a few feet from the body, covering his nose with the back of his hand. His Irish temper flared. How many times had he walked this beach with his wife and grandkids? This island has historically had one of the lowest violent crime rates in the nation. That was one of the reasons he’d moved his family here twelve years ago from Michigan. Now some psycho had taken a sledgehammer to their sense of safety, shattering it into oblivion. Anna Maria Island would never be the same. It made him sick to his stomach. He stood and popped an antacid. Poor girl. No one should have their life ended like this.

  #

  “You doing all right?” Officer Williams asked Anne as he opened his notebook. Just two years out of college, he was struggling with keeping his own emotions in check.

  "No."

  “Yeah, I can imagine it must have been some shock to come upon a victim like this, huh? Not a good way to start a day, that's for sure. Will you spell your last name for me?”

  She spelled it out for him, glancing up. Now that he stood closer, she could see how young he was. Did he even have to shave yet? He had a pureness about him, an innocence that hadn’t yet been dissolved by life’s acidic nature. A young horse ready to buck the world. She probably only had a few years on him, but her life so far had given her wisdom beyond her years, and had certainly eroded any sense of safety. She didn't want to buck, she wanted to hide. What did they call that? Jaded? Cowardly?

  "Address?" he asked.

  "I'm sort of in between places. Staying at the Island Breeze Inn right now." She gave him her cell number instead.

  "Okay. Did you see anyone else on the beach? In the parking lot, maybe?"

  “No. I’ve been here for a few hours. I haven’t seen a soul, sorry.” She wanted to add that the body had probably been in the water for a few days and only made its way to this spot via the tides, not dumped here this morning. But, she held her tongue. She wasn’t part of this investigation. This time, she was only a witness.

  Officer O'Brady returned, his face tomato red and twisted up in self-contained fury. “Call it in, Williams. Get the crime scene tape out of the car and get Sam Larson here. Tell 'em we’ll need the M.E.”

  “Right, Joe.” He moved with long strides through the sand, back toward the parking lot. A group of gulls squawked and flapped as he disturbed them.

  “Guess this wasn’t part of your vacation plans, eh?” Officer O'Brady asked.

  Anne looked up at him. He seemed nervous as hell underneath all that anger. He kept glancing back at the body, biting the inside of his cheek and adjusting his firearm. This really had him spooked. She doubted Anna Maria Island had experienced many dead bodies washing up on their pristine beaches.

  “I’ve kind of given up on making plans,” she said. “They never seem to work out.”

  “Oh yeah? How’s that goin' for you?” The attempt at humor again.

  “Not so great.”

  His face softened a bit as he looked down at her. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a pale forearm. “You here with family?”

  “No.”

  “All alone, huh? How long you been here?”

  “Three days.”

  “Where you from? Jersey? New York?”

  “I lived in New York City for a little while, when I was younger.” She didn’t offer all the places she’d lived in s
ince. She wasn't even sure she could remember if she needed to.

  “I’ve got relatives there. Crazy place. So, how long you gonna be on the island?”

  “Don’t know,” she said. “No plans, remember?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “Right, no plans. Well, Detective Larson will want to talk to you, then you can…” he stopped, squinting up at the parking lot she had first entered the beach on. “Wonderful.” Anne followed his gaze and saw a knot of people carrying rolled yoga mats coming down the beach.

  Anne watched as both Williams and O’Brady hustled to head them off, a roll of crime scene tape and wooden stakes tucked under the younger officer’s arm.

  Anne would have liked to be friends with women like that. Be out doing something healthy with them. But they were still shiny, unaware. Anne’s knowledge of fate and how little plans you made for yourself mattered would just infect them with anxiety. She turned away and wiggled out of her jacket. The sun soaked through to her bones. Too bright. Too intense. She began to feel queasy. Probably from lack of sleep and food. Did she even remember to eat yesterday? A vague memory of a bag of peanuts surfaced. She pulled her knees up against her, rested her forehead on them and pressed her hands against her ears, shutting out the world. Just five minutes of darkness and silence was all she needed. She got four.

  A heavy hand rested on her shoulder, by chance connecting with the wound beneath her t-shirt in the shape of an eight inch kitchen knife. Startled, she jerked her head up to stare into the face of the man seated in the sand next to her. She couldn’t separate his eyes from the sky, they were so blue.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He held out his hand, “Detective Larson.”

  “Anne,” she said, slipping her hand into his, feeling warmth and strength radiate up her arm. “Serafini.” He smelled of soap and musk and his focus made her feel like the only person in the world. She sucked in a breath.

  “You okay?” She saw his gaze move to her mouth.

  What’s he looking for? A smile? A word? A coherent sentence?