Detective Mike Conroy usually took Sundays off to relax and recoup from his job with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s office. He had his coffee, his copy of the Times-Union, and his first Marlboro of the day as he enjoyed the quiet of his apartment on the south side of town. Cigarettes were a bad habit, but it helped him deal with the stress of the job. The same stress that had cost him his only marriage. Being a cop’s wife was difficult, and Monica hadn’t been able to handle it.
The stillness was ruined by the jangling of his cell phone, sounding like a muted landline. It was his partner, Detective Sheila Ganz, and he knew that particular Sunday in mid-April was not going to be the usual.
“We just got a very interesting call from the Coast Guard station at Fort Pierce,” she said. “It seems a sailboat from here in Jacksonville has run aground off the coast of West Palm Beach.”
He placed his Marley in a brass ashtray. “And that concerns us how?”
“It’s a derelict. No one on board but a cat.”
“Odd, but still…”
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