The Smuggler's Gambit (Moonglow Guardians Book 1) Read online

  The Smuggler’s Gambit

  D K Cassidy

  Edited by

  Crystal Watanabe

  The Smuggler’s Gambit

  Moonglow Guardians: Book 1

  Copyright © 2018 by D.K. Cassidy

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in print, scanned, electronic or audio means or other means without the prior written permission of the publisher, Pluvio Press.

  This is a fictional story. The events, names and characters are fictitious, and any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-941938-06-5

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018944456

  Editing: Crystal Watanabe

  Cover Design: Yocla Designs

  I dedicate this book to my husband Mark, my sons Aidan and Jared, and to my sisters Joan and Fran.

  Their love and confidence emboldened me to step into a new world.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  It’s all the proof I need.

  Teeth clenched, I take a step back, struggling to pull my gaze away from Jupzi, my sleazeball of a boyfriend, locking lips with some big-busted brunette in the backseat of a car. My guess is it’s her car since he has no money. Not a uni-chit to his name.

  I’ll break up with him later, when I won’t have to pry his face from someone else’s to do so. I really don’t want to get any closer to this heartbreak than I have to. I back up a few more steps, then stop when my heel catches on something. I tumble toward the ground, reaching my hand out to break my fall.

  Shit! Karma apparently has her sights set on the wrong target today. Maybe she operates differently on the Moon than she does on Earth. I push myself back to my feet and stare down at where I just fell, expecting to see a sidewalk crack or curb. I’ve been known to trip over nothing, but this time I felt something.

  I did not expect to see a whitish-gray hand.

  My stomach lurches as my gaze follows that hand to the body it’s attached to. A dead body.

  Trying to hold back the bile from projecting out of my mouth, I rotate, careful not to turn back toward my cheating boyfriend—him seeing me would be just one more nail in my coffin of shame. It seems I’m running out of directions to turn. I focus my attention on the street sign as I dig my communicator from my bag and dial the police.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

  “There’s… there’s a dead body here. I tripped over it.”

  The operator hesitates. I hear other emergency operators taking calls in the background. “Did you say you tripped over a dead body, ma’am?”

  “Yes, I was… I mean, never mind. There’s a dead body here! Just send the police!”

  “The police are on their way. Will you verify your location, please?”

  My location? Yeah, I’m stalking my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend outside of her apartment.

  “I’m across the street from 66 Park Avenue.”

  “Is the victim a male or female? Did you see who killed the person?”

  “What? No, I didn’t see the murderer. I don’t know if they’re still here. Oh, crap, am I in danger? Please hurry!”

  This serves me right for chasing after my no-good newly ex-boyfriend. All he’s ever been is trouble. A few minutes later, the police pull up in their hovercraft cruisers. A tall, dark-haired officer takes my statement while others close off the crime scene and start marking things, presumably possible clues.

  “And you just happened to be in the area?” the dark-haired officer asks, narrowing his eyes.

  I want to say yes, I followed my boyfriend here. Ex, I remind myself. But painting myself as some kind of stalker doesn’t seem like the right thing to do when being grilled by the police. No good deed goes unpunished, as people say around here. That’s something the Moon and Earth do have in common.

  I look at him accusingly. “Why do I get the feeling you think I had something to do with this? Is it because I’m the only one here?” Other than my cheating ex and that busty brunette. “If I was going to kill someone, I wouldn’t call it in afterward.”

  He smirks slightly. “It’s been done before.” His eyebrows perk up, and he folds his hands in front of him, looking down his nose at me. “So what would you do if you killed someone?”

  My eyes spring open wider. There I go again. Always saying the wrong thing. I need to learn to shut up once in a while. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?”

  I glance back at the dead body, dread sinking to the pit of my stomach. And that’s when I see it. Lying on the ground a few inches from the dead hand is a crumpled piece of paper partially covered by a food wrapper.

  “Look,” I say, pointing to the body. “Maybe instead of grilling me for trying to help you, you should take a look at whatever that piece of paper is. Might be important.”

  He looks at me with an annoyed “stay out of my way” expression, picks up the crumpled paper with latex-gloved hands, and walks away. That miserable jerk dismisses me because I am a civilian and a woman. I look around for more clues, realizing it’s exciting to find them. I back up a few steps and survey the entire crime scene. Then I notice a corner of something red sticking out from under the other side of the dumpster, covered in mud.

  I motion over the same grumpy policeman. “This might be an important clue, officer.”

  This time he looks me straight in the eyes and says, “Thank you. You seem to be good at this.”

  His comment surprises me. “Me? Good how?”

  “You notice details. I’ve been around this dumpster five times now, and I didn’t see the slip of paper or the red scarf. Maybe I’ve been at this too long. Well, anyway, thank you.”

  Feeling good about the praise, I decide to stick around a bit longer. I might as well keep looking. I wait until no one is looking and begin to circle the dumpster. Once I reach the far side, I squat down and look underneath but immediately regret it. I can now see the dead woman’s entire body, and it makes me want to vomit again. She looks short, maybe five foot two. Probably midthirties. Very beautiful. Although she’s dead, you can still tell she had been a real looker. Her blouse is ripped open, but her bra is still on. Her skirt hasn’t been pulled up either. On the surface, this doesn’t seem to be a rape. Relief courses through me.

  My curiosity wins out over my shock—I need to check her for clues. I notice that one of the woman’s earrings is ripped out of her ear and that there is bruising around her neck. Strangled, maybe? But that’s easy enough for the cops to figure out. What I want to know is motive. And why just one earring? Was the killer interrupted? If so, there was enough time to put this woman under the dumpster. That doesn’t make sense to me. I decide to walk over to the cop and see what he thinks. He listens to me patiently, writing down some notes, then says, “Just give me your contact information. If we have other questions, we’ll get back to you.”

  I am being dismissed. At least they don’t seem to suspect me anymore, although I’m not sure why. B
ut I still don’t want to leave. This unexpected interaction with a murder scene makes me think I’m actually good at this, and maybe this is something I can do for a career. I need something new. I’ve never had a job that suits me, and I’ve tried lots of them. Waiting tables, working as a receptionist, being a salesperson. Nothing felt like me. It doesn’t help that I don’t like the constraints of working for someone else.

  Retracing my steps, I look for more clues near the unfortunate woman’s left hand. There is a tan line where her wedding or engagement ring should be. Theft of another valuable item makes me think this was a robbery gone wrong. Or was she recently divorced? The strangulation feels off. Why strangle someone to rob them? My inexperience with crime causes me to think in ways most trained officers won’t.

  I begin to replay a version of the crime in my head. The woman is walking down the street, clutching her purse. Her purse! Where is it? I look in and under the dumpster, and it isn’t there. I continue my internal reenactment. The woman hears something, but before she turns around, someone grabs the scarf she’s wearing. But does it belong to the woman or did the killer bring it? It does match her outfit. In my mind, the criminal grabs the scarf and strangles her, enjoying the woman’s struggle.

  Where did that idea come from?

  “Hey, I told you to leave the crime scene, Miss.”

  “I’m sorry, Officer…”

  “Officer Grant Mitchell. We need to keep the area clear of civilians. As I told you earlier, I appreciate your help, but you need to leave this to the professionals now.”

  I want to pass on my thoughts about the crime scene before I leave, so I tell Officer Mitchell about the earring and my questions and doubts about strangulation. I include my thoughts on why I feel this crime isn’t sexually motivated. He seems interested in my observations, so I decide to take a chance and ask him a favor.

  “Officer Mitchell, I’d like to ask you a question, if you don’t mind.”

  “Go ahead. What is it?”

  “I find this fascinating and want to know, if I stay out of your way, would it be possible for me to stick around a bit longer and look for other clues that you may miss?” He furrowed his brow at this, so I continued hastily. “Not that I’m saying you’d miss anything, but just in case I find something else like the scarf.”

  Looking into Officer Mitchell’s eyes pleadingly, I hope that my natural assets will convince him to let me continue to look around. Sure enough, his eyes flick down to my breasts before he answers.

  “Well, this is highly irregular, but if you promise to stay out of our way and not touch anything, then just this once, I can let you stay around. But do not touch anything. And whatever you find, you come and you show me and no one else. Got that?”

  Nodding and feeling a thrill to be given this opportunity, I am determined not to blow it.

  The first thing I do is walk the perimeter one more time, but much more slowly. I look left and right, sweeping the area with my eyes. The only reason I know how to do this is my obsession with police procedurals. The best detectives always sweep the crime scene. They’re my favorite kind of entertainment. After walking one complete circle, I’m disappointed that I didn’t find anything else, but I’m not going to give up. Not me. If nothing else, I am stubborn.

  I start to walk the perimeter again, this time going in the reverse direction. I didn’t really think it would make any difference, but I need something to do. A stray dog begins to follow me, and I keep trying to shoo him away. Slowing my pace even further, I creep along, looking for anything that will impress Officer Mitchell. He seems to be in charge of this squad and has the power to let me stay or kick my ass out. I see what I think is a wedding ring sticking out from under a freshly laid pile of dog poop.

  Talk about timing! I can’t believe a dog came along and unintentionally covered what could be a major clue. Maybe it’s the dog following me. I motion Officer Mitchell over again, and instead of looking irritated, he looks at me with anticipation.

  “What did you find?”

  I don’t speak, I simply point. He looks down at the dog turd and then back up at me, raising his eyebrows, probably questioning my sanity.

  “Look more closely, Officer Mitchell. There might be an important clue there.”

  I insistently point again, so he kneels down and then sees the wedding ring. With a gloved hand, he picks it up, stands, and smiles.

  “I told you you were good at this, Lily Lovegrove. Maybe you should think about going into the police force. I’m serious.”

  The compliment makes me tingle with joy, but I try not to show it. “I don’t know about that. I think I was just lucky. But maybe. I’ll give your idea some thought.”

  Walking home, I end up deciding against joining the police force. Most of the cops are corrupt, and I don’t follow orders very well. Part of the reason I’m unemployed. Even if I get into the police academy, they’d kick me out in a matter of days for refusing to follow some order. Or if I don’t measure up. No, I want to go into business for myself. Calling my best friend, Judy, for her opinion, I forget about Jupzi for a moment.

  “Hey, Judy, it’s me.”

  “Since you’re the only one who calls me besides my brother, I kinda guessed that. What’s up?”

  I laugh. “I’ve got a crazy idea brewing, and I need your opinion. Can I come over and talk?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Judy comes from a rich family. They own a mining company on the Moon. Whenever I get sick of living the life of a penniless free spirit, a trip to her apartment always cheers me up. I also cherish her good sense when I need advice. Like now.

  Judy opens the door almost as soon as I knock. “Come on in and tell me all about your harebrained idea, Lily,” she says, ushering me into her large penthouse. She isn’t pretentious enough to have a butler, even though she can afford one.

  “Why do you assume it’s a harebrained idea?”

  “Um, because it’s your idea. I can’t remember the last time you had an idea that made sense. But that’s what makes our friendship interesting.”

  After telling her about my adventure that night, I spring my plan on her. I want to be a private investigator. A PI. Just like the ones on television. There’s only one problem. Well, I admit there is more than one problem, but the biggest is not having enough uni-chits to open an office.

  Judy shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I can get my father to give you a couple of months of rent-free office space,” she says. “But after that, the old bastard will make you pay. If you hire me, I’ll work for free. I’m bored and need something to do.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll take you up on your offer for the office, but I insist on paying you something. I’d feel too guilty not paying you, even though you don’t need the money.”

  And with that, we shake hands in a mock solemn ceremony. My not-so-harebrained PI business is about to become a reality.

  Walking home feeling elated, I remember how the evening started. If I hadn’t tripped over the dead woman, none of this would have happened. Now I was on a course to make a fool of myself. Not necessarily a fool, but if I don’t solve cases right away, my fledgling business will fail before it has a chance to get started.

  I sigh. The high gives way to another thought: I’m officially pathetic. Can’t believe I was following my boyfriend around, trying to find out if he was cheating on me. I mean, he was, but I’m better than that, and yet clearly I’m not.

  My God, he was with someone else. It shouldn’t have mattered so much to me, should it? It wasn’t like Jupzi was husband material or anything. But no, it did matter, because it meant I wasn’t wife material to him either. The woman didn’t look familiar, but did that matter? The fact that he was with someone else after leaving my bed just that morning infuriates me. I didn’t love Jupzi, but it still burns me up. A woman scorned and all that. He was determining the course of our relationship instead of me. Oh, and the public tongue dancing they’d been doing. That really pisses
me off.

  One thing’s for sure. Before I start thinking about how to land my first client, I have to come up with a smashingly satisfying way to break up with that jerk of a boyfriend.

  Chapter Two

  It took me much longer than it should have to do the actual breaking up, but I didn’t want to clue him in, which meant I had to wait for him to come to me. The miserable louse finally made his way over to my apartment one night.

  For weeks I thought about creative ways to break up with Jupzi. I knew whatever method I chose would be rewarding for my self-esteem.

  But when he arrives, all my plans go out the door. I’m pissed and react without thinking. As he steps into my bedroom with his “Hey, Baby” smile, I launch to my feet and point at the door. “Get out! And leave my key on your way out!”

  He holds up his hands as if confused. And of course he would be. I didn’t explain my outburst—not that he deserves an explanation.

  “Whoa, Lily. What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “You know what happened,” I say through my teeth. “Don’t play stupid, and don’t make me say it.”

  “I have no idea—”

  I grab a book from my nightstand throw it at his stupid head. “Just get out!”

  He bats the book away and steps back. “Whatever. You’re fucking psycho.”

  And then he’s out the door. Typical cheating asshole. Though I am shaking from anger, it’s for the best. I don’t like being alone, but it’s even worse being cheated on and lied to. And maybe some time alone will do me some good. I can concentrate on my new business without the distraction of having a boyfriend. Especially a cheating boyfriend.