Shattered Read Online Free PDF

sounded tinny as it filtered through the telephone speaker. “Hell, this is going to be more fun than I thought. Let me give you a little hint.”
    Ed and Guy looked at each other as the man on the other end of the telephone began to sing softly, “Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb...”
    The sound was chilling in the hushed room. Guy felt it all the way down his spine.
    And then the voice demanded harshly, “Do you know where your little girl is, Guy? Do you?”
    Guy lunged for the telephone, snatching up the receiver in a gesture that was as futile as it was dramatic. Nothing but the cold, dry sound of the dial tone met his ear.
    Guy looked at Ed slowly, his face white. It was a long time before he could speak. “Christ,” he said shakily, and that was all he could manage. He sank into the desk chair and stared fixedly at the telephone until Ed came over and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Guy looked up at him. And all he could do was repeat, softly, “Christ.”
    ~
     

Chapter Four
    T he town of St. Theresa-by-the-Sea—known affectionately as St. T. by locals—was technically one of three small islands which had once been a single unit. Little Horse Island—so called because it resembled a horse when seen from the air—was three nautical miles to the west, and had been separated from the mainland some time in prehistory due, it was thought, to undersea volcanic activity. Lighthouse Island had been created much more recently, when the channel was cut in 1972, neatly slicing off the northern tip of St. Theresa Island. The historic lighthouse, once one of the most photographed in the state, had gone with it, and was now a crumbling, if scenic, reminder of times gone by. Of the three, only St. Theresa Island was inhabited. Bordered by the Gulf on the west and south, an inlet bay on the east, and the Catchaw River on the north, it was a vista of scenic bridges, lush tropical vegetation, and expensive beaches. The nearest shopping mall was sixty five miles away, in Panama City. Tallahassee, over a hundred miles to the north, was the closest major center of commerce, and most people in St. T., like full-time residents on the other barrier islands that lined the “Forgotten Coast” of Florida's Gulf, contented themselves with making the journey to the city once or twice a month for necessities that could not be obtained locally. St. Theresa County, eighty-two-square miles of snakes and trailer parks, would have been bankrupt long ago were it not for the resort attractions of St. T. And in the resort business, profit meant real estate.
    There were twelve thousand full-time residents in St. Theresa-by-the-Sea and thirteen real estate companies, each one of them fighting tooth and nail for its share of the exclusive beachfront lots, million-dollar homes, and inflated rental management fees. Beachside Realty was only a two-agent operation, but it held its own in the real estate wars, thanks in great part to the ambition and determination of Carol Dennison.
    When Carol and Guy were first married, her ambition was a good thing; the only thing, sometimes, that kept three meals on the table. Guy was a cub reporter for the Miami Herald, making barely enough to support himself, much less a wife, and Carol was trying to teach elementary school in a city that was becoming increasingly violent, for a salary that was doing less and less to make ends meet. She studied for her real estate exam at night and when she made her first sale— a one-bedroom condo for $86,000—they celebrated with a nine-dollar bottle of champagne and started looking for a house.
    The house they found was in St. Theresa County, where a group of savvy investors was just beginning to activate a plan for a luxury beachfront development in a little fishing village called St. Theresa-by-the-Sea. Carol and Guy both were disillusioned with Miami and were ready to try small-town life; Guy had an offer from the Gulf Coast Sentinel which almost, but