D. C. Lozeau hails from northern New England and now lives in Richmond, VA with his wife and three cats. This novel is a crime mystery set in the windy city of Chicago. I hope this first page will entice readers to want more…
Tip of the Iceberg
Standing in the midday sun, dozens of people are huddling together, arms folded tightly, shoulders shrugged against the chilly arctic breeze. Suddenly, a loud horn blows.
“Two degrees to port,” an officer shouts from the bridge of a large luxury cruise ship. The ship turns ever so slightly and begins to slow down.
Among the crowd on the deck, a man stands with his arm around his wife’s waist, hugging her tightly. “Warm enough, dear?” he says.
“Yes, this is all worth it,” she says. “The view is spectacular!” Just then, their warmth is broken apart as a fourteen-year-old pries his way in between them.
“What’s all the cheering about? Is there a whale out there? Where is it? I don’t see anything but ice cubes,” the young boy says.
The man looks at his wife and grins ever so slightly. “There is no whale, son. And those are icebergs.”
“Look more like ice cubes to me,” the boy says. “I thought icebergs were supposed to be huge and be able to sink ships. I could row a rowboat out there and not get hurt.”
This time, the wife puts her arm around her son’s neck, looking at her husband with a sympathetic look. “Dear, those are icebergs, but you can only see the top of them. The rest of it is below the water,” she says to the boy. “That’s where the saying the tip of the iceberg comes from.”
“Son,” the father says, ” things don’t always appear to be what they really are.”
It is mid July, and everyone is fanning themselves to get a little breeze. The rows of folding chairs, some tipping slightly from the feet sinking into the soft, fresh-cut grass, are filled to capacity. All eyes are fixed on the platform stage in front of them where about fifty-two young men and women are all sitting, backs straight, hats down to their eyebrows, and their hands placed ever so neatly on their laps. They are the next graduating class of young officers from the police academy. Among the class are a half dozen men and one young lady with special emblems on their lapels, meaning these few have gone through a special training class to become detectives.
Anthony Thomas is one of these few. He sits there, eyes fixed forward as if he is in basic training for the military, not wanting the drill sergeant to catch him looking astray. He pans the crowd ever so slowly to see if he can get a glimpse of his wife, Melissa. He finds her sitting next to her mother.
A smartly dressed announcer steps to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, and the graduating class of 2009. It gives me great pleasure to introduce to you…
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