Helix

  Helix

  By Dave Balcom

  © Copyright 2017

  Smashwords Edition

  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please go on line and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All characters and events in this book are fictional. Real places are mixed with fictitious places.

  Dedication

  This book recognizes the folks who live their faith every day by providing food for the hungry, solace for the suffering, love for the lost, and hope for those who have fallen through the official “safety net.” To those scientists who work daily to unlock the physical mysteries of who we are, and why we are who we are, this book also pays tribute.

  Acknowledgments

  Sheri Locke and Gary Smith graciously allowed me a glimpse behind the scenes at Blessings Soup Kitchen in Ottumwa, IA. Beta Reader Jessica, who raises wonderful grandchildren, and in her spare time serves as a genetic counselor, reined my fiction into the sphere of “maybe could happen.” Obviously where my fiction runs astray of reality or science, the blame is mine; certainly not theirs.

  Helix

  The 8th Jim Stanton Mystery

  © 2017 Dave Balcom

  Prologue

  1973

  Spring Break in Florida was a dream come true for Karen O’Connor and her best friend, Renée Tollifson. The two 18-year-old seniors at Cleveland’s Mayfield High School were floored when Karen’s parents, eager to escape the seemingly endless Lake Erie winter, announced plans for the trip.

  Renée and Karen were as close as sisters, and they jumped at the chance to taste Spring Break, even if it would be with Karen’s parents.

  Both young women were attracted to and admired by the boys in their circle of friends, and while they both maintained an appearance of prim and proper behavior, both had left boyfriends breathless with unleashed but controlled passion while necking. They were considered “nice girls,” and that’s how they saw themselves as well.

  If the girls had been expecting the O’Connors to chaperone their every move, they were mistaken. The ground rules were simple and straight forward: Breakfast and lunch would be eaten as a group. A daily outing would also be taken as a group. The girls would be sequestered in their adjoining room after sundown.

  The trip to Lauderdale was the subject of their dreams for weeks before they boarded their jet on April 5 for a week on the beach.

  That first full week of April also found 20-year-old Jim Stanton on leave following a harrowing assignment in Southeast Asia. A special forces warrior in a secret unit, Stanton was endowed with appropriate God-given skills suitable for his role, but he looked forward to his departure from that bizarre world of violence every day.

  He had proven himself capable and efficient whenever circumstances demanded action, and he had become enthralled with Tai Chi – the fundamental building block for preparing his body and his mind to respond as needed. But, and the but was significant for Jim, he didn’t like the work. He didn’t hunger for the next rush of adrenaline that comes with conflict. He knew it wasn’t like that for his colleagues. Survival so far had required concentration such as he’d never known before, and common sense told him it would take nothing less to survive the rest of his enlistment. His military goal was simple: To become a civilian.

  Before that, however, he needed to be dedicated to the task at hand – healing. His team had taken serious fire on a mission that left two of his teammates owing their survival to his AB negative blood. After weeks of rehab, this week of R and R found the team sleeping as much as possible, and soaking up sun and surf.

  He was staying in a house near the beach with seven other special forces veterans; three from his own unit, and four others he had met only occasionally. All seven were hardened veterans of the service, and all seven expected to serve in their roles for as long as the military would have them.

  The rush of combat was like a drug for them, and even as the new week dawned, Jim saw signs of withdrawal in several of them.

  Jim met Karen and Renée the first morning of the girls’ vacation. From a distance, the two young women could pass as adults in their bikinis. Their winter-white flesh was a beacon to the tanned young men who patrolled that beach as eagerly as gulls looking for scraps of interest.

  Jim’s colleague at that moment was known to the team members as Psycho – Art Truman to people who didn’t know him. He nudged Jim and nodded at the two youngsters spreading a blanket. “New meat, eh, Jimbo?”

  Jim grunted, thought about it for a few seconds, and then grabbed his tube of high-intensity sun screen. “Ladies,” he approached them with a smile as he removed his sunglasses. “I see two beautiful women from the frozen north, and feel a responsibility to offer this one tip.” He dropped the tube on their blanket. “If you brought your own, use it; or use mine, it’s new. But whatever, don’t let Sol ruin your week. This sun will fry you in minutes.”

  With another smile and a parting nod, he replaced his glasses, and sauntered back to his own spot.

  “Shot down?” Psycho asked.

  “Didn’t make an effort other than to save them from the sun, and perhaps the likes of you.” His chuckle softened the comment, but Truman was on edge.

  “Save young women from me? Hell’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with me, but up close you’d find they might be too young for us.”

  “You, maybe,” then with sly chuckle, “but for me, if they’re old enough to bleed...”

  Jim didn’t try to hide his distaste for Truman’s crude comment. “On that note, I’m motoring.”

  He headed for the surf line where the sand was more solid, and the icy Atlantic could wash over his feet in the slap and flow rhythm that always brought him peace.

  It was several seconds before he realized someone was trying to keep up with him. His casual stride at six-foot-five had her, at five-foot-six, double timing to keep up.

  “Hello?” He slowed his steps until she seemed to be at a maintainable pace.

  “What’s your hurry?” She asked, panting just a bit.

  “No hurry; you caught me daydreaming is all; didn’t realize I wasn’t alone at first.”

  “Deep thoughts?”

  “More like straight-line brain waves.”

  “Thanks for the sun screen. We had ours, but hadn’t put it on... we’d been warned before, but... well, thanks. I’m probably going home without a tan, but the idea of spending the rest of our trip in agony sunk in.”

  “You’ll color up some; tanning is overrated anyway. Sun worshipers often end up looking like prunes by the time they’re 40.”

  “What’s your name?” She asked.

  “Jim Stanton; what’s yours?”

  “Karen O’Connor.”

  They’d stopped walking, and were standing facing each other, some hundred yards from the last sunbathers on their end of the beach.

  “Where you from?”

  “Cleveland,” she said. “You?”

  “Oh, I grew up in Michigan. I’m stationed up in Jacksonville for the time being.”

  “A soldier?”

  “Sailor, actually. Air traffic controller – a tower flower – at least for another couple years.”

  “Then?”

  “Something else. Maybe build a life, I don’t know.”

  She stood silent, holding the tube of sun screen out to him. He took it, and started to move away.

  “Can I walk with you some more, Jim?”


  “Sure, but the public beach ends up here a ways; I’ll be cutting across private property going back to where I’m staying...”

  “That’s okay, I can walk back alone.”

  At the sign announcing the end of the public beach, Jim stopped, “Where are you staying?”

  “Beachside Hotel.”

  “You have any plans for the day?”

  “We’re – Renée, the other girl and I – down here with my parents. They’re pretty cool, but we have a midday meal and a daily event,” she made air quotes with her fingers, “that are mandatory for us, but then we’re free until the sun goes down. Nights we’re confined to quarters until the next morning so they can have ‘dates’ without worrying about us.” She delivered all this with a genuine nonchalance and humorous undertones that impressed Jim immediately.

  “Well, I’ll be near the beach after four this afternoon. When your event is complete, and if you don’t have anything else going, look me up... bring Renée. There’ll be other guys around, I’m sure.” He started to walk away, but stopped, facing her again. “I know from nothin’ about you and Renée, and I don’t know that much about the guys I’m staying with either...” He paused, choosing his words carefully, “What I mean is, just because I might be with them, I’m not endorsing them, okay? I mean...”

  She was nodding, “You’re okay, but you’re not vouching for the guys you’re with?”

  He was actually blushing, “I guess that is what I’m saying.”

  She gave him a quick bob of her head and dazzling smile, “I have to wonder who vouches for Jim Stanton?”

  “I guess that would be the safest way for you to think. I’ll vouch for him; he’s pretty harmless.”

  She giggled at his blush as much as his soft reply. “See ya ’round, Jim.”

  That afternoon Jim was nearly asleep in a sea of somnolent sun worshipers when he sensed a presence, followed by the aroma of high-power sun lotion. He cracked an eye and saw Karen and her friend along with two older people staring at him.

  “’Lo there,” he said. “Drop a towel and settle in if you can find room...”

  “Hi, Jim,” Karen said, “I want you to meet my folks.”

  Jim snapped out of his sun-invoked stupor, and scrambled to his feet, “Hello, Folks!” he said with a sheepish grin.

  “Jim Stanton, meet my mother, Marie, and my dad, Richard. You already met Renée.”

  Jim nodded at Marie with a smile, and extended his hand to Karen’s dad, “Mr. O’Connor, nice to meet you, sir.”

  “Rich will do, Jim.”

  “And I’m Marie to everyone,” the woman said.

  “Karen tells us you’re stationed at Jacksonville,” Rich said as he spread a blanket on the sand. “Said you’re an air traffic controller?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Join right after high school?” Marie asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Where did you grow up, Jim?”

  “Michigan.”

  “I thought you might have a Midwestern accent; but there’s a little drawl, too.”

  “Blame the Navy; most of the people I work with talk funny... contagious, maybe.”

  They traded the usual background information, and Jim was wondering how long this ‘‘interview” was going to last.

  “When do you go back to Jacksonville?” Rich asked.

  “I’m due back to work on Sunday at 6 a.m. I figured I’d head back Saturday morning.”

  “That’s when we’re leaving too,” Marie said.

  The conversation devolved into the family’s plans for the rest of the week, and blended into the constant background noise of screaming kids and gulls along with waves slapping on the beach.

  “Jim?” Marie asked, and he realized it wasn’t the first time she’d said his name.

  “I’m sorry; let my mind wander a bit. I need to move around; I keep trying to sleep away the day.”

  “That’s all right,” Marie said. “We were just considering where we might eat tonight; do you have any recommendations?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t. I hardly ever eat in restaurants down here, and when I do, I’m with guys who know the area. Let’s check with them.” He rose and walked to a nearby group.

  He came back minutes later with two other young men, “Folks, these are two other sailors I’m staying with this week, Mark Gardner,” he said putting his hand on the shoulder of a tall, dark-complected man, “and Randy Mason. They grew up down here.”

  The two men hunkered down next to the O’Connor’s blanket. Randy, who was huge and blond, spoke first. “Jim says you’re looking for good places to eat. What kind of places interest you?”

  They talked back and forth, and Mark, as was his nature, didn’t add much to the conversation, but started making notes in a notebook he took everywhere.

  “We know pretty much everything around this neighborhood, from dives to four-star outfits,” Randy said.

  “We’re looking for high quality food, quiet atmosphere,” Rich said. “Night meals are just for the two of us; the girls will have dinner in the hotel.”

  “Good music would be nice, too,” Marie chimed in.

  Mark spoke to Randy with a knowing smile, “The Pelican, Shirley’s Crab House, and Blue Mangrove.”

  Randy nodded. “They’re the kind of places my folks enjoy.”

  “Pelican and Mangrove take reservations; Mangrove requires a jacket, but no tie,” Mark said to the parents.

  “If you don’t have a jacket, they’ll provide you one,” Randy said with a snicker.

  Mark laughed as he interjected, “That’s right, Mr. O’Connor, and unless you’re built like a sumo wrestler the way Randy is, they’ll have one that fits, too!”

  “Did they have trouble fitting you?” Marie asked Randy, a fresh twinkle in her eye.

  “Split the back right out of the only one close to big enough,” Randy said with no sign of embarrassment. “Thought the maitre d’ was going to have heart attack, he was laughing so hard.”

  “What are you, 6-5, 290?” Rich asked with a good-natured grin on his face.

  “He’s 6-8 and not a pound under 320, Mr. O’Connor,” Mark answered as if he were insulted.

  That had all of them laughing at the image of a coat hanging in tatters from Randy’s huge frame.

  Mark tore the sheet out of the notebook and handed it to Mrs. O’Connor, “Really, these are the three best places you can walk to from here; but there are hundreds of great places if you want to drive or taxi. I’m sure the guy at the hotel can suggest places, too.”

  “Thank you, men,” Marie said as she took the paper. “You’ve been a big help.”

  Mr. and Mrs. O’Connor prepared to leave. “We’re gonna clean up and head for an evening out,” Rich said to no one in particular. “Karen? Remember, sun sets in just about an hour...”

  “Right behind you, Daddy.”

  He nodded and, one hand on Marie’s elbow, they departed.

  “They seem real nice,” Jim said, watching them leave. “You’re pretty lucky.”

  “I am,” Karen said. “What are you going to do with yourself tonight?”

  “I’ve been selected to provide tonight’s salad, so I’ll be walking to a supermarket and then in for the night.”

  “All you young men, and nobody’s howling at the moon?” Renée asked in a good-natured tone accompanied by raised eyebrows and a skeptical smile.

  “Oh, to be sure,” Jim answered, noting the look of a tease on Renee’s face. “At least most of them will. There’ll be some beer and an occasional whiskey consumed tonight, but I, for one, will be low key. I’m pooped and I came here for rest and relaxation with the emphasis on rest.”

  First light the next morning found Jim alone on the beach, practicing his Tai Chi forms between runs that took him from one end of the public beach to the other.

  The rest of the day he read, sunned, walked, and chatted with people. No one seemed to mind his endless ques
tions, probably because he listened so intently to the answers. From time to time, Karen and Renée sat with him, often surrounded by groups of young men eager to make an acquaintance with the dazzling beauties.

  “If those two kids are cramping your style, Jim, I can say something,” Rich O’Connor said two mornings later as he and Jim were standing in line at a coffee kiosk. “I mean, they seem to be having a grand time, but you might find their hanging around the way they are, well, sort of cloying,” he added in his best man-of-the-world voice.

  “Oh, I enjoy their company, Rich. They attract a lot of attention from the beach’s male population, but they’re not crimping my activities in any way. I needed this week to be as calm and quiet as possible, and they’re doing nothing to interfere with that.”

  “I just thought you might want a little space, perhaps to spend some time with some of the other women here.”

  Jim took his coffee to the creamer and shook his head, “Mr. O’Connor, Karen and Renée are much closer to my age than any of the other women I’ve encountered on this beach. I’m not yet old enough to buy a drink here in Florida.”

  Jim could see that answer disturbed the older man, but neither of them had more to say on the subject as they took their coffees in separate directions.

  “Jim,” Renée said that afternoon as they waited for Karen to make an appearance. “Don’t you find Karen attractive?”

  “Of course I do,” he said without opening his eyes behind the dark glasses he was wearing.

  “Well, you don’t seem to be in any hurry to let her know that.”

  “I’m not in any hurry; why would I be?”

  “We only have today and tomorrow...”

  Jim studied Renée. He saw no reaction to his stare in her eyes. “Who’s going to die?”

  That brought a quick smile to her face, “C’mon, you know what I mean.”

  Jim pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead, to let the young woman who was sitting Indian-style in front of him see his serious eyes. “I’m going to say this just once, Renée, and I am going to trust you to repeat it to her just like I’m saying it...”