Woman in the Waves (Driftwood Mysteries Book 2)

Woman in the Waves

Professor Peter Bristol’s carefully ordered life begins to unravel when he witnesses a young woman in a bridal gown being swept out to sea off the coast of Driftwood, Oregon.

Still grieving the death of his wife, Peter cannot be sure whether what he saw was real or a vision shaped by loss. But his search for answers soon leads him beyond the beach and into a web of murder, deception, and buried secrets at the university where he teaches.

As the mystery deepens, Peter discovers that the woman in the waves was only the beginning.

A suspenseful mystery about grief, obsession, and the darkness hidden beneath respectable lives, Woman in the Waves is the second book in William J. Cook’s Driftwood Mysteries series.

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Excerpt from the book

SUNDAY, JANUARY 21, 2018. Clouds the color of Navy gunboats were deploying along the southwestern horizon, preparing to lay siege to the January sun.

“Rain before noon,” he said. Peter Bristol was out on the beach, enjoying the last rays of sunshine before a week of rain descended like a pall over the small coastal town. Far to the north, Cascade Head reached into the ocean like a giant fist at the end of a muscular arm. To the south, the shoreline curved in a lazy arc, interrupted by outcroppings of mussel-covered rocks. Here the surf was big and loud, urged on by the storm still far at sea. The sound of the crashing waves was the perfect background for meditation or a mindless walk along the shore.

Peter quickened his pace, anxious to return to the gravel bar he had found last Sunday a half mile up the beach. At the bar, stones of various sizes would roll in the swiftly moving currents and converse with each other in a language of rattles and clicks. He smiled at the recollection as he inhaled a deep breath of briny air.

Since the beginning of the New Year, he had been hunting agates, gem-like stones buffed by the sea and left as gifts on the sand for eager beachcombers. The best ones were closest to where the waves broke, out of sight of the ordinary passerby out for an easy stroll. They required following a wave as it withdrew, hastily scouting areas where rocks that ranged in size from marbles to golf balls were common, then running back up the beach to keep from getting wet by the next incoming wave. It added an element of sport to the simple gathering of stones.

“There!” he said aloud. He laughed as he ran toward the retreating water. Like a heron grasping its prey, he struck with his right hand and grabbed a promising stone. Then he hurried back up the beach. The rock in his hand was apricot-yellow, streaked with white. He compared it with the cherry-red one he pulled from his pocket and held them up to the sun. Both were translucent, allowing sunlight to reveal their inner beauty. “You'll be spectacular when I finish polishing you,” he said, still talking to himself. He had purchased a rock tumbler on craigslist to polish his finds but was dismayed at the irritating noise it made. He finally banished it to his garage to keep the weeks-long chatter of stones and abrasive sand away from his living space.

Before he ran after the next wave, Peter looked westward toward the horizon. A regular pattern of waves was rolling toward the beach. He knew how deceptive that could be. As a local, he kept a watchful eye out for sneaker waves. The Oregon coast was notorious for these occasional waves, much fuller than their companions, surging much farther up the shore than the waves that preceded them. Sneaker waves could pounce like predators, sweeping an unwary beachcomber from his feet and dragging him out to sea. Every year they claimed victims, usually visiting tourists unfamiliar with the casual violence of the Pacific Ocean.