Clint Faraday Mysteries Book Twenty Seven: A Wreath for Sam

By CD Moulton

Sam has a funeral wreath delivered with a note that was, to say the least, threatening. What was it about? What did a couple of Colombians have to do with it? Was Sam unknowingly mixed up with money laundering?

• Language: English
• Publisher: CD Moulton
• Release date: Jan 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311750037

CD Moulton

Born in Florida, travelled the world as a rock guitarist with some big names in the late sixties, early seventies. Been everything from a high steel worker to longshoreman, from musician to bar owner, and much more. Educated in botany and genetics. Now living in paradise (Panamá!)

Book preview

Clint Faraday

book twenty seven

A Wreath for Sam

© 2012 by C. D. Moulton

all rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual persons or events are purely coincidental unless otherwise stated.

Sam Martin answers a call at the front door. A woman from a flower delivery service announces, A wreath for Sam!

He was the only Sam there – and he wasn’t dead.

Contents

Delivery

Who Is Sam Martin?

The Trail Blurs

Life in the Big City

Early Retirement Fund

All Around the Water Tank

A Life Story

Rainbow’s Ends and Gold

And Then....

About the author

CD was born in Lakeland, Florida, in 1938. He is educated in genetics and botany. He has traveled extensively, particularly when he was a rock rhythm guitarist with some well-known bands in the late sixties and early seventies. He has worked as a high steel worker and as a longshoreman, clerk, orchidist, bar owner, salvage yard manager, and landscaper and more.

CD began writing fiction in 1984 and has more than 300 books published in SciFi, murder, orchid culture, and various other fields.

He now resides in Gualaca, Chiriqui, Panamá, where he continues research into epiphytic plants and plays music with friends. He loves the culture of the indigenous people. He funds those he can afford through the universities, where they have all excelled. The Indios are very intelligent people, they are simply too poor (in material things and money. Culturally, they are very wealthy) to pursue higher education.

CD loves Panamá and the people, despite horrendous experiences (Free e-book; Fading Paradise). He plans to spend the rest of his life in the paradise that is Panamá

CD is involved in research of natural cancer cure at this time. It is based on a plant that has been in use for centuries, is safe, available, and cheap. Information about this cure is free on the FaceBook page: Ambrosia peruviana for cancer.

A Wreath for Sam

Delivery

Clint Faraday, retired PI from Florida, now living in Bocas del Toro, Panamá, sighed deeply, and shook his head. Gina, a woman he met last night at The Lemon Grass restaurant, had just left. She had seemed an intelligent woman when she came to talk with him. She was interesting and had been a few places he had been.

Dave, his nutty musician/writer/botanist friend was playing with some of the local musicians and had warned Clint that she was a flake. He thought she was bipolar or something.

She had seemed very nice. He should learn to listen to friends like Dave, who was blunt to the point of being obnoxious, at times, but was a true friend. He had introduced her to Larry Fender, a young man from Florida, a friend of both Clint and his neighbor, Judi Lum, who was visiting at his house.

It was a great night, really. It just wasn’t a very good morning after. Larry woke up earlier than she did, and went to his regular morning routine – lots of coffee, a couple hojaldras, some liver and onions, this morning, half a muskmellon, lay in Clint’s hammock awhile, to watch the sunrise, swim for fifteen or twenty minutes, get dressed for the day.

She woke up about nine fifteen, and started almost screaming at him for not getting her up at seven thirty. He answered that she didn’t tell him she wanted to get up at any specific time, so he let her sleep.

She said she’d probably missed her bus to Boca del Drago. Thanks heaps for ruining her whole day, before it even got started!

There’s another bus every hour, this early, so what’s the big deal? All you had to do was say you wanted to get up at seven, and I would get you up at seven. I’m awake at five thirty.

"You damned son of a bitch! You get me drunk and take advantage of me, then fuck up my day! Thank you very damned much!

"In