Circle of Bones, стр. 1


Title page






1-Royal Naval Dockyard

2-The island of Guadeloupe

3-At sea off Guadeloupe

4-New Haven

5-At sea off Guadeloupe

6-The Atlantic south of Bermuda

7-Aboard the Bonefish

8–The harbor at Point-a-Pitre

9- Washington, DC


11-Marigot Bay, Guadeloupe


13-The Atlantic south of Bermuda




17-Aboard the Bonefish

18-Aboard the Shadow Chaser

19-Le Mambo Cafe

20-The Atlantic south of Bermuda

21-Le Gosier

22-Aboard the Bonefish

23-Grand Terre, Guadeloupe

24-Fort Napoleon

25-Bourges des Saintes

26-Iles des Saintes

27-The Atlantic south of Bermuda

28-Iles des Saintes

29-Iles des Saintes

30-Aboard Bonefish

31-Aboard Bonefish

32-The Atlantic south of Bermuda

33-Aboard the Fish n’ Chicks

34-Aboard the Bonefish

35-Aboard the Shadow Chaser

36-Bourges des Saintes

37-Aboard Shadow Chaser

38-Aboard the Shadow Chaser

39-The Atlantic south of Bermuda

40-Aboard the Shadow Chaser

41-From Bonefish to Shadow Chaser

42-Portsmouth, Dominica

43-Aboard Fish n’ Chicks

44-Portsmouth, Dominica

45-Indian River, Dominica

46-Indian River, Dominica

47–The Atlantic south of Bermuda

48-Indian River, Dominica

49-Indian River, Dominica

50-In the air

51-The Atlantic Ocean

52-Iles des Saintes

53- Washington, DC

54-McLean, Virginia

55-Foggy Bottom

56-McLean, Virginia

57-Foggy Bottom

58-The Atlantic Ocean

59-Foggy Bottom

60-The Library of Congress

61-Washington, DC

62-Washington, DC

63-Washington, DC


65-At sea off Guadeloupe



68-Leesburg, Virginia

69-Leesburg, Virginia

70-Fort Napoleon

71-Aboard the Savannah Jane

72-Aboard the Savannah Jane

73-The Caribbean Sea off Guadeloupe

74-Scott’s Head Bay, Dominica

75-Scott’s Head Bay, Dominica

76-Iles des Saintes

77-Scot’s Head Bay, Dominica

78-Aboard the Bonefish

79-Aboard Fast Eddie

80-Aboard the Bonefish

81-Aboard Shadow Chaser

82-Aboard the Bonefish

83-Aboard the Shadow Chaser

84-From Bonefish to Fast Eddie

85-Off Iles de la Petite Terre

86-Aboard Fast Eddie

87-Aboard Shadow Chaser

Epilogue - Cherbourg, France

Author's Note


About the author

Books by Christine Kling


By Christine Kling

Published 2011 by Tell-Tale Press

This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This file is licensed for private individual entertainment only. The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into an information retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or otherwise) for any reason (excepting the uses permitted to the licensee by copyright law under terms of fair use) without the specific written consent of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions. Your support of authors’ rights is appreciated.

Copyright © 2011 Christine Kling

All Rights Reserved

Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.

Visit Christine Kling at

This one is for my mother, 

the ghost I talk to most.

The tale is different if even a single breath

Escapes to tell it

from “The Shipwreck”

by W.S. Merwin (1956)

Where secrecy or mystery begins, vice or roguery is not far off.

Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) 

Map of Central Caribbean Islands of Guadeloupe and Dominica


Cherbourg, France

November 19, 2008

The man lingered in the dark alley, the bill of his hat pointing through the gray veil of rain that poured off the cafe’s awning. From her seat inside the window, Riley blew at the steam rising off her cafe au lait and watched him from the corner of her eye. He rocked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Rain dribbled from the baseball cap jutting out from under his hood. She couldn’t see his face, but she looked down anyway. She knew it in her gut. He was watching her.

Her chest got that dizzy, hollow feeling as her heart rate climbed. She concentrated on slowing her breathing as she had been trained to do. She tried to sip her coffee with nonchalance but grimaced at the taste of it. Either the French had forgotten how to make coffee, or her mouth was dry from nerves. She’d thought she was over all this.

When she glanced up again, the man had disappeared. Riley brushed the hair back from her eyes and pressed her nose to the window. She checked the street in both directions. Her breath fogged the glass, but there was no sign of him. Closing her eyes for a moment, she rested her hot forehead against the cool glass. She was getting as bad as Cole. Perhaps paranoia was contagious, she thought, and that made her sit back in her chair and shake her head.

God, how she missed him. After all these months, she thought of him almost daily. Even the steady morning rain outside the cafe window reminded her of the falling ash.  Down in the islands, it had covered everything – been impossible to wash away. It had blanketed her boat’s decks, clogged her nostrils, turned her sails gray.

But that was more than six months ago. Now she was back in France, in Normandy, watching as another shower battered the awning in front of the cafe where she sipped from a soup-sized bowl of cafe au lait, thinking of all the dead – and tasting ash.

Tossing some euros onto the table, she abandoned her coffee and pushed back her chair. She pulled on her yellow foul weather jacket. The rain had stopped abruptly so, when she reached the sidewalk, she left her hood down and glanced up at the gray sky. A last fat raindrop caught her in the eye. She brushed the back of her hand across her wet cheek. Not today. No tears.

From behind, someone grabbed her arm. Her fists flew up as she spun around, then she yanked her arm out of the grip of that hard hand. Adrenaline shot through her system and her pulse roared in her ears. The man in the black slicker and ball cap stood behind her. He grunted and held a cardboard sign in front of his chest. Words scrawled in black marker stated that he was both deaf and dumb, a veteran of la guerre l’Indochine.

 She lowered her hands and examined him. His face was partially covered by wraparound sunglasses. Was he blind as well? Scraggly whiskers framed his yellow teeth, and beneath the slicker she saw layers of torn and dirty clothes. He bent down and picked up a crutch; his left leg was wrapped in bandages. Long strands of wet gray hair trailed out from under his cap. Riley inhaled a whiff of day-old garbage, and she saw the look of disgust on her own face reflected in the large mirrored lenses. He reached out a grimy hand, offering her one of several small brown paper bags of roasted chestnuts.