Authorpreneur Dashboard – Christopher M Mirabile
The Washashore
Mystery, Thriller & Suspense
When a late-night pedestrian death rattles the beach community of Provincetown, interim police chief Silas Lopez—an ex-ranch-hand turned straight-shooting cop catches a case that won’t sit still. What looks like an ugly domestic dispute gone lethal refuses to add up. The evidence points Silas from the sand dunes and backstreets of Provincetown to cranberry country and the working docks of New Bedford, where small lies point to bigger crimes. With a young team still finding its feet, a wary local prosecutor, and federal agencies guarding their turf, Silas follows a thin trail through dockyards, night-vision photos, and a suspect who always seems a half-step ahead.
Along the way, Wren Bradford—a social worker with a photographer’s eye and a local’s knowledge—helps Silas understand the town and maybe his own heart, too.
As tides turn, Silas learns the truth moves like water: slow, relentless, and stronger than it looks.
Book Bubbles from The Washashore
Foggy sunrise over the salt marsh
This scene describes an early morning drive out through the salt marsh at the south end of East Harbor and out to the Atlantic-facing High Head Beach. If you’re detecting any verisimilitude, that would be because it's a drive I actually do most mornings to get the dogs a sunrise hike in the dunes. It’s not always as warm and pleasant as the fine late summer morning Wren and Silas were enjoying, but it is heart-achingly beautiful year-round. And, surprisingly, there can be fog at any time of the year. Provincetown gets more than its fair share of fog because it sits way out at the tip of the peninsula of Cape Cod where the frigid waters of the Gulf of Maine meet the warm northbound waters of the Gulf Stream. Those early morning rides are my favorite part of the day. We make our way out the paved one-lane road to the dirt spur, traverse its many potholes, and park at the beginning of the sand road out to the dunes. In the off-season, and on early mornings during the summer, there’s no one around, so the dogs are free to roam through the dunes tracking the scents of fresh fox tracks across the sand, footprints left by rabbits pausing to sniff the wind, or maybe the large, deep pad prints left by one of the outer Cape’s many coyotes. At the top of the dune, miles of deserted beach stretch in both directions.
