Killer Surf

Killer Surf is out on Kindle and it will be available in paperback in about a month. You can click the link on the side or here for the Kindle.

Ian Wallace's second outing starts with him walking on the beach and tripping over something somewhat soft and large. After he picked himself up he looks at what he tripped over and realized it was a body. His first reaction, vomit. His second, call 911. Worse yet, the body was that of his neighbor Brenda Dexter.

When Detective Jim Halstead tells Ian it was murder, Ian helps him find the killer. Along the way he meets with some quirky people both in his neighborhood and out of it. Meet Ruby, the stripper who lived next door to Brenda, the two batty old women who order merchandise from television, and the man who sits on his porch all day in his bathrobe smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. Ian also visits the seedier side of town in his quest.

I changed the cover as I thought the original one was a but too monochromatic and the blue washed everything out. For my friends in Wilmington you will recognize the location as Johnny Mercer's Pier at Wrightsville Beach.

Here is an excerpt.

Did you ever have one of those times in your life when everything was going just right and you knew something, or someone was going to come along and ruin it? You know the feeling, everything is in balance and harmony and yet that feeling of dread just shows up.

Well, that’s how I felt as I was walking along an empty Wrightsville Beach very early one fine Tuesday morning minding my own business and soaking up some rays with the surf washing over my ankles. I had Beethoven’s Piano Concerto Number Five, that’s The Emperor Waltz written about Napoleon, in my head, well the iPod was putting it there, and this weird feeling that something strange was going to happen started to crowd out the song. I shook it off and looked out at the waves and watched a flock of pelicans flying in formation looking for fish swooping between the waves.

I was so fascinated by the birds that I wasn’t paying attention to my footing and I tripped over something slightly soft and large, landing flat on my face in the sand, my kilt flying up over my waist. I pushed myself up from the beach, wiped the sand from my face, and turned to look at what I’d tripped over. That’s when I realized what that feeling of dread was about, I’d tripped over a dead body. I got to my knees, turned, and took a closer look and that only made matters worse. You guessed it. I threw up. I couldn’t help it. It started as a gag and ended up with my hurling on the body, and on myself.