A review that surprised me…

Marja McGraw is a respected mystery writer, blogger, and reviewer who I contacted several months ago about reading and commenting on JOEY’S PLACE. Her charming website‘s front page says, “A little humor, a little romance, A Little Murder,” so our styles and subject matter are quite dissimilar. I enjoyed our exchange of brief emails, but I didn’t expect to hear back from her. Then Marja unexpectedly contacted me last week to say that she’d read JOEY’S PLACE and…

While this isn’t the type of book I’d normally choose (I enjoy lighter stories), it was very well-written and kept me reading. Great job, and I hope it does well! I can picture this on a movie screen.

She was even kind enough to post a glowing review on Amazon. Thank you, Marja!

“Joey’s Place” to be published by Moonshine Cove…

The old D.I. and other now-lost resorts play important roles in "Joey's Place"

The old D.I. and other now-lost resorts play important roles in “Joey’s Place”

I am pleased to say that my Las Vegas crime novel, Joey’s Place, has been accepted by independent publisher, Moonshine Cove Publishing, with a scheduled release in early 2015. Moonshine Cove’s publisher, Gene D. Robinson, his editors, and I will be spending the next few months preparing revisions and planning promotions. When our final draft is completed we will be offering copies for review. The work will be available in multiple e-book formats as well as paperback.

View my previous posts for more information about this story of murder, deception, and justice in a Las Vegas that no longer exists…

“Joey’s Place”

Intl with Elvis signIt’s September, 1970. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas because nobody gives a damn.  Then a man with two slugs in his head is discovered in the parking lot of the International Hotel & Casino, where Elvis is filling the house every night.  Bad for business. 
JP_CoverPage_313x231Outcast Sheriff’s Detective Heber Parkins is mysteriously assigned the case. Soft-spoken and hard-headed, Heber usually collects the anonymous victims of the most anonymous town of them all — the waitresses and keno runners who met the wrong man, or the card mechanics and grifters who weren’t important enough for a deep hole in the desert and fifty pounds of quicklime. The kind of job you get when your partners keep getting themselves killed. But that’s all about to change, because the victim was co-owner of the most exclusive club on the Strip — Joey’s Place.

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Thank you!

The Sky Room

1950s_Desert_Inn_SkyRoomThe Sky Room was dead. Just a middle-aged couple holding hands over Manhattans at one table and a wrinkled tourist with a loser’s face at the bar contemplating a flock of empty shot glasses. The small dance floor was scuffed and dusty. An empty cocktail table had an ashtray filled with butts. You wouldn’t have seen that in the old days.

The ceiling was still painted to make it look like a starry night with puffy clouds, but some of the stars weren’t shining. It didn’t matter. Nobody said “Meet me at the Sky Room!” anymore.

The Murray Arnold Quartet — minus three — was providing the entertainment. The aging boy wonder of the piano was a long way from his glory days at the Cocoanut Grove in L.A. or fronting for Freddy Martin and his orchestra. But the old guy looked comfortable in this empty relic from the town’s past, noodling the keys of a scratched baby grand, exploring a subtle syncopation on “More Than You Know.” Heber wasn’t sure if he liked Murray’s interpretation, but he appreciated the effort.

He found a table by the big window overlooking the Strip and sat down. Fingerprints smeared the glass at kid level. He took off his Stetson and used his handkerchief to wipe the sweatband. Setting his hat on the table, he looked out the smudged window and tried to remember the last time he saw a mushroom cloud.