My Name is Jonas McCreary. I’m a detective. Not as hard-boiled as Spade and Marlowe, and not a fastidious little fellow with a head shaped like an egg. I’m just a regular guy. When I’m not working at my chosen profession, I sit up in my little office and write mysteries. Although listed as fiction, a lot of the stuff I write is diluted and rewarmed situations I’ve survived in my real life.
In real life I’m married to the wonderful Roxie and have two beautiful children. Wil, the older boy, was part of the package when I met and eventually married Roxie. Wil’s okay and we get along fine. Annie, our daughter, came along a couple of years after we married.
In my first novel, “The Sand Bluff Murders”, I explain how I came to be a cop in the first place and how I was able to advance so quickly to detective and — well, I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself. But you can read all about that and my meeting Roxie and how together, we took on the sleepy little town of Sand Bluff, California. Until I hit town, as one old-timer put it, “Most excitement this here town ever seen was the day back in sixty-five whenever that Elvis bus had to stop in town to fix a flat. Elvis wa’n’t even on the bus. They said he taken a plane to Vegas.”
Eventually that job in Sand Bluff sort of petered out. When I clean up a town, it stays clean. Well, that’s what I told myself when my job petered out.
We moved closer to the Bay Area where my mother had a little house and I opened up my very own detective agency. I had a few little jobs here and there and made friends with a few detectives. But then I got caught up in a real murder case. Dr. Ezra Morgenstern was a prominent Bay Area physician and in addition to whatever else he did, he ran several abortion clinics and boy did he get lots of backlash over that! Backlash and picketing are perhaps to be expected, but when he and his wife are gunned down on their “secure” estate, the daughter comes under heavy suspicion. Why? Because not just anybody had access to the compound and with them gone, she’d be quite rich indeed.
In desperation she came to me to help dispel the dark cloud that hung over her head. I took the case on because it not only intrigued me, but her generosity with the money helped too.
Let me tell you, pursuing the conclusion of a serious case for a paying customer and keeping up a happy home life ain’t easy, and staying alive throughout ain’t so easy either. But I’m still here.
After that little adventure, I had a dry spell and I needed it. A case like the last one takes a lot out of a guy. So on this particular hot summer day I was sitting in my quiet little office working on what would become “The Morgenstern Murders”.
Now in the good mysteries, the door opens and a beautiful blonde slinks in wearing a trench coat. Her cobalt blue eyes shift quickly taking in the office. Clearly she’s desperate and frightened for her life. She stands breathlessly with her back to the door and she’s not only seductive, but you’re about to learn that bad guys are after her and so on.
I should be so lucky, even if Roxie would allow that. But instead of the seductive blonde, the door opened and there stood a sorry-looking homeless bum. My first thought was that he had just climbed two tall outside sets of stairs under a blistering sun to reach my office. I was nearly broke, but I figured anybody who looked so pitiful and was desperate enough to climb all those stairs deserved at least five bucks.
But this poor lost soul threw me a curve so fast I didn’t even see it coming. That was the beginning of what would become a semi-truthful rendition of “The Kid Who Wasn’t There Murders”.
That one turned out to be very precarious indeed. Not only did I have to go way above my pay grade to deal with a nationally syndicated talk show hostess (and her “people”) but a boisterous hard-drinking painter (and his “models”), although I never saw any paintings of them in the studio.
And then there was a local Don and his (“crew”). A group with a very dangerous reputation. But if that wasn’t enough, nobody knew anything that might remotely help me find out why a mentally handicapped very quiet young man should have been murdered.Who would want him dead?
All that was bad enough but at this particular time, my mother died and Roxie, who grew up with a printing press father, saw an opportunity to take over a small printing operation in a nearby stirp mall. Okay, I admit she was correct in her reasoning that my income was spotty at best, and that a print shop could help a great deal. Still, it didn’t sit too well with me. I felt guilty and besides, I didn’t have the money to buy any print shops.
If you take the time to read “The Kid Who Wasn’t There Murders” you’ll learn the answers to all these nagging questions, and a lot more too!
All this and yes, even more from Cambridge Books (http://writewordsinc.com) avail in print or as Kindle, Nook, epub, Kobo and so on and on.