Title: Your Turn to Die
Author: Mark Love
Genre: Police Procedural Mystery
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Book Blurb:
It was supposed to be a friendly round of paintball. But blood, not paint, covers Kyle Morrissey’s body. Though admired by the public for his charity, the businessman was no choirboy. Could it be that more than one person want him dead? Sergeant Jefferson Chene and his detective squad catch the case. With two new faces on the team, he finds himself in the unfamiliar role as mentor. He is also cautiously beginning a relationship with Simone Bettencourt, the beautiful woman he met while pursuing a serial murderer. Complicating the case are two retired gangsters, a fortune in jewels, and Detroit’s history of organized crime. But the squad must utilize every resource available to catch a killer.
Excerpt:
Twenty minutes later I rolled to a stop in front of a small two-story brick structure in Grosse Pointe Farms. After hooking my helmet to the bike’s frame I turned and found myself face-to-face with an older, slight woman. She had dark brown hair shot through with blonde highlights. A playful smirk tugged at her lips.
“You’re the cop?”
I showed her my creds. “And you are?”
“Izzy. I’m one of the directors at the Historical Society. You’ve got the luck of the Irish, Sergeant.”
“I look Irish to you?”
The smirk evolved into a full grin. “Sweetheart, everybody’s something. Besides, you never heard of the Black Irish?”
“You got me there.”
She leaned back and sized me up. “You may be black, but you’re not a thoroughbred.” Her eyes danced with merriment. “You’re more like a Black Russian. You know, Kahlua and cream. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“So what can I help you with?”
I explained the puzzle of Kyle Morrissey’s money. She stood there, hands on her rounded hips, the smirk returning briefly.
“I don’t know if the money is a factor in his death or not. But the uncertainty is curious. And while identifying the source may not lead directly to the killer, it may give us a direction we’re not exploring yet.”
“You always work Sundays, Sergeant?”
“With a homicide, we work every day.”
Izzy considered that. At length she crooked one finger at me. I followed her inside the corner building, which was the society’s office. Large photographs decorated the walls of different events in the area, dating back to the early twentieth century.
“Kyle Morrissey had been an occasional supporter of the society, but not what we would consider generous. Maybe history wasn’t a big deal for him.”
“Morrissey made his money capitalizing on old movie theaters, renovating them and showing Hollywood classics. Sounds like history would be right up his alley.”
She cocked an eyebrow in a quizzical expression. “Or he could have used others love of history and classics to make his fortune.”
“Damn, that’s cynical.”
Izzy flashed that smirk again. “One of my traits. Or maybe a curse.”
“How long have you been interested in the historical side of the Pointes?”
“All my life. Back in the day, there were huge estates in different parts of the Grosse Pointes. There were some terrific fortunes here. Going back to the days when Henry Ford got his start and was practically printing his own money. But what makes you think this area has anything to do with Kyle Morrissey?”
“It’s a hunch. There was no family money. Yet four months after graduation, he had enough of a bankroll to buy the Shores Madrid theater.”
“Maybe he won the lottery?”
I shook my head. “No record of any sizeable winning. We checked.”
“So what is it you’re hoping to find here, Irish, on a Sunday afternoon?”
“Inspiration.” I dropped into a chair on the other side of her desk.
Izzy probably had access to diaries and letters from some of society’s greatest families. She began to show me around. Izzy knew the background of every photograph, every artifact that was on display.
“Is any of this helpful?”
“Background information. From what I know, Kyle Morrissey was born and raised just across the city line. He wanted the fame and fortune that was associated with the Pointes.”
“Which might explain why he moved here,” Izzy said.
“Fifteen years ago Morrissey was doing labor for a developer. Was there anything special about that project?”
Izzy booted up the computer. My eyes continued to wander around the room, taking in all the old photographs.
“How’s your historical knowledge of the local area, Irish?”
“Grosse Pointes mean money. The farther away from Detroit city limits, the pricier the real estate. That’s about the extent of it.”
Izzy propped her elbows on the desk and laced her fingers together. She was relishing the opportunity to share her knowledge with a captive audience.
“It’s been almost a hundred years since Prohibition took place. And before you ask, I was not around when it happened.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“The Grosse Pointes had several advantages to those who wanted to still enjoy the occasional alcoholic beverage. After all, it’s but a short boat ride across the river to Canada. And many of the Pointers had waterfront property. Including the founding families of Detroit’s automotive empires.”
“Sounds colorful. But I don’t know that it helps my case.”
“Irish, you just never know what someone might stumble upon. A lot of those with fortunes were extravagant. Artwork worth millions.” She gave a little shake of her head. “The rich often color outside the lines.”
“How’s that?”
“Even today, the Pointes still attract people with money. But they also generate scandals.” She gave me a broad wink. “Scandal doesn’t stop at the Detroit city limits.”
“Yeah, scandals don’t have boundaries. Just like some people.”
Izzy laughed at that. “Truer words have never been spoken, Irish. In the last thirty years, many of the old lakefront estates were sold. A number of those properties were subdivided into modern mansions. Local celebrities bought up a handful. Who knows what might have been discovered during the demolition?”
On the opposite wall was an artist rendering of one of the old estates. Something about it was vaguely familiar. I’d seen that picture before. Izzy caught my gaze.
“That’s one of them. Perched right on the edge of the lake for years. Prime real estate that the family no longer wanted. All the heirs moved away. Nobody wants to live in Michigan. They just want the money their ancestors made here.”
I’d run out of questions. At least, for now. Izzy walked me outside. I thanked her for her time and information. The smirk had returned to her face. Something told me it was perpetual.
And the glimmer of an idea began.
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Runs October 4 – 11
Winner will be drawn on October 12
Author Biography:
Mark Love lived for many years in the metropolitan Detroit area, where crime and corruption are always prevalent. A former freelance reporter, Love honed his writing skills covering features and hard news. He is the author of the Jamie Richmond romance mysteries, Devious,Vanishing Act, Fleeing Beauty, and his latest release, Chasing Favors, along with the novella Stealing Haven. His short story, Don’t Mess with the Gods, was written with Elle Nina Castle and included in the Magic & Mischief anthology. Love also writes the Jefferson Chene mystery series, WHY 319? Your Turn to Die and The Wayward Path.
Love resides in west Michigan with his wife, Kim. He enjoys a wide variety of music, books, travel, cooking and exploring the great outdoors.
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