The Bungalow Heaven Mystery Series Book 2
Mystery
Date Published: July 21, 2022
Publisher: Jan-Carol Publishing, Inc.
In Canyon of Shame, the second part of The Bungalow Heaven Mystery Series, detective Peter McGinnis from the Pasadena homicide unit has to solve the murder of a forty-year-old woman whose body was discovered in Eaton Canyon. What at first appears like a routine investigation, turns into a career and reputation salvaging operation for the detective, who is not only the main witness in a prominent Black Lives Matter case, but who becomes more and more entwined with the case the more facts he uncovers.
EXCERPT
Chapter One
It was early on
a Sunday in September. The sky was as blue as hydrangeas. McGinnis, who kept
his receding salt-and-pepper hair protected from the carcinogenic sunrays under
a linen newsboy hat that matched his tweed blazer, steered his 1970s Ford
Futura down the sleepy residential street of Michigan Avenue, heading toward
Nell’s Café. He and Nell had decided to spend the night separate since she had
to get up at the crack of dawn. Still, he at least wanted to stop by before
heading off to the racetracks. They were both busy people, and he had learned
in his fifty-seven years that one way of making a relationship work was by
simply showing up, even if that was all you did.
He pulled his
old Futura to the curb and parked. He stepped out slowly, hoping nobody would
notice how he was pulling himself up by using the frame of the door. The 310
pounds above his belt made such transitions increasingly difficult for the
six-foot tall homicide detective. Huffing and puffing, he closed the rusty door
carefully, making sure he didn’t unhinge it. He walked to the café and pushed
open the glass door.
Nell, who was
behind the counter, looked up as soon as the door opened, and smiled. “Morning,
Peter. How did your night go?” She dropped the dough she was kneading, came out
from behind the counter, and gave him a peck on the cheek.
“Not as good as
it would have with you by my side,” he said.
As tough as he
could be while working, he had a soft spot for ginger-haired Nell. He felt
fortunate to have found her after all that he had been through with Lauren.
“What are you
up to today?” Nell asked, running a hand through her untamed curls.
“Clocker’s
Corner. See if I can get a good tip for the races. Might as well risk a little
bit, seeing that my career will most likely be over on Wednesday,” McGinnis
said sarcastically.
“Why?” Nell’s
forehead wrinkled.
McGinnis led
her behind the counter so he could speak more quietly. “They asked me to
testify. You know, the Tyrone Bastille case.”
“You mean the
one who is now paraplegic because your colleague broke his back in the Seven
Eleven shop on Rosemead?”
“That one.”
“Why would your
career be over? You’re doing the right thing!” Nell switched a button on the
espresso machine and steamed some milk for a cappuccino. An angry frown
replaced her usually bright expression.
“Just because
I’m doing the right thing, doesn’t mean I’ll still be working there next month.
Chief Bartholdo ordered the video to be destroyed. The only reason I agreed to
testify is because Michael is my buddy. Otherwise, I would never do something
that could harm another colleague. Michael’s been with the Pasadena police for
thirty-nine years. That’s two years more than I’ve been there. He was in the
patrol car with Fred when they took the call. Michael has the whole thing on
camera and refused the chief’s order to destroy it. That’s why he’s without a
job now.”
Nell served the
cappuccino to a customer across the counter. “Last I checked, we live in a
country ruled by law and order. If you do the right thing and don’t break any
laws, you will be fine,” she said, then began filling a medium cup with dark
coffee. She searched for a lid.
“That only
applies if you don’t work for a guy who has a history of violence himself.
Everybody at the Pasadena police knows about the skeletons in Bartholdo’s
closet.”
“No wonder he’s
trying to protect the guy who broke a black man’s back!” Nell said, fiddling
with the lid. She handed him the lid and the coffee. “Want some hot coffee?
Take it before I spill it.”
McGinnis took
the cup. “Thank you, dear. You read me like a crime novel, don’t you?”
She smiled.
McGinnis put the coffee cup on the counter and carefully put the lid on.
Nell took
another customer’s order, then said to McGinnis quietly, “That leave any time
to see you in between?”
“How about
tonight?” McGinnis asked before taking a sip of the hot coffee.
Nell smiled
from cheek to cheek. “That a date?”
“A date it is,”
McGinnis said, breaking into a smile that could cheer up a serial killer.
Nell almost
sang as she addressed the next customer. McGinnis squeezed out from behind the
counter and headed toward the door.
“By the way,
nice outfit!” she yelled after him.
“See you
later!” McGinnis turned around and left Nell’s Café.
* * *
McGinnis passed
through the open gates of Santa Anita Park. He felt at home in the
old-fashioned, green Art Deco building of the twenties. An epoch, he nostalgically reminisced.
It was only
seven thirty. The races would not start until eleven. He headed past the
still-open gates and went through an arcade where, historically, racehorses had
been stalled. The iron stalls were currently filled with show horses. Except
for a stable boy who made sure no one stole them, there was no one there.
McGinnis headed swiftly past the stalls and around the corner, moving past a
few tractors and heading toward the tracks. He stood still for a moment to take
in the view. His wish to buy a racehorse with his retirement money became more
entrenched each time he came here. He did not need a house. Lauren was dead,
and Nell already owned one. A racehorse was what would do the trick.
A handful of
horse trainers were practice racing their horses in front of the backdrop of
the San Gabriel Mountains. A few onlookers were scattered in the near-empty
stands. Horse trainers and owners huddled together at the café and on the arena
seats, analyzing the practice runs. McGinnis knew why he kept coming here.
“Morning,
Detective. Working on any interesting cases?” Martin Seger, a co-owner of Snow, one of the star contenders in the
stables, asked McGinnis after walking up beside him.
“None that I
know of,” McGinnis said.
“Just watchin’,
huh?” Martin asked. He was an old acquaintance of McGinnis’s. They’d spent time
together during the detective’s many visits to the tracks.
“Yeah, maybe
looking for which horses will do the best. You heard anything?”
“I’m keeping my
eye on Behold. He is making amazing time in the practice races.”
“Behold, you
say?”
“Yes, sir.”
Seger nodded and walked away.
McGinnis
grabbed a chair and sat down. He pulled a pen out of his pocket, opened the
program, and made a big circle around the race Behold would be in. He could
tell from the numbers that the horse was an outsider. McGinnis jotted down the
word win beside the horse’s name.
In front of
him, the trainers were working out their horses on the tracks. Places like
these made the detective forget that there was any evil in the world.
Then his
telephone rang. “Damn it!” he cursed out loud.
He pulled the
phone out of his side pocket. A few heads turned in his direction as he checked
the number. Of course, it was the lieutenant.
“Does this have
to happen on a race day?” he said through his teeth, trying not to attract any
more negative attention.
“Detective!” he
spat into the cell phone after answering the call. He listened, then answered,
“Yes, I am well aware, thank you.”
McGinnis stood
up and shuffled away from the terrace in front of the tracks. He knew this was
a conversation no one needed to hear.
“What? Eaton
Canyon?”
“Yes,”
confirmed the voice on the other end.
“Where,
exactly? I don’t have to hike all the way up to the waterfall, do I?” Despite
his size, he actually had nothing against hiking, so long as it wasn’t for
work.
“No. It’s on
the Eastside, right behind the Tennis Club at Kinneloa Mesa.”
“Oh,
shutterbusters. Right in front of the parking lot,” said the detective. “It’s
going to be crazy trying to hide the body from the view of the crowd. It’s a
madhouse out there on Sundays.”
“I’ve put some
screens up,” said the lieutenant.
“Great idea,”
said the detective. “What am I dealing with? Can you tell me anything?”
“A blonde in
her forties. Shot in the head. Looks like she was dumped here. But forensics
still have to confirm that. We’d need your input on that, too.”
“All right.
I’ll see you there in a little while,” McGinnis said, then hung up. He
carefully shoved the race program and his pen into the pocket of his tweed
jacket.
A dead woman in the canyon. Why
would anybody put her where people would see her right away? Must have wanted
them to, he thought as he headed back toward his car, almost forgetting
about the lost day at the track. McGinnis had the uncommon ability of
temporarily forgetting about his sorrows when he became absorbed in a case.
About the Author
Faye Duncan is a writer from the San Gabriel Valley, California. She is the author of Murder on Wilson Street, the first part of The Bungalow Heaven Mystery Series. She has published several short stories and volunteers as a script reader for International Film Festivals. Faye has an undying passion for ballroom dancing and lives with her son Max and her two dogs, Sammie and Lamby
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