Award Winning Author
Introduces his latest Carson Reno Mystery Series novel
The Disappearance of Robin Murat
Carson has been hired to locate a client’s missing brother, and it quickly gets complicated.
Somehow the missing brother is linked to a gangster who has stolen thousands from the mafia, but that link isn’t clear. Carson’s search doesn’t turn up the brother, but it does turn up a body – the body of a gangster who was on a mission of murder.
It seems that the Memphis Mafia and the Memphis Police are also searching for his client’s brother. Finding him first becomes a real priority.
The pursuit takes him to New Orleans, where a whole new mystery unfolds, which puts Carson in some very serious danger.
Then, if possible, things get worse.
More bodies appear while the Mafia chases their money, and it seems people are not who they claim to be.
This old fashion crime story takes Carson Reno and his crew on a complicated adventure, where it seems the solution may be worse than the problem.
Join our Cast of Characters and come along to help Carson find the clues, search for the truth and try to solve the
Disappearance of Robin Murat
As suspected I was sitting in a chair, and that chair was in the front of a small boat. A dim glow was coming from a swinging lantern tied to the stern, but providing enough illumination for me to see my surroundings. Underneath the lantern sat a little man wearing a straw hat and using a small paddle to shuffle the boat through the dark water.
The two men to my left were sitting on the boat’s gunnel, laughing and joking with each other while sharing a marijuana cigarette – their dark hair an odd contrast to the light colored clothing they were wearing. Both were also holding .45 caliber automatic pistols and waving them in the air as they passed the cigarette back and forth.
The crying man to my right was sitting in a chair, like me, with his hands tied behind his back. He also had very dark hair and was dressed in light colored clothing – just like the two men with the guns and marijuana cigarette. But unlike those men, his feet were resting in a small white plastic bucket – an odd way to be sitting in a boat, I thought. Then I remembered my feet, my very cold feet.
Looking down I shuttered. My feet were cold because they were also resting in a small white plastic bucket, and the chill was from the cold concrete poured around my feet - concrete that was beginning to harden.
“Shit,” I mumbled to myself.
