Three Sensational Novels!

Three Sensational Novels!

Ah, the vanity of self promotion.  With most of my faithful readers ensconced in their tidy mansions, with wives or loved ones, living the quietly dull life and eagerly yearning for adventure, I take this brief moment to reintroduce you to the pleasures of reading…specifically my three novels, which Amazon will so thoughtfully deliver to your door in paperback form, or via electronic delivery for fans of Kindle.

The covers of all three are on the both the top and right side of this page, and have certain things in common:  They are all southern mysteries with southern charm and dark secrets….but of course practically every novel is a mystery.   All three take place in Cassarora County, a fictitious place that probably sounds like a place where you grew up, crawling with quirky characters, and blistering secrets. All three have stand-alone plots, but the second and third novels share central characters.

To take them in order, and I know you want to!:

Cassavora County – local politics, a possible murder, and a tangled school board that knows a little less about education than high school drop outs.  Jake Morgan is running for a post on the school board and finds he's in a snake-pit. Ah, the twists and turns of small county politics, with very private and dark goings on in the privacy of locked door and closed curtains.

As one reader wrote:  The whole political mudslinging package comes coated in Southern Fried charms, with an unmistakable whiff of honeysuckle that will keep you spellbound to the end of every antebellum page.  … Edward Rasimus, author of several classic books on the air war in Vietnam

Lowdown. Dirty. Shame. introduces Jack Hudson, a small town writer who volunteers to help a college frat buddy keep tract of a wayward wife, someone with whom Jack is very familiar.  And before he can take a breath, he’s caught up in a wife’s disappearance and surrounded by dangerous secrets.  A private investigator who's not sure he's an investigator and all of a sudden definitely doesn't want to be.

A reader’s comments:  A treat for readers…Jack Hudson, a likeable guy in a small town…He’s witty, smart and attractive, a wicked trifecta…If you like to root for the good guy, that at times looks dirty, then Jack is your man and this book is a must read!  William Stroud second novel, Lowdown. Dirty. Shame. is yet another fun read, with wit and charm, just like his debut novel, Cassavora County.   …Stephanie McKee, noted educator and world traveler.

Maybe Murder is the latest novel in the misadventures of Jack Hudson.

As usual, Jack is caught in the sticky business of life and death, kill or be killed.  And he’s being blackmailed. And the body of a girlfriend’s ex is found in his home.  And, his girlfriends, old and new, have their own secrets and agendas.  Such is the life of a small town writer.  The situation in Cassavora County has never been darker, or more confusing, or deadly.  Somehow Jack has got to figure out how to survive the madness, while sorting out his love life, staying out of jail, and most importantly staying alive.

One note of caution:  As you desperately prowl Amazon in a frenzied search for these fine, glorious, interesting southern mysteries, use both the author’s name, William Stroud, and the name of the book. There are several William Strouds on Amazon and many similar book titles.

Maybe Murder

                                        Maybe Murder

My Newest novel is now available on Amazon, the kindle edition.  Paperback will be out in a few days.

John D "Jack" Hudson is back! Once more he's getting in over his head and this time it's blackmail...his blackmail. A deputy sheriff in Cassavora County has been running drugs and now is turning state's evidence. Someone wants the deputy killed before he testifies. Jack is supposed to do the job, but Jack is no killer. Now he's in a race to sort out friends from enemies, figure out who's behind the game and keep himself alive. Meanwhile, his old girlfriend's ex-husband turns up dead in Jack's house. Another girlfriend has second thoughts about losing him. As with the previous novel, Lowdown. Dirty. Shame., it's set in the quirky, small town south, with a cast of oddball characters. And, nothing is as it seems.

Amazon. Maybe Murder by William Stroud

Chapter 1

The End of the line

I park my white Honda on the other side of the street, get out, and stand in the shadows, waiting for the show to begin.  Tall pines rise up behind me, but it’s a thin copse, with houses and businesses clearly seen past the roughly barked trunks.  My Glock is in my shoulder holster and the other, untraceable pistol rests in the outside pocket of my dark leather jacket.  I’m as nervous as a tethered goat facing a pride of lions. 

A cream and brown patrol car pulls up in front of the house and drives onto the thin, weedy lawn. No sirens or flashing lights, and no hesitation. Car doors slam.  Everything seems to be going according to somebody’s plan.  I don’t know whose. I’ve heard so many different versions. Nobody shoos me away or tells me to get back in my car and move on.  Nobody even looks my way.  That part of the plan is on track. 

Darkly smudged, foreboding clouds drift over, temporarily hiding the sun and casting somber shadows.  I tell myself to stay calm.  Myself doesn’t listen well.  My heart’s pounding like an epileptic snare drummer.   I’d like a cool sip of water and there are any number of places I’d rather drink it and any number of people I’d rather be with.

The former Chief Deputy of Cassavora County, now the star witness in a grand jury investigation, steps out of the backseat of the patrol car and is escorted to the house by both of the deputies.  The escorts wear matching dark brown khaki trousers and crisp, light brown shirts with patches on the sleeves.  They’re bare headed.  Their thick, black belts are shiny leather, with the butts of their pistols and radios clearly visible.  The former chief deputy stands straight, has on civilian clothes and walks with confidence. 

Elton Krebs, the former Chief Deputy is the only one I recognize.  The rest could be from anywhere.  In this state, sheriff’s deputies look like sheriff’s deputies. They don’t have Krebs handcuffed.  He walks like he’s in charge, instead of a jail inmate, facing charges, and waiting to testify.

An unmarked car pulls up and a man and a woman in civilian clothes get out and walk toward the group of three who are just about to enter the house. 

I know these two. The woman turns and motions for me to hurry up.  I hesitate, then start to walk.  I get only a few feet when the crack of what sounds like a pistol comes from inside the house. Krebs and the two escorts drop to a knee.  The deputies draw their guns and aim them nowhere in particular.

Instinctively, I drop down also, but don’t pull a weapon.  Nobody seems to know exactly what’s going on.  Clearly the plan is soggy and already swirling down the toilet.

I glance over where the woman and her partner have taken refuge behind their car.

Something just isn’t right.  Hasn’t been right from the beginning. This is not the way it’s supposed to happen.

Maybe Murder! A New Novel from William Stroud

Maybe Murder picks up where the first John D “Jack” Hudson mystery novel, Lowdown. Dirty. Shame., left off.

This one is also set in Cassavora County, but this time Jack is not accused of murder, he’s being blackmailed to force him to commit murder! Meanwhile, former girlfriends and other women are running rampant over Jack’s quiet social life with plans and dire difficulties of their own.  Twists and turns confront even the most stouthearted, and Jack is never sure he’s up to the task.  The hours and days are ticking away, along with his chances of survival.

Killers are tracking him, the police are suspicious and his life is unraveling.  He’s a writer for god’s sake.  Can’t he plot his way out?

An excerpt from Maybe Murder…

Leo has a way with words, which is to say he can lie to your face and make you swallow it faster than an icy beer in July.  I hesitate to call him, for the simple reason that I can’t let this business of dispatching the Chief Deputy get out and about. For reasons of self-preservation, I want to take care of everything myself.  As the saying goes, the only way for three men to keep a secret is to kill two of them.  

As a lawyer, Leo Sporata was in and out of dusty courtrooms for almost twenty years.  The last one saw him in the dock for contempt and impeding a federal investigation.  He managed to scamper away only because he was the man who knew too much.  Deal cut.  No jail, but disbarment.  Now he pedals information to whomever has the right amount of cash and can do him the most good. That includes customers across the spectrum, such as companies, prosecutors, defense attorneys, anyone whose work takes them into the legal shadows.  Excellent business model.  He prospers to the tune of two shiny cars and an architect’s dream home on the 7^th fairway of a primo golf course, right outside this state’s major city.  Tell me crime doesn’t pay.

Leo meets me now and again, just to down a few and pass the time.  We’re friends and that’s a mystery to both of us.  He’s a weasel with a cast iron heart, while I wear my thumper on my sleeve so everyone can watch me bleed.

I swallow my reservations and call Leo.  We meet at Norway’s Wayside, a tavern owned and run by Jimmy Norway.  Quiet place in the afternoon. Classy.  Long mahogany bar that’s well stocked, dimmed lighting, and bar food that’s more than acceptable.  Another thing that makes Leo and me both favor this place is the lack of screechy music, with King Kong pounding the drums.  Right now, coming out of hidden speakers, there’s a subdued sax and the tinkle of the ivories, backed by the light brushes of a careful drummer.

Leo is in a relaxed slouch, in a booth and already sipping some microbrewery concoction I know he’s going to tell me about.  “You see Jack, there’s a lot more to beer than just hops, malt, and water.  Take this Red River Pilsner,” he says, holding up his glass and peering at it like it’s the last will and testament of Jesus of Nazareth, “It’s full bodied, yet has hints of ripe plums, with a leathery finish.  You can’t find beer like this very often.”

“I’d say the word beer pretty much sums it up.”

“That’s because your taste buds are shot and your education is lacking.”  He grins, showing teeth big enough to make a thoroughbred envious.  “But I know a fine brew is lost on you, so I ordered you…” he stops as a white shirted waiter approaches with a silver tray.  Resting on top is my liquor on the rocks, in a crystal whisky tumbler, plus a redolent pile of crisp and salty chips and beside them, a small silver bowl of oil cured olives.

I take a sip.  “Kentucky’s finest, with hints of horseshit and a finish of blue grass.”

Leo shakes his head sadly.  “When it comes to culture, you’re a lost cause.”

“I was just teasing.  There’s not even a hint of horseshit in this Jim Beam.  It’s the regular kind, not the funny label kind, with hints of this and that.  It’s to drink, not to chat about.”

“Well, you do know your whiskey.”

We banter on for a while.  Recent trips.  Women, of which neither of us have a soupçon of understanding.  Leo’s been married twice, with a matching number of divorces and I am girlfriendless.

Leo breaks the ice.  “So Jack, what the hell kind of trouble are you in now?”  He holds up a hand and slowly shakes his head. “Don’t tell me,” he says in a tired voice.  “Let me guess. It has something to do with those we used to call ‘the mob,’ but now refer to as crime without borders.”  He shakes his head again.  “Didn’t you learn anything from my bad example?”

I’m going to have to explain all of it, but I follow Leo’s lead and leave out the specifics, at least at first.  Leo is one of those guys who can empty your bag of marbles with just one pull of a thread. That’s why he thrives in the information business.  I heave a sigh, while Leo downs a full swallow of ripe plums with a leathery finish.  My drawstring pouch of scurrilous information begs to overflow, but I do my best to keep the cord cinched.  The oracle of unsavory knowledge is sitting right in front of me.  He’s been time tested through the pain of disbarment and knows to keep his mouth shut, if you pay him well.  There’s the rub. Leo and I have exchanged a lot of things, but money isn’t one of them.

“What do you know about Harry Simpson?”

The mug is halfway to his mouth and he sees it’s empty.  He raises two fingers to signal for another before he answers.  “Who’s Harry Simpson?”  His look tells me this is an honest question, possibly the only honesty I’ll find this afternoon.

Enjoy the excerpt?  Find the book on Amazon:  Maybe Murder

And enjoy my other two novels, including the first adventures of Jack Hudson:  Lowdown. Dirty. Shame.

And:  Cassavora County

All three are on Amazon, in both Kindle and Paperback editions.