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Casey Bannister Returns!
Adjusting to a small town life, former NYPD homicide detective, Casey Bannister, purchases a house that is perfect for restoration. Discovering an old portrait and hanging it in the house leads Casey into a battle with the previous owner. Powerful industrialist Philip Sheridan is a man who will do anything to prevent Casey from discovering the secret of Sheridan Manor.
A week after moving into the house, dust drifted across the living room as Casey scooped up a pile of plaster and wallboard with the flat mouth shovel. He added it to a collection of refuse in the wheelbarrow. Resting the shovel against a bare stud, he slipped on dark sunglasses and wheeled the load across the hardwood floor and into the entryway. He steered through the open door onto the porch and across a wooden plank that sloped down to the driveway.
In the hot sun, he headed for a rented dumpster. Alongside the garage, Casey dumped the wheelbarrow into a stack of refuse beside the dumpster. He looked up when a woman drove a silver BMW into the driveway and parked behind his Jeep. Casey tried not to stare as a dignified woman swung long legs out the door and climbed out. With dark sunglasses and silver streaks in her blond hair, she was Grace Kelly approaching Cary Grant.
The woman struggled through the gravel in high-heeled shoes that matched a blue suit. A few years younger than Casey, perhaps forty, she stopped several feet down wind and glanced toward the house. “Excuse me, but could tell me whether Casey Bannister is home.”
With a smile, Casey glanced down at the sweat-covered t-shirt that clung to his body. He clapped and dust flew from his hands and arms. Taking a step forward, he removed the leather gloves and offered his hand. “That would be me.”
The woman took a step back and waved her hand in front of her face as the dust cloud drifted toward her. She brushed some of the residue from the dark suit then shook Casey’s hand. “Perhaps I’ve come at a bad time Mr. Bannister, but might you have a few minutes?”
With a quick glance at her long legs, Casey smiled. “Well, unless you’re here to talk about my spiritual well being, I could use a break.” He motioned toward the porch. He enjoyed the woman’s graceful walk as she practically glided across the parched lawn. When they reached the porch, Casey pointed to the two folding chairs. “Can I get you something to drink Ms…?”
“Davenport. Doctor Davenport. Call me Lilah.” She tilted her head. “It’s a bit warm for late March, isn’t it? What do you have to offer, Mr. Bannister?”
Casey pictured the nearly empty refrigerator. “Beer and… water.”
“10:30’s a bit early for alcohol, for me, that is. Tap water will be fine. Ice?”
“But of course.” A minute later, Casey returned and handed the woman a tall glass of ice water. Two cows watched from the farm next door as he popped the tab on a can of Budweiser and moved the empty chair to face her.
After a long swallow, Casey held the cold can to his forehead. He had been looking for a reason to take a break. Sitting with a pretty visitor seemed like a reasonable excuse. “What can I do for you, Doc?”
Doctor Davenport’s face broke into a smile. “I heard you were a…” she covered her mouth, stifling a slight giggle, “pistol, Mr. Bannister. I’m the president of Adams College.”
“Casey.” He glanced again at her legs, held primly together at a proper angle.
“Excuse me, Mr. Bannister. I think we’ll have a much better conversation if we maintain eye contact.” She tugged the edge of her skirt to cover her knees.
Casey felt like a hound. He never recalled meeting a college president, especially a pretty one. “I’m sorry, Doctor Davenport. My experience with school administrators is pretty much limited to trips to the principal.”
“Well, I see you’re busy. More than busy. Let me get straight to the point. At Adams College, we constantly update our curriculum to offer students classes relevant to today’s student body. I’ve completed some research and think you’d be perfect to teach a class on police science.”
Casey took another swallow of beer. “Police work was never a science to me.”
I’ve lived nearly all of my life in Arizona and most of that with my wife of thirty-six years. We enjoy our eight grandchildren and our menagerie of animals including my wife’s dog Tinker who appears in my new novel, Ramblin’ Man. I love reading mystery and suspense novels, and love writing them. Because I find absurdity in just about everything, humor finds it’s way into my writing along with the chills. sequel to Simon’s Brides.
Cuts Like a Knife by Michael Murphy deserves its name. It lays out the raw flesh of human experience. On the surface, the novel thrills with a fast-paced murder mystery involving the fearless detective, Casey Bannister, whose dry wit and angst about women make him lovable. On a deeper level the novel explores whether we can act honorably, whether we can trust each other, or more disturbingly whether there is any good in humankind to be found. Murphy’s answers by turns comfort and haunt. Cuts Life a Knife is a fine read, one I highly recommend. -- Toby Heathcotte, Author and President, Arizona Authors Association
Buckle your seat belt and brace yourself! Michael Murphy's Ramblin' Man is one hell of a ride! Murphy is the master of character development, handing us Bart Wheeler, one tough guy with a heart of gold and enough sex appeal to singe the pages while tossing in one irresistible, spoiled, rich heiress with more than a few surprises tucked inside her little pink purse! Murphy delivers it all! Bare knuckle fight scenes, nail biting suspense, knee slapping comedy and edge of the seat romantic tension reminiscent of the longing seen only on the television series, Moonlighting. Ramblin' Man is one wide open, fun filled road trip you'll never want to end. --Alisha Paige, Canyon Wolf Bride, The Wooden Nickel
An utterly charming read! In Ramblin’ Man by talented author Michael Murphy, Bart Wheeler has met his match when he crosses paths with a sassy self-indulged runaway heiress with Yorkie-Pom in tow. But not even an irate business tycoon, the FBI, a bogus kidnapping charge or a one-sided softball game can rattle this guileless dude. Murphy gives breath to an understated hero for our time. --Jordan Dane, Award-winning Avon Author, No One Heard Her Scream, No One Left to Tell
In Michael Murphy’s new novel Ramblin’ Man, Bart Wheeler, newly unattached, is enjoying an aimless journey cross country with his window down and his radio on, dining at the local greasy spoon, when a runaway heiress sashays into his life in a cloud of expensive perfume, a posse of FBI agents and private security thugs hot on her trail. Before he can finish his fries, Bart finds himself sharing the cab of his truck with a yappy purse-sized dog named Tinker and a red-head confection in pink designer jeans who believes chipped fingernail polish qualifies as a genuine emergency. Michael Murphy makes you like ’em all--even the dog. Murphy takes us around bend after unexpected bend as Bart and Samantha take the ride of their lives--on the long, twisted road to Apple Valley. You can almost smell the cheeseburgers. --Melanie Wells, The Soul Hunter, My Soul to Keep
Book Publisher: Wings ePress
No. of Pages: 298
Paper Weight (lb): 12.6
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