June
1-30, 2015
Virtual Book Tour
About The Anthology Collection
Title: From New York To
The Smokies
Author: Wayne Zurl
Series: 5 Book Anthology
Collection from the Sam Jenkins Mystery Series
Publisher: Melange
Books, LLC
Publication Date: April
16, 2015
Format: Paperback - 163
pages / eBook / PDF
ISBN: 978-1680460780
Genre: Mystery / Police
Procedural
Buy The Anthology
Collection:
Book Description:
Author Wayne Zurl is
back with his popular Sam Jenkins Mysteries Series. From
New York To The Smokies is a 5 book anthology collection from
the Sam Jenkins Mysteries Series!
THE BOAT TO PRISON
Seventeen-year-old Sam
Jenkins is busy fishing and falling in love with a girl named Kate. But with a
father involved with the union and a divorced mother, Sam often finds himself
acting like the adult of the family. During a fishing trip off Long Island, Sam
overhears a conversation involving dangerous plans that can land his dad in
jail. To keep his father out of prison, Sam teams up with detectives from the
county’s rackets bureau and enlists the help of two friends to pull off an
operation far beyond their usual high school curriculum.
FAVORS
Police community Service
Aide Liz Lopez should be in fine spirits—she’s in line for a promotion to
police officer and a raise. But her sullen demeanor tells her boss, Lieutenant
Sam Jenkins, that Liz is anything but happy. Jenkins begins an unofficial
investigation to find out what’s going on. The detective learns of a bizarre
home life and a dark secret Liz keeps under wraps. FAVORS is a story of how the
police take care of their own—in an honest and compassionate way.
ANGEL OF THE LORD
A killer is on the loose
in Prospect, Tennessee. He strikes repeatedly, each time leaving a cryptic
message for the police to find. By the time a fifth body turns up, Police Chief
Sam Jenkins is under pressure—either solve the murders or bring in outside
help. But the chief’s ego won’t allow others to work his cases. And at the
eleventh hour he tracks down a prime suspect, but death is only seconds away
for the next victim.
MASSACRE AT BIG BEAR
CREEK
A misunderstanding
between hunters rapidly escalates into a battle not seen in Southern Appalachia
since the Hatfield and McCoy feud. As bodies pile up faster than evidence, Sam
Jenkins and the officers of Prospect PD scour the remote hills and valleys of
East Tennessee and North Carolina to solve a case that reads more like an old
west adventure than a modern police drama.
ODE TO WILLIE JOE
Prospect, Tennessee
Police Chief Sam Jenkins receives two reports of UFO sightings in three days.
The gritty ex-New York detective doesn’t believe in coincidence…or space
aliens, but he can’t find anything to explain a glowing spaceship and little
green men—until he sends Sergeant Stan Rose and Officer Junior Huskey to
Campbell’s Woods. They call in a startling discovery, and the investigation
begins.
Book Excerpt:
From ANGEL OF THE LORD
The rain never stopped.
From early June through late August, it poured or drizzled almost every day. I
thought if I stood still too long I might begin to mold. It reminded me of the
monsoons in Southeast Asia.
Drops of rain falling
from the brim of my cap were exceeded only by the young woman’s tears.
“When did you see the
boy last?” I asked.
“Right after breakfast.
He went into the living room to watch TV, and I started doing laundry in the
basement.”
“And when you came
upstairs he was gone?”
More tears rolled over
her cheeks as she stood there, wringing her hands. “Yes.”
“Was your door locked?”
“Lord have mercy, no.”
“Is your son’s rain
jacket here?”
She shrugged and cried a
little more.
“Let’s look,” I
suggested.
We walked to the mud
room off the kitchen. A small hooded jacket hung on one of the five pegs over
an antique wooden chair not six feet from the back door. A small pair of bright
blue rubber Wellingtons sat on the floor.
“You call for him
outside?”
“Of course. I ran all
around.”
Without the puffy eyes
and fear scarring her face, Emily Suttles would have been an attractive
brunette.
“And then you called
9-1-1?”
“Yes.”
“What was he watching?”
“I don’t know. He knows
how to work the TV.”
“You turn it off?”
“One of the policemen
did.”
“Let’s take a look.”
She stared at me as if I
had two heads. “Why?”
“Indulge me.”
Back in the living room,
Emily picked up the remote control and turned on a flat screen about the size
of a stretch van. The American Movie Classics channel came on playing a scene
from Halloween 4.
“Did you or the cops
look through the house?” I asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“All over?”
“Every room.”
“Slowly or quick?”
“Quick. I was frantic.”
“Let’s try again.
Where’s Elijah’s room?”
“Upstairs.” Emily began
to look impatient. “I know he’s not there.”
We walked upstairs
anyway. I looked under the bed. Nothing. The boy’s mother called his name. More
nothing. I opened the closet. Huddled in the left corner, leaning against the
wall, four-year-old Elijah Suttles slept peacefully, a small flashlight in his
right hand. I shook his knee.
“Hey, partner, you doing
okay in here?”
He opened his eyes,
blinked rapidly, and looked frightened.
“Take it easy, son. I’m
a policeman. Your mom couldn’t find you and asked for some help.”
“Jesus have mercy,
Elijah,” his mother said, “you ‘bout scared me half ta death. You come out here
right now, young man.”
“Go slow, Mrs. Suttles.
He probably had a good reason to hide in here. Didn’t you, son?”
The little boy nodded,
but still looked scared.
“Something happen on the
TV?”
Another nod.
“Ready to come out now?”
The boy stuck out a
hand, and I pulled. Once on his feet, he scrambled to his mother and locked
onto her leg, mumbling an apology.
“Some of these slasher
movies scare me, too,” I said. “He just ran from the killer on the screen.
Wasn’t a bad idea.”
Emily Suttles hugged her
son, looked at me, and said, “Thank you.”
“I’ll call the three
officers and let them know your son’s safe.”
I switched on the
ignition in my unmarked Crown Victoria and keyed the microphone. “Prospect-one
to headquarters and all units. The missing child has been found. Resume patrol.
Five-twelve, close out the call at 1015 hours.”
PO Johnny Rutledge
acknowledged. “10-4, Prospect-one.”
“Five-oh-nine, I copy
that,” Billy Puckett said.
After a long moment of
silence, Sergeant Bettye Lambert, our desk officer, broke in. “Unit 513,
five-one-three, do you copy?”
No answer.
“Anyone know 513’s
10-35?” I asked.
“Joey was goin’ house ta
house, east end o’ the street,” Puckett said.
“I’m probably the
closest,” I said. “I’ll check.”
Just as I shifted into
reverse, PO Joey Gillespie spoke on the radio.
“513 ta Prospect-one.
Boss, ya gonna need ta see this. 1175 Benny Stillwell Road, obvious 10-5.”
10-5 is our brevity code
for a homicide.
*
* * *
Two men lay face down on
the kitchen floor. One with a shaved head made it easy to see the small caliber
bullet hole at the base of his skull—a .25 perhaps or more likely a .22. Blood
trickled from the wound down past his right ear, over a thick neck, and onto
the Mexican tile floor. The other victim’s blood oozed to his left. Funny, the
little details you notice at the scene of a murder.
“You call crime scene
and the ME?” I asked.
“Yessir, had Miss Bettye
do it right after I called ya.”
I nodded and looked
around the kitchen of a relatively new and expensive home. “Big house.”
Joey Gillespie nodded.
“At least 4,000 square
feet,” I guessed. “And quality. These guys had bucks.”
He nodded again and
looked a little queasy.
“The air hasn’t come on
recently. In this humidity blood tends to stink quicker. Smell bother you?”
“Yessir, I ain’t used ta
this.”
“Nobody gets used to it,
kid. You just learn to ignore it.”
“I guess.”
“You search the rest of
the house?”
“Jest looked on the
first floor ta see if there was anybody here.”
“Basement?”
“Nosir. On a slab.”
“Let’s go upstairs.”
I drew my old Smith
& Wesson from the holster on my right hip, and Joey pulled out his .40
caliber Glock.
“Look around, and pay
attention. Don’t watch me. There’s probably no one here, but we’ll do this by
the numbers.”
“Yessir. I’m right
behind ya.”
We made a quick sweep of
the first floor, opening all the closets before ascending the stairs. The
landing above left us in a hallway with what looked like four bedrooms, two baths
and two closet doors. We found nothing in the guest johns or closets. A lack of
personal property in three of the bedrooms led me to believe they were set also
aside for guests. We looked further in the master suite and discovered two
closets holding clothing for two different people.
“I guess the two guys
slept t’gether,” Joey said.
“Yep.”
“Strange, huh?”
“Not strange, just a
minority.”
“Uh-huh.”
Two car doors slammed
out front.
“Let’s see who’s here,”
I suggested.
Jackie Shuman and David
Sparks, crime scene investigators from the Blount County Sheriff’s Office, had
arrived and stood in the foyer holding cameras and forensic kits. Moments
later, Deputy Medical Examiner Morris Rappaport and his assistant Earl Ogle
pulled up in the morgue wagon.
“How’d ya find these
two?” Jackie asked of no one in particular.
“I’s checkin’ the
neighborhood for a missin’ child,” Joey said. “Got no answer here, but there
was two cars in the driveway and the garage was closed. Figgered someone’s
home, so I walked ‘round back and seen them layin’ here on the floor.”
“Nice wheels out there,”
David said.
“Audi S7 and an F-Type
Jag,” I said. “Pushing a hundred grand apiece.”
“And they’re relatively
new, right?” Morris asked.
“The Jag’s new, and the
Audi’s not far behind.”
“With these two sporty
drivers, why do you suppose there’s an oil spot on the concrete driveway?”
“Good question, Mo,” I
said. “Something for our ace evidence technicians to explore.”
“We’ll git’er done,”
Jackie said.
“And take pictures of
this table top. Someone ruined a nice antique.”
Jackie looked closer at
the numbers someone crudely scratched into the mellow wood finish.
“Thirteen thirteen,” he
said. “Wonder what that means?”
“Two unlucky numbers,”
Morris said.
“Two unlucky guys,” I
said. “Has to mean something. Finding out will keep me from playing in the
traffic.”
Discuss this book in our
PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads by clicking HERE
Wayne Zurl grew up on Long Island and retired after
twenty years with the Suffolk County Police Department, one of the largest
municipal law enforcement agencies in New York and the nation. For thirteen of
those years he served as a section commander supervising investigators. He is a
graduate of SUNY, Empire State College and served on active duty in the US Army
during the Vietnam War and later in the reserves. Zurl left New York to live in
the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee with his wife,
Barbara.
Twenty (20) of his Sam
Jenkins msyteries have been published as eBooks and many produced as
audio books. Zurl has won Eric Hoffer and Indie Book Awards, and was named a
finalist for a Montaigne Medal and First Horizon Book Award. His full-length
novels are: A NEW PROSPECT, A LEPRECHAUN’S LAMENT, HEROES
& LOVERS, and PIGEON RIVER BLUES.
The all new FROM
NEW YORK TO THE SMOKIES, an anthology of five Sam Jenkins mysteries is
available in print and eBook, published by Melange Books, LLC.
For more information on
Wayne’s Sam Jenkins mystery series see www.waynezurlbooks.net. You may read excerpts, reviews and
endorsements, interviews, coming events, and see photos of the area where the
stories take place.
Connect with Wayne
Zurl:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/waynezurl
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