Death in the Saddle, Ch 8

Lucy Kurtz emerged from the pool climbing the vertical stairs and pulling on the chrome rails. She rubbed her eyes, then wrung the excess water from her hair. As she reached for a beach towel on the chaise lounge, she stopped. “Larry is that you? I’m at the pool side.” At forty-two, Lucy Kurtz retained her youthful figure—the result of total and constant self-absorption and reverence to holistic medical programming: dietary restrictions and almost endless physical-fitness. Continue reading “Death in the Saddle, Ch 8”

Death in the Saddle, Ch 7

The elevator stopped at the twelfth floor and Bonnie Ouvray held on to Bruxton’s arm for support. Her legs were unsteady and the floor seemed to move in a sine-wave pattern. “Just a few more steps, and we’ll be home safe,” Bruxton assured her as he maintained a delicate balance, propping her up and reaching for the room card key. When the bedroom came into view, Bonnie lurched forward to fall face down across the bed. She turned over and lay spread eagle, her glassy eyes unable to focus. Continue reading “Death in the Saddle, Ch 7”

Death in the Saddle, Ch 5

While seated in the limo parked at the TV studio lot, Jim, the chauffeur, had watched the TV program on the screen mounted from the headliner in the passenger compartment. When it was over, he shut the set off and moved to the driver’s seat, anticipating Bruxton’s arrival. He knew Bruxton was going to ask him his opinion of the program and more specifically, what he thought of Bruxton’s performance. Already, he was thinking of ways to answer the questions, but keep the conversation to a minimum. Continue reading “Death in the Saddle, Ch 5”

Death in the Saddle, Ch 4

Jim Keyes, chauffeuring the Bruxton’s Bentley north on Monterey Avenue, looked in the rear view mirror to watch Peter Bruxton reviewing the pages of questions prepared for him. This was the morning Bruxton’s public relations agency had scheduled a TV appearance at the studio in Desert Hot Springs, and his boss was clearly nervous. The sedan pulled into the parking lot one hour before scheduled airtime, and Bruxton rushed out before the chauffeur could open his door. Continue reading “Death in the Saddle, Ch 4”

Death in the Saddle, Ch 3

Before Bruxton could respond, the waiter returned, made a half bow, then smiled and asked if he could take their entrée orders. They both ordered, then Bruxton shoved his empty martini glass at him. “Hit me again.” With elbows on the table, he leaned forward, his beady eyes penetrating Mary’s. “All right, what other sorry ass news do you have?” Continue reading “Death in the Saddle, Ch 3”

Death in the Saddle, Ch 2

At his ornate oversized desk, Peter Bruxton sat with a phone in one hand and a smoking panatela in the other. Looking up, he saw his new secretary at his door. Holding his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, he said, “Come in, come in,” then leaning back in his tall leather chair, he signaled for her to sit down. He put up his index finger, denoting a moment longer on the phone, then placed the phone closer to his mouth and shouted, “Bullshit! Call in those mortgage payments now. I’m not running a fucking credit bureau—that’s right, if they can’t pay, we’re repossessing. They bought quick enough at sub-prime rates. No more extended payments.” The phone was slammed onto the cradle as he looked at the young woman seated opposite his desk. He made a quick assessment of the exotic beauty. “Now, what do you want?” He flicked the cigar ash into a tray. Continue reading “Death in the Saddle, Ch 2”

Welcome to Murder Mystery Press!

We’re excited to announce the release of Death in the Saddle (Not a Western!)


Death in the Saddle, Not a Western!When Billionaire Real Estate Developer Peter Bruxton is found murdered – shot in the head in his hotel room – it comes as no surprise to anyone who knew him. In fact, the biggest challenge facing the
detectives charged with solving Bruxton’s murder may be finding someone who is NOT a suspect.

(Click on image to enlarge.)

Also not a surprise is the fact that Bruxton was shot while presumably having sex. His sexual escapades (with everyone except his wife) were the subject of open conversation at cocktail parties throughout the Coachella Valley social scene (as was his general tendency to offend anyone he met within five minutes of meeting them). Bruxton was universally disliked, but he was
particularly despised by several of the women he had bedded (as well as by
their husbands). Continue reading “Welcome to Murder Mystery Press!”