A contemporary mystery/thriller-a
paranormal mystery, to be more precise. For mystery fans, it twists
and turns like a dragon kite in a high wind. Mystery connoisseurs,
beware. The Lance Underphal Mystery series will keep you guessing .
. .
Lance Underphal was devastated by his
wife's death, and now, the down-and-out crime-scene photographer
can't let her go. He wakes up plagued by premonitions. The double
shooting of an Arizona real estate developer and his
mistress/bookkeeper immerse Underphal in a world of incomprehensible
phenomena.
Frank Salmon, the homicide detective on
the case, does his best to blow off Underphal's "visions." But
the murders keep piling up and the visions are all too real.
Salmon pursues Underphal's clues from
a popular strip club to a failing community bank, adding a
blackmailing stripper to the body count.
Underphal struggles mightily with his
psychic curse, teetering on the brink of insanity. His only hope for
redemption is the voice in his head, the voice of his dead wife.
Stumbling through dark vortexes of murderous intrigue, he comes to
realize his visions will either kill him or lead to the capture of a
killer-maybe more than one.
Excerpt:
A blazing sun still high above
Phoenix's western horizon. One hundred nine degrees in the shade.
Those with the wherewithal and accumulated vacation time have fled
north to the cool pines or west to the balmy California coast weeks
ago. Only the dregs of humanity, conscripted company workers and
hardcore entrepreneurs are left to bake in the Valley of the Sun's
August heat. Yet beneath the surface layer of superheated atmosphere
and social veneers there is another, more subliminal furnace
raging-its fumes stoking the fires of Hell.
Just off the intersection of Greenway
and Tatum a white stucco box of an office building squats under a
clay tile roof, heat rising off the reddish tiles in shimmering
sheets. Mounted on the wrought-iron entry gate, the building
directory announces the tenants: Suite 101 - Whiting Realty &
Development. The office is closed for the day yet the overburdened
air conditioning units grind away, sheltering the last remaining
occupant from the sweltering heat.
Bloodshot eyes stare at a spreadsheet,
the monitor's image glares with the harsh reality. Too many
negative numbers expose an ugly truth. Anxiously perched on the edge
of his high-backed leather executive chair, Gary Whiting waits with
the phone to his ear. Dreading the final ring, Whiting lets it go to
voicemail, again. He needs to talk to his partner, Rodriguez. He
loosens the knot in his power tie and hangs up. This time, without
leaving a message.
The four Excedrin have knocked his
headache down to a dull throbbing at the base of his skull, but his
eyes still ache. He's been crunching numbers for their Sunset
Pointe development project, staring at the monitor all damn day. He
rubs at the knots in his stomach through his rumpled white dress
shirt, thinking maybe he should eat or maybe he should just shoot
himself. He taps the return key with a jittery thumb, hitting it too
many times, trying to put the numbers out of his mind. His pulse
pounds in his temples. Shit! Got to get ahold of that asshole,
Rodriguez.
Whiting runs a trembling hand through
thinning hair, his scalp hot and moist. They've got to do
something about these numbers. Short stubble on raw cheeks twitches
as he anxiously works his jaws. They could lose the whole damn
project. Thirty million! He can't believe it, he's bet
everything on this project. And with the hard-money loan, they've
got a bigger nut than ever. Shit! Those hard-money bastards,
they're Rodriguez's contacts. Of course they had to have
the money to finish-all the construction cost overruns. Fucking
Rodriguez. His fingers manically drum on the hardwood desktop,
their nails ragged, bitten to the quick. They're in way too deep
to quit now.
Chewing his bottom lip, Whiting
redials Rodriguez's cell.
"Damn Gary, whaddaya want?"
Rodriguez sounds out of breath, frustrated.
"Mike, we need to go over some
numbers. Ya got a minute?"
Rodriguez gives a short chuckle then
lowers his voice. "I'm kinda in the middle of somethin'."
"Yeah, but . . ." Gary hears a
thump, then a woman's muffled words. "Hey, are you at the
office? Who's with you?"
"Yeah, like I said, we're kinda in
the middle of somethin' here."
Whiting hears giggling in the
background.
"Stop that," Rodriguez says to
Diane. To Gary, he says, "Diane's never done it on the desk
before."
Whiting can almost hear Rodriguez's
leering grin.
In the background Diane laughs. "Do
I get overtime for this?"
Now they're both laughing.
"Damn . . . Mike, you guys . . . in
the office?"
"Hey, don't sweat it. It's
almost seven, no one's around, yard gates are locked, lights are
off. No one's gonna know."
Whiting hears Diane coo . . . more
giggling.
Rodriguez speaks closer into the
phone. "That is, as long as you keep your mouth shut."
"Hey, no problem. I don't care
what you do with Diane. She's your bookkeeper."
Diane lets out a short yelp. "What
was that?"
"Shit," whispers Rodriguez.
"Shit."
"Mike, what's going on?"
"Hold on, I think someone's here."
Whiting hears grunting, rustling,
probably scrambling for clothes, the metallic snap of window blinds.
"Who's that?" says Rodriguez
under his breath. "Get your panties on."
Whiting hears Diane whine. "I'm
trying."
He hears Rodriguez whispering to
himself. "Who is that? Is that . . ? I'll get that bastard."
"Gary, hold on, I gotta take a
picture with this thing, hold on."
"Okay." Whiting hears the blinds
clacking.
He hears Rodriguez talking to himself.
"Damn, it's dark . . . but I think I got 'em."
"Mike . . . Mike?"
"Yeah, I'm back, hold on. Gotta
check this out."
Whiting clutches the phone in a sweaty
hand, pressed hard against his ear. He hears a loud bang. A door
slamming the wall? Too weird. He needs a Valium.
Diane screams.
"You, you asshole!"
yells Rodriguez. "What the fuck do you want!?!"
Whiting hears POP, POP! Screeching, a
low grunt, loud thumps . . . POP, POP, POP! "Uh, uh, uh . . ."
Guttural gasps. A long wail. High-pitched keening, its otherworldly
echo raising every hair on goose flesh. Whiting drops the receiver,
horrified. The plastic handset bounces off the desktop as it sinks
in. They've been shot!
I received a free copy of the book from the author for my honest opinion.
Michael "Big Mike" Rodriquez and his partner Gary Whiting are in the process of building Sunset Pointe and it is draining them of a lot of money. Big Mike lives this life style which also takes a lot of money. When Big Mike starts running out of money he then starts borrowing money from the bank and from other sources as well. Big Mike is entertaining his bookkeeper in his office after everyone else has gone home for the day.
His bookkeeper is not the only woman that Big Mike is having an affair with. His wife Connie knows that Big Mike has been cheating on her for a while but she is not too upset by it because she is also cheating on Big Mike too. While Big Mike and his bookkeeper are having a little fun in his office there someone shows up while they are in the middle of taking care of business and starts to shoot them. Needless to say ole' Big Mike is killed and his bookkeeper is injured and will spend the rest of her life in a wheel chair.
When Detective Frank Salmon starts investigating the case he has no trouble finding a suspect. They are a lot of suspects so many that he doesn't know who to question first. Not only are there a lot of suspects but the bodies start to pile up as well. Luckily Detective Salmon has some help with the case. Lance Underphal is a freelance photographer who takes crime scene photos. Detective Salmon's girlfriend Lacey is the one who hires Lance to take the photos. She says he is the best photographer for the job and can take better pictures than anyone else. Lance has some problems of his own. He is still dealing with the death of his wife Sonja; Lance has conversations with his dead wife. Lance is having these visions of the murders and Sonja is helping him with the visions and with his life. Lance wonders if he is going crazy. But after a few of these visions he realizes that he is not crazy and what he is seeing is real. The crime scenes that he is taking pictures of are a part of his visions. Lance calls up Detective Salmon and tells him of the things that he is seeing. He is afraid that the Detective will think he is crazy too but his dead wife encourages him to call. At first the Detective does think that he is out of his mind but when he sees the truth for himself he then starts to contact Lance first.
When I first started reading Dark Side of Sunset Pointe it was kind of slow for me. I had a hard time getting into it although it had a lot of action right from the beginning. I kept thinking what is wrong with me? If this was a movie I would be loving it. I love watching movies with a lot of action. You know like shooting and killing. But after I got about half way through with the book it picked up for me and I started reading it faster. I loved the way he described the murder scenes with all the blood and gore. I know you are probably thinking a girl likes this kind of stuff well yes this girl does and always have. I have wondered myself why do I love movies and books with a lot of killing in it? While I know that the things that I read or watch on tv can happen I know at the same time that it is only fiction, I know the difference. I have always just put it down to being born in the horror month. When it comes to reading a book or watching a show or moving on tv the bloodier and gorier it is the better I like it.
If you are looking for a book with a whole lot of descriptive bloody and gory murder scenes the Dark Side of Sunset Pointe is the book for you. There is a whole lot of mystery in it as well. Talk about a book with a bunch of twist and turns in it whoa, hey man this is the book. One minute you think that you have it figured out and you know who the killer is and the next minute you are like what? But then you are like wait just a minute I thought he did it and then you are like oh well I don't know. The author will lead you in one direction and then have you going around in circles chasing your own tail trying to figure out who the killer is.
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