R.J. Leahy, author
Sean McDermott is a private detective in New York City, it says so right on his business card. It's an ok job, but it isn't as exciting as most people think, and that's fine by him. He makes it a rule not to get involved in active police cases or in any case where people are likely to get hurt—especially him. So why does the mob suddenly want him dead? Sure it’s all a mistake, but dead from a mistake is still dead. Taking advice from his friend, The Juke, he starts on a cross country drive to LA (what can I tell you, he has a few phobias, and flying is just one of them), and makes it as far as Mystic Falls, New Mexico before the borrowed Mercedes conks out. Mystic Falls? Think Green Acres—without the sophistication. All he had to do was lie low and wait for the car to be fixed. A good plan too. It might have worked if only the local "character" hadn’t turned up missing, with him as the prime suspect. Now if he ever wants to get out of this sleepy desert asylum, he’s going to have to find her. Fat chance.