Performing Murder Available Now - on Sale and Free Shipping - from This Website
Readers and professional reviewers love it!"Irresistable! Another home run!" - Maxwell Schaeffer, WHO Radio
"Both suspenseful and intense. Rated 'E' for Entertaining." - U.S. Review of Books "A compelling read that captivates on many different levels." - Midwest Book Reviews "Loved it! A good murder mystery with great characters, suspense, danger, romance, and a touch of humor." - Reedsy.com Selected as a finalist for the "Book Excellence Award!" |
Synopsis: A motion picture company comes to Orney, Iowa to film its latest drama on location. This brings a huge contingent of Hollywood actors and crew members to the rural Iowa community.
Everyone in Orney, including Tony Harrington and his friends and co-workers, are thrilled to have the excitement of a movie production in Orney. Excited, that is, until one of the cast is found dead in the local country club's swimming pool. For Tony, the situation grows dramatically worse when someone close to him is accused of murder. Tony, of course, is convinced his loved one is innocent. He turns to a familiar cast of friends to help him find, and prove, the truth. One of those friends, elderly attorney Lawrence Pike, makes his first return to a Tony Harrington adventure since the original novel, "Burying the Lede." As Tony's investigation unfolds, he finds himself facing insurmountable evidence that shakes his beliefs and reshapes the very foundations of who he thought he was. He also finds himself in mortal danger, and in a new relationship that gives him his first chance at true love in years. 
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Musings from the author about the 4th novel: "Performing Murder"
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"Performing Murder" is a more traditional "whodunit" than either of the previous two Tony Harrington adventures. Throughout the book, Tony and, hopefully, the reader, struggle to determine who committed the grisly murder of a famous Hollywood actress. I decided to pursue this story for the fourth novel because I loved the idea of putting a movie production into the heart of Orney for a summer. It presented numerous opportunities to explore how a small city in Iowa would respond to having the rich and famous live and work among them for weeks.
These scenarios do occur in Iowa from time to time. Two famous examples: Clint Eastwood filmed "The Bridges of Madison County" in and near Winterset, Iowa; and Kevin Costner made the now-iconic "Field of Dreams" on a farm near Dyersville, and in the city of Dubuque. I'm grateful to people who shared with me their experiences from those two productions, but I must admit that the scenes I painted in Orney are more exaggerated than the reality. That's what fiction is for, right? I also enjoyed creating a scenario in which the evidence against the person accused of the crime is so overwhelming, and so compelling, that no one could argue about the person's guilt. No one except, of course, my longtime imaginary friend, Tony Harrington. By creating indisputable evidence, I gave Tony the tremendously difficult task of trying to unravel it and prove an alternate solution. Sorry, but you'll have to read the book to find out if Tony succeeds or fails. The killer may be a diabolical mastermind, but even Tony isn't sure if it's someone hidden behind the scenes, or actually the person he's trying to help. I finished writing the first draft of "Performing Murder" in late May, 2020. This of course, was during the COVID-19 quarantine and just days prior to the protests and violence that gripped America. During one of my author presentations to a public library, done via Zoom of course, I asked my audience for advice on how to handle the pandemic and its effects. The group was nearly unanimous in saying my novels needed to reference it. They said to ignore it would be awkward and distracting. I agreed, even though it meant having to go back and make changes not only to this novel, but to the previous one and subsequent one as well. Unfortunately, book number two, "Cry from an Unknown Grave" was |
too far along in production to make changes. Readers will have to assume the events in that story occurred before the virus spread.
"Performing Murder" was released November 15, 2021. You can order it from this website from any bookstore or online bookseller. In closing, please forgive me for blatantly asking for your your continued support. If you already have purchased my books, please accept my heartfelt thanks, and then go out and tell a few friends and family members to do the same. Also, please be sure to leave your ratings and comments on Amazon and other online book sites. These are enormously helpful to an author. In addition, please note that "Burying the Lede" is available as an audiobook. If you like to listen to books, I think you'll love it. Movie and TV actor David H. Lawrence XVII did a marvelous job on the narration. It's available on Audible.com and other audiobook sites. Thank you again for everything you do to support reading, booksellers, authors, and, of course, my work specifically. Please consider sharing your email with me on the home page of this site, or simply send me a note at: joe@josephlevalley.com. I respond to all emails. Stay safe and well. -- Joseph LeValley, June 2020, updated October 2021 |
A "Sneak Peak" from Chapters 1 and 24
Excerpts from Chapter 1
Orney, Iowa––Sunday Morning, June 21, Present Day
A dead body is an unwelcome discovery during the heat of lovemaking. Hank Brewster learned this the hard way.
He stood in the grass behind the large, sprawling clubhouse, near the swimming pool. He and Holly Hanover, a former high school cheerleader, stood an arm’s length apart, catching their breath after scaling the country club’s fence and scurrying across the practice greens to the pool. They were illuminated only by the glow from landscape lighting at the edge of the pool deck and a sliver of moon above.
Hank had wanted Holly since they’d been sophomores at Southern Quincy High School. As a member of the basketball team, he had enjoyed an up-close view of the pixie-like blonde doing flips and splits in her miniskirt and tight sweater in the scarlet-and-black school colors. The fact he had spent his time at games watching Holly instead of his teammates probably explained why Hank had never made it off the bench to the first string.
Sadly, the interest had not been mutual. Holly had ignored his efforts to talk with her, thwarting any thoughts of ever asking her out. A girl as beautiful and smart as Holly was strictly a starter’s dating prospect. And even when she had been dating the captain of the team, Holly had earned a reputation for being uncompromising ––fun, but unwilling to consider anything beyond kissing. Now here she was, home for the summer from the University of St. Thomas in Minnesota, apparently excited to be alone with him in near-darkness, and ready to explore more than the shimmering waters of a swimming pool. ...
... Holly did indeed like his shoulder-length hair. He fleetingly wondered whether this encounter might have happened sooner had he looked more rebellious in high school, rather than like a closecropped, all-American boy. In any case, he liked that she liked it. One of Holly’s hands gripped his neck tightly, maintaining her ideal position, while the fingers of her other hand continually combed through his locks. The sensation of her fingers on his scalp was wonderful, but still placed a distant second to the other pleasures he was enjoying.
When her fingers left his hair, he noticed, but just barely. Suddenly, she seemed to flounder and slip to one side. As Hank reached to steady her, he looked over his shoulder and saw her gripping his hair as it floated beside them in the pool. Floated beside…? But… no… that can’t be, Hank thought. What the hell? He sensed… No, feared… what he was seeing. To his shame, he didn’t want to stop. He desperately wanted to finish before… Holly screamed in terror, splitting the relative quiet of the night and numbing Hank’s left ear. She flailed wildly, desperately trying to climb up his torso and out of the pool, but hindered by the hair in which her hand was now tangled––the hair of a body floating face-down in the Orney Country Club swimming pool.
A dead body is an unwelcome discovery during the heat of lovemaking. Hank Brewster learned this the hard way.
He stood in the grass behind the large, sprawling clubhouse, near the swimming pool. He and Holly Hanover, a former high school cheerleader, stood an arm’s length apart, catching their breath after scaling the country club’s fence and scurrying across the practice greens to the pool. They were illuminated only by the glow from landscape lighting at the edge of the pool deck and a sliver of moon above.
Hank had wanted Holly since they’d been sophomores at Southern Quincy High School. As a member of the basketball team, he had enjoyed an up-close view of the pixie-like blonde doing flips and splits in her miniskirt and tight sweater in the scarlet-and-black school colors. The fact he had spent his time at games watching Holly instead of his teammates probably explained why Hank had never made it off the bench to the first string.
Sadly, the interest had not been mutual. Holly had ignored his efforts to talk with her, thwarting any thoughts of ever asking her out. A girl as beautiful and smart as Holly was strictly a starter’s dating prospect. And even when she had been dating the captain of the team, Holly had earned a reputation for being uncompromising ––fun, but unwilling to consider anything beyond kissing. Now here she was, home for the summer from the University of St. Thomas in Minnesota, apparently excited to be alone with him in near-darkness, and ready to explore more than the shimmering waters of a swimming pool. ...
... Holly did indeed like his shoulder-length hair. He fleetingly wondered whether this encounter might have happened sooner had he looked more rebellious in high school, rather than like a closecropped, all-American boy. In any case, he liked that she liked it. One of Holly’s hands gripped his neck tightly, maintaining her ideal position, while the fingers of her other hand continually combed through his locks. The sensation of her fingers on his scalp was wonderful, but still placed a distant second to the other pleasures he was enjoying.
When her fingers left his hair, he noticed, but just barely. Suddenly, she seemed to flounder and slip to one side. As Hank reached to steady her, he looked over his shoulder and saw her gripping his hair as it floated beside them in the pool. Floated beside…? But… no… that can’t be, Hank thought. What the hell? He sensed… No, feared… what he was seeing. To his shame, he didn’t want to stop. He desperately wanted to finish before… Holly screamed in terror, splitting the relative quiet of the night and numbing Hank’s left ear. She flailed wildly, desperately trying to climb up his torso and out of the pool, but hindered by the hair in which her hand was now tangled––the hair of a body floating face-down in the Orney Country Club swimming pool.
Excerpts from Chapter 24
Monday, July 6
Then (Tony) had another crazy idea. He looked at his watch, did some mental calculations about time zones, and picked up his phone. He called for a taxi driver in Amalfi, Italy. The happy voice of Montay Ricci answered the phone on the first ring.
“Tony! I did not know you returned to my beautiful land. Where can I take my favorite rich American tonight?” Montay and Tony had become friendly the previous year, when Tony had stayed in Amalfi, his mother’s home town, to attend the funeral of Tony’s young cousin. Montay had driven Tony everywhere for several days, and had helped Tony find the man suspected of killing her.
Tony was about to protest the comment about being rich, then realized how absurd it would be in light of what he was about to ask.
“Montay, my friend, I’m sorry to say I am at home in America. Unless you’ve learned to drive even faster than the last time I saw you, I’m afraid you won’t be taking me anywhere tonight.”
“I am sorry to hear it. So why a call from America? Perhaps you wish to tell me of the man you chased last year? I never heard what happened beyond you, as you say, getting your ass kicked in the bus station.” He cackled at the thought.
“That man disappeared,” Tony said. “No one’s seen him in a year. It’s a mystery.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Montay said. “Disappearing seems to be a common mystery for the Camorra.”
Tony winced at the memory and the reference to the Italian mafia. “I’m calling because I do want to hire you, just not as a driver.”
“But driving is what I do.”
“Yes,” Tony said with a warm smile, “I remember. Unfortunately, I need someone to do detective work, and I can’t do it myself. Even if I came to Italy, I think I would fail. I don’t think an American could ever get the information I need. Would you be willing to take a trip up to Rome for me, and perhaps to Milan? I’m not sure where you’ll find it.”
“Detective? Like the movies? Roma? Really? But no, I…”
Tony interrupted. “I’ll pay you, of course. I’ll pay you for a full week, so you’ll have time to travel as well as gather information.”
“I also will have the loss of my regular income.”
“Of course.” Tony braced himself. He knew where this was headed. “How much will it take?”
Montay named a figure. It was about three times greater than the sky-high figure Tony had predicted he would hear. “Jesus, Montay! I hope you threw that out as a starting point for our negotiation.”
“No, I named that price because you are rich,” Montay said, his smile leaking through the phone connection, “and because you are desperate. And you shouldn’t use the Savior’s name to curse at me. Your mother wouldn’t like it.”
In the end, the two men agreed Tony would pay half Montay’s price in advance. The other half would be paid only if Montay succeeded in finding what Tony sought. Tony adored Montay and considered him a friend, but that didn’t stop him from assuming the young man needed an incentive to actually do the work, and not simply take the money and enjoy a leisurely vacation somewhere.
In exchange for the exorbitant fee, Montay also agreed to leave the next day. Tony instructed him to start at the Instituto di Sanita in Rome. He gave him (her) name, and told him her maiden name...
“The fashion model?” Montay asked.
“Yes, but that was thirty-five years ago. How in the world did you know that?”
“My father. He liked beautiful women. Every year, he bought a calendar with pictures of a beautiful model and hung it on the wall of his motorcar repair shop. He never took down the old ones. Just found a spot to… How do you say?... squeeze in the next one. I grew up with (her) wearing a swim suit, smiling down at me from the shop wall. She was one of his favorites.”
“...I can see why. She was a lovely person.”
“Person, yes,” Montay said with a laugh. “That’s what my papa and I always admired in that picture, her, uh… person.”
“Okay, enough, my friend. Not get your ass in gear and find what I need. And please be careful. We don’t want to harm (her) good name, and we don’t want the next bad guy coming after you.”
“Wait. What?”
Tony ended the call.
Then (Tony) had another crazy idea. He looked at his watch, did some mental calculations about time zones, and picked up his phone. He called for a taxi driver in Amalfi, Italy. The happy voice of Montay Ricci answered the phone on the first ring.
“Tony! I did not know you returned to my beautiful land. Where can I take my favorite rich American tonight?” Montay and Tony had become friendly the previous year, when Tony had stayed in Amalfi, his mother’s home town, to attend the funeral of Tony’s young cousin. Montay had driven Tony everywhere for several days, and had helped Tony find the man suspected of killing her.
Tony was about to protest the comment about being rich, then realized how absurd it would be in light of what he was about to ask.
“Montay, my friend, I’m sorry to say I am at home in America. Unless you’ve learned to drive even faster than the last time I saw you, I’m afraid you won’t be taking me anywhere tonight.”
“I am sorry to hear it. So why a call from America? Perhaps you wish to tell me of the man you chased last year? I never heard what happened beyond you, as you say, getting your ass kicked in the bus station.” He cackled at the thought.
“That man disappeared,” Tony said. “No one’s seen him in a year. It’s a mystery.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Montay said. “Disappearing seems to be a common mystery for the Camorra.”
Tony winced at the memory and the reference to the Italian mafia. “I’m calling because I do want to hire you, just not as a driver.”
“But driving is what I do.”
“Yes,” Tony said with a warm smile, “I remember. Unfortunately, I need someone to do detective work, and I can’t do it myself. Even if I came to Italy, I think I would fail. I don’t think an American could ever get the information I need. Would you be willing to take a trip up to Rome for me, and perhaps to Milan? I’m not sure where you’ll find it.”
“Detective? Like the movies? Roma? Really? But no, I…”
Tony interrupted. “I’ll pay you, of course. I’ll pay you for a full week, so you’ll have time to travel as well as gather information.”
“I also will have the loss of my regular income.”
“Of course.” Tony braced himself. He knew where this was headed. “How much will it take?”
Montay named a figure. It was about three times greater than the sky-high figure Tony had predicted he would hear. “Jesus, Montay! I hope you threw that out as a starting point for our negotiation.”
“No, I named that price because you are rich,” Montay said, his smile leaking through the phone connection, “and because you are desperate. And you shouldn’t use the Savior’s name to curse at me. Your mother wouldn’t like it.”
In the end, the two men agreed Tony would pay half Montay’s price in advance. The other half would be paid only if Montay succeeded in finding what Tony sought. Tony adored Montay and considered him a friend, but that didn’t stop him from assuming the young man needed an incentive to actually do the work, and not simply take the money and enjoy a leisurely vacation somewhere.
In exchange for the exorbitant fee, Montay also agreed to leave the next day. Tony instructed him to start at the Instituto di Sanita in Rome. He gave him (her) name, and told him her maiden name...
“The fashion model?” Montay asked.
“Yes, but that was thirty-five years ago. How in the world did you know that?”
“My father. He liked beautiful women. Every year, he bought a calendar with pictures of a beautiful model and hung it on the wall of his motorcar repair shop. He never took down the old ones. Just found a spot to… How do you say?... squeeze in the next one. I grew up with (her) wearing a swim suit, smiling down at me from the shop wall. She was one of his favorites.”
“...I can see why. She was a lovely person.”
“Person, yes,” Montay said with a laugh. “That’s what my papa and I always admired in that picture, her, uh… person.”
“Okay, enough, my friend. Not get your ass in gear and find what I need. And please be careful. We don’t want to harm (her) good name, and we don’t want the next bad guy coming after you.”
“Wait. What?”
Tony ended the call.
