Active member of the Crime Writers of Canada
After almost sixty-three years I still consider myself to be a Hamiltonian, having been born at Hamilton General, and living in Ancaster for the first eight years of my life. Go Tiger Cats!
My father was a Chartered Account, my mother a stay at home mom. In 1963, with my father taking a civil servant job with the federal government, we all packed up and moved to the west end of Ottawa.
Having attended Ancaster Memorial Public School for the first three years of my academic life, my education in Ottawa started at Graham Park Public School, graduating to Bayshore Public School for grade 7, Greenbank Middle School for grade 8, and Sir Robert Borden High School for grades 9-13. I’d consider myself an average student, more interested in sports than education, playing hockey for the Borden Blues for the 5 years I attended the school. My post secondary education was a two-year Radio and Television Arts Program at Algonquin College.
I have many fond memories of the years at Algonquin College, two highlights in particular. I was lucky enough to be the play-by-play voice for a remote broadcast we did from the Ottawa Civic Centre between a Canadian Bantam hockey team and a touring Russian Bantam team. I practiced the Russian names for weeks. Did pretty good, I thought. The second highlight was another remote from Landsdowne Park, this time a football game, the annual Panda game between Carlton and Ottawa universities. That was fun. I wish I had the tapes. Too bad.
After school it was the usual stuff – marriage, kids, mortgage, credit cards, working, building a career, moving from Ottawa to Etobicoke, to Mississauga, to Calgary, to Brampton, Orangeville, Seaforth, and finally settling in Niagara-on-the-Lake, where I’ve written a fantastic mystery/thriller called The Tequila Promise.
Buy it, it’ll only cost you $20. Drop me an email, tell me what you thought.
ETHAN PICKETT'S battered pickup truck is found in the valley of the Bluewater Ski Club, a four hundred foot drop, his broken and bloodied body trapped inside. Ethan is a local hero, a retired rodeo cowboy, and self-made billionaire businessman. His death is big news. When Charlie Beach hears the news, he's devastated. As a private investigator, he's had experience with death, but not with the death of someone as close to him as Ethan Pickett.
On the night of the funeral, Charlie and Cedar, Ethan's daughter, and Charlie's best and closest friend since JK, are sharing a few beers and trading stories. At one point, Cedar makes a casual comment about the irony of her father's accident, running his truck off a dark and deserted country road he had been driving his entire life. Charlie didn't understand the concept of irony, but what he did understand was the bad feeling washing over him.
The OPP's top investigators ruled it an accident, but what if they missed something? What if it wasn't an accident? What if the accident was staged to cover up a murder? With no evidence, no suspects, and no motive, Charlie wouldn't go hard at it, but he figured there was no harm in talking to a few people, asking some questions, see if anything popped. Charlie would be happy if it turned out to be nothing. But, if it turned out to be something, then he'd make it his life's mission to track down the killer, and send his ass to prison.
For those of you who have not bought my debut novel, I will be at the fair all day. $25.00. A link to the St. Davids Fall Fair Facebook can be found below.