Come Hell or High Water

In the luxurious resort town of Spanish Point, Florida, sea levels are rising. So is the body count. Both threaten the real estate industry, and its agents. Including a former detective who’s jumped in over her head.

In her fourth outing (after Peak Season, Tourist in Paradise and Curb Appeal), CW (Candace) McCoy relishes a fresh start—a new agency, a stellar property and a second chance at love. But opportunity turns tragic as she confronts the city elite and their web of deception and greed.

CW knows who’s guilty. She just has to prove it—before someone sends her on a permanent vacation.

Join her on a wild ride through a rising tide of crime and corruption in Permanent Vacation. The book is available from Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Kobo and Smashwords, and by request from bookstores everywhere.

Riders on the storm: a scooter braves the water on Florida State Road A1A in Fort Lauderdale in 2013

Storm warning

The latest novel in my Florida crime series may read as fiction but it’s based on a very real threat—super storms and the surge they create. As residents of Virginia and the Carolinas will attest, it’s a problem that affects inland regions as well as the coast.

In Permanent Vacation, detective turned real estate agent CW (Candace) McCoy tackles the financial and mortal consequences of encouraging development in those flood-prone areas–action that will jeopardize her partners, her livelihood and her life.

In her fourth outing (after Peak Season, Tourist in Paradise and Curb Appeal), CW relishes a fresh start—a new agency, a stellar property and a second chance at love. But opportunity turns tragic as she confronts the city elite and their web of deception and greed.

While the series is set on the Gulf Coast, the novels are informed by my experience as a journalist and marketing executive in several tourism hotspots, from the Sunshine State to Philadelphia, the greater Lehigh Valley and my hometown in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. What’s more, I’ve lived through several powerful storms that battered both states, including Hurricanes Sandy and Irma.

Then came Florence and Michael. That’s enough to send anyone on a permanent vacation.

Published by Allusion Books, the novel is available from Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Kobo and Smashwords, and by request from bookstores everywhere.

‘Permanent Vacation’ on sale now

Permanent Vacation, the fourth in the CW (Candace) McCoy series of crime novels, goes on sale today, a week earlier than expected. Welcome news, given the short time left before the holidays.

Published by Allusion Books, the work is available from Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Kobo and Smashwords, as well as by request at bookstores everywhere.

Readers new to the series can view all of the books on the Amazon author page.

And for those who enjoy original artwork, here’s a first look at the full cover.

Global warning

Water, water everywhere and so many places to build.

Permanent Vacation, the fourth in the CW McCoy series of crime novels, may be fiction but it deals with the very real issues of super storms and coastal flooding–an issue even inland locations faced during this hurricane season.

The launch date is Dec. 12 but you can preorder the ebook from Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Kobo and Smashwords.

The return of CW McCoy

Florida’s detective turned real estate agent returns to determine if you really can fight city hall.

In the tony beach-side town of Spanish Point, CW (Candace) McCoy tackles a crime waves that’s rising faster than the tide. But that’s not her biggest dilemma, as trouble comes in threes. Will she keep her job? Can she choose between Tony and Mitch? And will she ever see Walter again?

Permanent Vacation, the fourth in the crime series, launches Dec 12, but you can preorder the ebook from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple Books, Kobo and Smashwords.

After D-Day, memories live on

Months after D-Day and all’s quiet on the Western Front. The parades are over, the stories told. The parachutists who reenacted their jump over France landed safely. The Yanks came marching home and Americans moved on to other issues.

But things weren’t this calm in 1944, when days after the Allied invasion of Europe at Normandy, the danger ran as high as the tide on the beaches of Utah and Omaha.

The French town of Cherbourg, overlooking Omaha Beach, still lay in German hands. German gunners manned the Channel Islands between England and France. And E-boats tried to torpedo their way into French harbors to reinforce the German army.

On a day of gray skies and choppy seas, PT 512 set sail from its base in England toward the French coast to survey the damage and observe the German gun placements. Sixteen young men, some just out of high school, took the 80-foot wooden boat across the channel into enemy waters.

My father, Radioman 3rd Class Robert Widmer of Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania, was on board PT 512 that blustery day in June. He and his crew had seen the bodies washing onto shore, the firefights with E-boats and the bigger German R-boats. They knew there would be high-ranking officers on board their vessel that day, maybe even a general, to observe the beaches. What they didn’t know was that instead of a routine patrol, they’d be taking the supreme Allied commander, Gen. Omar Bradley, and other Army and Naval brass for a ride.

Dwight D. Eisenhower came aboard early, smiled at the men and assumed a position behind the cockpit in the middle of the boat. “We were topside, except for the motor macs (the motor machinist mates),” my father said. “It was very crowded. And we were extremely nervous. Ike was very talkative. He said the usual things: ‘Where are you from, sailor?’ But it was obvious he was the boss. He had that bearing.”

Once they got underway, the talk subsided.

“Most of the brass stood behind the cockpit — it was protected from the waves splashing over the bow,” he said. “They tried to stay dry and hold on.”

With three Packard marine engines, the PT (patrol torpedo) boat could hit speeds of 45 knots, fast enough to lift the bow from the water. They raced across the channel to Cherbourg, then north to the beaches.

The view of Omaha sobered everyone. “It looked like plowed land from the bombardment. It was filled with damaged vehicles and landing craft.”

Over the next few weeks, four PT squadrons formed the Mason Line around the beaches, keeping the Germans in the harbors and preventing their country from attacking the beachhead and resupplying their troops. “No single German convoy got through that line from the invasion on,” my father said.

The squadrons lost two boats.

Like others in the armed forces, Dad wrote to his mother and father, the late Kathryn and Arthur “Shorty” Widmer. And like other letters, his were censored. His parents had to guess about the events overseas.

But on July 20, 1944, he was able to tell his folks what had happened.

“Now it can be told,” he wrote. “Shortly after the invasion began our boat and crew was bestowed quite an honor. We had several top-notch admirals and generals aboard and among them was the big boy himself — General ‘Ike’ Eisenhower. He is a very likable person and very friendly with everybody, and you can see why he is noted for his smile. He got a kick out of riding on a PT boat and we showed him plenty of speed.”

And pride.

Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower, third from left, aboard a PT boat

The Candidate

In honor of the current election cycle, an excerpt from my suspense/thriller, Mr. Magic. You can read the full-tilt lunacy of the role public relations plays in this and other marketing campaigns at Amazon, iTunes, Barnes & Noble, Kobo and bookstores almost everywhere.

And now, Brinker, the defrocked journalist turned PR whiz, will show you how campaigns work their magic:

On a blustery day in early April, Mary Margaret Paulson stood in an open hanger with the snow swirling like dust devils and gazed at the adoring masses. She looked every bit the presidential candidate. Perfect cheekbones, glossy red lips and a bushel of rich brown hair. Long legs in a black pencil skirt, lacy blouse and a red power jacket with shoulders big enough to carry half the states to the convention.

On the campaign trail she’d been called Chillbilly and Bible Spice for her passionate defense of religious freedom. The media mocked her. The pundits hated her. But Brinker knew one thing that many had forgotten: the woman oozed sex from every pore, and men and women alike would sacrifice their firstborn to share the air with her.

The scene resembled a campaign rally. An American flag hung behind two corporate jets emblazoned with the cement company’s logo. Paulson stood on a wooden A-Treat box behind a lectern decorated with patriotic bunting and waved like the queen on parade. A crowd of at least a thousand swelled around her, a line of police officers in reflective vests keeping protesters and supporters on opposite sides of the concrete apron. Sitting in rows of folding chairs under space heaters were local and state dignitaries, representatives from the governor’s office, county council members and the mayors of every city within a fifty-mile radius. The rest of the rabble stood in the cold, their hats declaring allegiance to Garth Brooks, the Phillies and the NRA.

Brinker focused on Paulson’s speech. In an effort to cut costs, the cement company wanted to burn hazardous waste. Residents weren’t convinced by the company’s health studies, which showed emissions would remain below EPA thresholds. His position paper had dealt with the need to balance environmental protection with economic growth. He’d reduced it to three bullet points. Paulson hadn’t gotten through the first when she veered off-message like a bike that had lost its training wheels. She ranted about liberals and intellectuals, the elite and the effete, people who were ruining the country with their bleeding hearts and costly regulations, stifling growth and free enterprise and everything that made America great.

The crowd cheered and Brinker, the PR whiz who’d turned a serial killer into a national brand, started to worry that the stunt wouldn’t backfire, that it wouldn’t create the chaos that guaranteed national coverage. Then, from across the tarmac, he heard the sound of grinding gears and smelled the belch of diesel exhaust as an ancient blue school bus tottered around the corner of the hanger and four dozen Korean woman dressed in hot pink jumpsuits piled out, Buddha at the fore, the notes of Psy’s “Gangnam Style” throbbing from a speaker on the roof.

Buddha, AKA Benjamin Kwon, community organizer and ace travel agent who helped the pursued disappear from the grid. Handing signs to the women—he’d economized by printing both sides, “Feel the Burn” on the front and, on the back, “Burn, Baby, Burn”—he marched them through the crowd, the Koreans forming a wall between supporters and protesters. As they twirled their signs and waved to the camera, Buddha broke away and headed for the perimeter.

Brinker sidled up to him. “How’s it going?”

“’Oppa oppa Gangnam style.’”

“You should run for office.”

Realizing that reinforcements had arrived, Paulson pointed at the ground with a sharply manicured finger and shouted, “This is it! Right here in little old Allentown, PA! The front lines of the battle, the home of concrete and steel that made this nation great!”

The crowd surged, one half cheering, the other half waving signs mounted on wooden stakes the size of baseball bats. Brinker could smell the blood lust as it raced through them, flaring nostrils, pumping muscles, raking their skin until they began to howl.

The handlers must have felt the massive animal coiling for a strike because two of them flanked the lectern as Paulson finished her speech with the pump of a fist and the cry of “Burn, baby, burn!”

The audience exploded, the police line collapsed. Protesters wielded their signs like clubs. Politicians ducked behind the flag. The cement company’s security force, standing respectfully at attention during the remarks, formed a firewall while the handlers hustled Paulson through the back of the hanger.

As police rushed in with batons, Buddha pulled Brinker to the sidelines. Above the roar of sirens, he said, “We have failed you, my friend.”

Brinker smiled as video crews captured the melee. “It’s all good.”

You are where you are

Location, location, location. You hear it all the time in real estate. The tagline is just as important in fiction. And appropriate, given that the lead character in the CW McCoy series of crime novels is a woman who sells real estate. As a transplant, I’m especially aware of it.

That leads to a question I’ve asked since I began writing novels: just when does setting become a character? When does location move from background to foreground?

Readers from Pennsylvania to Florida have called out locales they recognize in both the McCoy and the Brinker novels. Even with names altered to simplify and protect, those locations seem to resonate with them.

As we near publication of the fourth McCoy novel, let’s review the importance of place in the series, which started with Peak Season and progressed to Tourist in Paradise and the latest, Curb Appeal. (You’ll have a chance to preview the new title and cover design later this year.)

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy these scenes from Florida’s Gulf Coast, where the sun shines on the good and bad alike.

Jeff Widmer is the author of five novels and three books of nonfiction. You’ll find his Amazon author page here.

Condos line the skyline of Sarasota, Fl, across from the marina where Walter Bishop berths his sailboat in Peak Season

 

A Viking Sport Cruiser yacht like the one CW hijacks in Tourist in Paradise

 

Deep Hole at Myakka Park, where alligators aren’t the only predators in Curb Appeal

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading, Florida style

My wonderful friend and fellow writer Jeanne Johansen sent me this photo of two members of her husband’s book club reading Peak Season on Florida’s Treasure Coast.

Peak Season marks the first of a trilogy of crime novels featuring real estate agent turned investigator CW (Candace) McCoy. You can find it and the other novels in the series at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes and Kobo, with the audio version at Audible.

Thank you, readers, everywhere.

Have a photo of you or your friends reading a CW or a Brinker novel? Feel free to send the image to editor (at) allusionbooks (dot) com.