Pity poor Wade Lovett, an unemployable 62-year-old jazz saxophonist juggling three women! His life is pretty complicated — and about to get more so.
Lovett, a widower who hasn’t worked since the California real-estate market imploded in 2008 (the book is set three years later), had been sleeping with (1) Carol Smitsky, an über-efficient secretary/receptionist at a car dealership, described as pretty and “whippet-thin,” and who shaves years off her age; (2) Peggy MacCallister, a flighty 66-year-old, pretty with a good figure and big silicon-enhanced breasts; and (3) Sue Mullen, a 49-year-old barmaid at the rundown Barleycorn’s Tap Room, a promiscuous redhead who likes to live on the wild side and stir things up. All of them knew about the others, but how much the situation suited them is anyone’s guess. Like Wade, Carol and Peggy live in the Happy Acres Mobile Estates, a down-at-heel trailer park in a fictional Westmorland, California.* Sue lives in an adjacent seedy housing development.
When Wade and Carol decide to contract a literal marriage of convenience, Wade goes to inform his other two lovers. Sue takes it badly, but Peggy doesn’t — because she’s dead, lying on the kitchen floor of her trailer, dead in a puddle of ice tea and vomit. Summoning the police, Wade assumes that Peggy died of a heart attack — until he finds himself the chief suspect in Peggy’s murder. With Detective Christopher Reich so convinced that Wade’s the killer that he isn’t looking at anyone or anything else, it falls to Wade to figure out who really did Peggy in.
Except for annoyance over some typos and dropped words and poor California geography, * I really enjoyed this amusing novel and especially the likable rascal Wade and the denizens of the Happy Acres trailer park. With lots of twists and a superb denouement, I can’t wait to meet Wade again in a sequel.
In the interest of full disclosure, I received this book from NetGalley and Kenmore Books in exchange for an honest review.
*There’s a real Westmorland, California, but it’s near San Diego, not 183 miles away at the intersection of “the mighty 405” and Highway 22, as author J.T. Mott (a pseudonym) describes. The town that’s really there is Westminster, California. And that town is actually smack dab in Orange County, not barely outside of the county. No points for geography for Mott, whoever s/he is.