I was born in the town of Marthaville, Louisiana, whose metropolitan area consisted of a population of 250 souls. I had the distinct honor of having my great-great grandfather found the town and name it after his wife Martha. That, of course, did absolutely nothing for my financial situation or my social status.
I was usually considered the kid who would never get into much trouble and who would go to seminary and pastor southern fundamentalist churches for the rest of my life. Probably my two greatest acts of rebellion were majoring in theater (that took care of the first of these assumptions) and becoming an Episcopalian (that took care of the second).
I spent over forty years of my life teaching and directing theater. Somewhere in that forty years, my wife and I found the time to build—much of it with our own hands—a geodesic dome home. But I found very little time to write.
Now I take up my pen to write a murder mystery—my favorite genre. I've always admired the pens of Poe, Christie, Doyle, Kellerman—both of them—Follet, Grafton, Eco, and scores of others. Here's hoping that someone somewhere will admire my humble contribution to the genre.
The Rev'd Michael Richey, rector of St. Christopher’s Episcopal Church and chaplain to the Madison Police Department, is accused by the police of murdering a homeless parishioner. The only way he can prove his innocence is to find the real killer. He doesn't have long to do it. He discovers that the killer is after his own life and that of his ten-year-old son.