Spotlight & Giveaway: Murder Under the Marquee by J.C. Kenney

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author J.C. Kenney to HJ!

Hi J.C. Kenney and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Murder Under the Marquee!

To start off, can you please tell us a little bit about this book?:

Amateur
sleuth and wild animal removal specialist Elmo is loving life his Florida Panhandle
hometown of Paradise Springs. Until he gets word that a former co-worker of his
girlfriend Nicola has been stabbed through the heart by a whaling harpoon. And since the
victim went to work for a competitor, after an acrimonious split, Nicola becomes suspect
number one faster than a seagull can steal a sandwich from a sunbather.
Elmo knows in his heart that Nic is innocent and sets out to who took Desiree’s life. As
he searches for clues, old secrets are unearthed, new rivalries are put under the spotlight,
and Elmo’s fragile alliance with the police is put to the test. All while he’s trying to cope
with his new status as owner of The Sea Breeze Resort. And a crime wave that’s taken
hold of Paradise Springs and doesn’t want to let go.
Did Desiree’s low-life boyfriend take her life in a desperate cash grab? Did the victim of
a years-old practical joke finally snap and exact their revenge? And what about the guy
Desiree ran out of town years ago who’s returned without warning? Not even a late-night
meeting with a mafia don or being the target of gunfire dampens his resolve to bring the
murderer to justice. And to do it in time for the community to enjoy the Independence
Day holiday without an unsolved murder lurking in the background.
With help from both long-time friends and new allies, Elmo assembles clues that reveal
who’s responsible for taking Desiree’s life. And who’s behind the crime ring, too. All he
has to do is get a confession out of the murderer before his own life is cut short. A task
that, like so many things in Paradise Springs, has more to it than appears on the surface,
 

Please share your favorite lines or quote(s) from this book:

Elmo’s thoughts and exchanges with other characters are often fun to read. Here are a few I really like.

She leaned back against the head rest and blew out a long breath. It was the most defeated
sound my girlfriend had ever made in my presence. And I’d annoyed and disappointed
her plenty of times in the past.  “Anything else? With a list that long, I might as well go back in and sign up for the firing squad.”  That stopped me cold. “Do they really do that here?”  “No, you blockhead.” She slapped me on the arm. “It was a metaphor.”  “Good. I mean, I’m glad you weren’t being serious. And that they don’t do that here.”   She gave me a narrowed-eyed look that seemed to say if she had a gun, she’d use it to shut me up.

Here’s another one:
Bobby’s jaw was trembling as he looked from the chief to me and then back to the chief. He took a long breath.  “I’m in big trouble with my aunts, aren’t I?”  “You’ll be in bigger trouble with the chief if you don’t cooperate with her.” I cut the bindings around his legs. “Then there’s the fact that as a law enforcement officer, it’s illegal to beat a confession out of you. Something your aunt Beryl wouldn’t have to concern herself with.”  It took Bobby all of two seconds to decide which scary authority figure he’d take his chances with.   “I’m all yours, Chief.” He stepped from the truck and held out his hands, as if ready to be cuffed.  “You can expect a call from me, Simpson. I have questions for you now, too.”  I gave her a little wave in acknowledgment of the promise. Or was it a threat? When I was dealing with Susan Eikenberry, I was never 100 percent sure.   Whatever, my good deed for the day was done. I couldn’t be happier with the results, either. Bobby was in custody and safe.  Before I put the truck in gear, I overheard him ask the chief for a charging cord for his
phone. And if there was someplace he could take a shower. And if she could get him something to eat since he hadn’t had a decent meal in days. And if he could take a nap before they talked because he was tired.  Leaving the parking lot, I kept an eye on the rearview mirror. It wouldn’t have surprised me one bit if Bobby got chucked right back out the front door in retribution for treating
the chief like the concierge at a five-star hotel.

What inspired this book?

Absolutely! The Magnificent Marlin is based on a beachside bar & restaurant I’ve visited in Miramar Beach, Florida called The Whale’s Tail. Like The Magnificent Marlin, the Whale’s Tail has a bar on the bottom floor that opens up right to the beach. Seagrass surrounds the Whale’s Tail, too. That gave me the idea of where to have the murder victim’s body found. Of course, the greater Florida panhandle area continues to provide a fantastic backdrop for The Elmo Simpson Mysteries. It’s so much fun writing about someplace I often visit.
 

What was your favorite scene to write?

I had a really good time writing the scene where Elmo meets with Don Espada, the mafia boss.

It’s totally taken from classic film noir. It takes place at midnight, at the end of a pier. The Don even smokes a cigar. Here’s a snippet.

In the darkness, someone coughed. I turned. A smallish person approached. The overhead lights, which were normally on from dusk to dawn, weren’t operating. It was difficult to get a good look at the individual. They stopped about ten feet from me and lit a cigar. “Don Espada?” I took a step forward and extended my hand to shake. It was trembling.
The cool breeze coming in from the ocean wasn’t the cause.  “Mr. Simpson. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The red tip of the stogie burned bright red as he took in a breath. It revealed a thin face with a sharp nose and prominent cheekbones. The man’s hair appeared to be slicked back, like Robert De Niro’s character in the gangster movie Goodfellas.  We shook. He barely came up to my shoulders and had the frame of a distance runner. The man had the viselike grip of world champion bodybuilder, though.   “You have something for me, I believe.” Images from every gangster movie I’d seen flashed across my mind. Gifts for the Don were signs of respect and appreciation for spending his valuable time with you. In the gloom, it was impossible to tell if he was joking or not.   Here I was, with only a steel guardrail protecting me from falling into the black sea. This far out, the odds were good that if I fell, or was tossed over, I’d be swept out into the
Gulf, never to be seen or heard from again.  Well, honesty was the best policy, so I decided to go with it. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think to bring you a gift. Is there any way you can forgive me?”
The cigar embers morphed from red to a bright yellow. Then, the man let out a long laugh mixed with nauseating cigar smoke and a fair amount of coughing. He strolled to the edge of the pier and knocked the ashes from his cigar.  “Very funny. For a minute, I thought you were serious.” He took up a spot next to me. As if he hadn’t a care in the world, he leaned against the rail, crossing one foot over the other. “You’re a funny guy.”
I had a flash of inspiration as he took another puff of the stogie. The note with the code. Duh. I gave it to him.  He held it close to the cigar tip. Seconds stretched into decades as he analyzed the writing. A knot began to form in my gut. What was so special about five random digits? Was he having trouble reading Seven’s handwriting? It couldn’t be that. She had impeccable penmanship. What if the code numbers were wrong? Maybe she misheard the man or transposed some of them.
After staring at the note for a moment, he turned it upside down. Then, he let out a long
laugh. He crumpled the piece of paper into a ball, then tossed it over his shoulder into the
darkness.
“Seven Banderas. That woman knows me too well. Has a wicked sense of humor, too.”
He waved his cigar in the air like a conductor while he chuckled again. “What do you
want to know?”

What was the most difficult scene to write?

Desiree’s memorial service, no contest. I wanted to make sure I honored her in the most authentic way possible. She was a daughter of the sea and deserved to be returned there. It also ended up being a way to mark the death of Jimmy Buffett, who profoundly affected my writing. I may have shed a few tears writing it.

“Desiree was the most talented seafarer I’ve ever met. She was an amazing work wife
who loved sharing our little corner of the world with countless visitors over the years.
She was also my friend. I loved her like a sister.” Nic closed her eyes as her voice
cracked. “I imagine y’all know about our breakup a few months ago. What you probably
don’t know is that the night she was taken from us, she reached out to me. We were going
to get together. Patch things up. We never got the chance. I never got to say how much I
loved her, so I’m going to say it now. I love you, Big D. I’ll see you somewhere over the
rainbow.”
Then she broke down in tears.
I went to her side and kept my arm around her for the rest of the service. Camille brought
the eulogy part of the service to a close by inviting us to join the family as they scattered
Desiree’s ashes on the water. While they did so, Rambo performed Jimmy Buffett’s “A
Pirate Looks at Forty” on the harmonica. He’d played the melancholy tune in his garage
after a few beers dozens of times, but never before in public.
The performance was flawless and a perfect sendoff for a woman who, like Nic, loved
the sea with all her heart.
At the ceremony’s conclusion, a group of us gathered at the water’s edge to toss water
lilies into the surf. As the waves carried the symbols of rebirth out into the Gulf of
Mexico, I put my arm around Nic.

Would you say this book showcases your writing style or is it a departure for you?

I think Murder Under the Marquee in particular, and The Elmo Simpson Mysteries in
general, reflect my writing style quite well. My goal as an author is to tell stories from the
point of view of characters that are far from perfect and have their own struggles but want
to do the right thing. They believe in things like friendship, empathy, and being true to
one’s word. Writing stories in first person, from Elmo’s perspective, lets me showcase
those attributes and the struggles he has living up to those standards. I think folks relate
to characters like that.

What do you want people to take away from reading this book?

Life is short. If you’re angry with someone, especially someone you care about, practice forgiveness before it’s too late. I also want to remind readers that justice prevails in my stories. The good guys
win in the end. That’s important to a lot of readers. And to me, was well.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

I’m in the early stages of Buried in the Sand, book 4 in the Elmo Simpson Mysteries. It’s due to my
editor at the end of July, so it won’t be out for a while. Meanwhile, Dead in the Ditch, Elmo book 3, arrives May 5, 2025. There’s lots of hijinks coming from Paradise Springs!

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: An ebook copy of MURDER UNDER THE MARQUEE + one additional Tule ebook of the winner’s choice

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: Elmo is an amateur sleuth with a day job. Who’s your favorite amateur sleuth from books or film?

 
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Excerpt from Murder Under the Marquee:

Chapter One

I stared at the monstrosity before me. My fingers trembled. Sweat broke out on my forehead. From the deepest depths of my soul, there was no doubt it was the embodiment of evil incarnate. The fact that it was lying on a plate, inert, didn’t lessen the revulsion. I had to close my eyes. My stomach churned at the horrific thought that somewhere, some insane person thought this abomination could be considered acceptable in a civilized society.

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Elmo. Be a big boy and do what you have to do.” Goob’s words carried the ever-present, kind tone the elderly shopkeeper was known for. They carried an unmistakable touch of impatience, though.

“All right. I’m a man of my word.” I opened one eye, then the other. The slice of Hawaiian pizza hadn’t magically disappeared. So much for praying for a miracle.

The absolute horror of pineapple combined with ham, marinara, and mozzarella cheese mocked me as I fingered the crust. A defeated sigh escaped me. There was nothing else to be done.

I bit into the pointy end of the slice. And chewed. The thin crust was crispy. The sauce, tangy with a few chunks of tomato to give it texture. The ham was tender and smoky, the result of it being cooked at the Riptide. The pineapple…

I shuddered as my taste buds made contact with the fruit. With an effort, I fought back a gag the pineapple’s cloying sweetness elicited. Then I swallowed. And took three more massive bites in rapid succession.

“Done.” I hopped away from the counter as if I’d just been shocked by a jolt of electricity from a faulty outlet. Something I’d experienced from time to time. I took a big gulp of my soda pop. The gathering cheered me on my accomplishment.

Except for one. Police Chief Susan Eikenberry shook her head as she slipped her phone in her pocket. “Your debt’s been paid, Simpson. However, if you ever insult Hawaiian pizza in my presence again, you will spend a night in a holding cell.”

“Fair enough.” We shook hands. “Any time you want, I’ll be happy to prepare you a genuine Indiana-style tenderloin sandwich. With the pork properly flattened to within an inch of its life, breaded, and then deep-fried. Served on a toasty bun with lettuce, tomato, onions, a dollop of mayo, and pickles on the side.”

This time, it was Susan who shuddered. It was common knowledge around the oddball town of Paradise Springs, Florida, that she loved ham and all pork products, except when it was deep fried. Which was a crime in and of itself, in my opinion.

“Let’s put a pin in that.” Her radio squawked and the dispatcher requested the chief respond to a call from the marina. “Duty calls. No rest for the weary.”

Late June was one of the busiest times of the year for the businesses of the Springs. It was the same for the police. The sugar sand beaches and crystal-clear waters of the Gulf Coast community made it a favorite for tourists who wanted the sun and surf but also wanted to avoid the crowds of larger cities like Panama City Beach, Pensacola, and Destin.

That didn’t mean the tourists were better behaved than anywhere else. From dustups in restaurants to alcohol-fueled disturbing the peace to general foolishness, the Paradise Springs police force had been running themselves ragged for weeks now.

With no letup until September.

Oh, and it was going to get worse the closer we got to the Independence Day holiday. Around my adopted hometown, July Fourth seemed to last for about ninety-six hours, not the standard twenty-four.

Like the cherry on top of a vanilla shake, the tourist crowds were bigger than ever in this little slice of heaven. A sensational murder case I’d gotten myself involved with earlier in the year had made a splash on the internet. My town was a hidden gem no more. The police, like most everyone else, were struggling to keep up with the increased crowd sizes.

With my debt paid, the dozen or so Paradise Springers who’d witnessed the affair drifted away. I returned to my stool and pushed the uneaten portion of the slice toward Goob.

“Good to see you survived.” He deposited the uneaten portion into a to-go box with the grace of someone a fraction of his eighty-plus years. Or ninety-plus. Nobody in town was sure. “I think some of them in the crowd were hoping you’d upchuck. Especially the ones with their phones out. That would have gotten you a lot of looks on social media.”

“Thank the stars above for that.” I leaned across the counter and lowered my voice so I wouldn’t be overheard. “Between you and me, I thought there was no way in the world I would lose that bet. I mean, I’m in good shape.”

The man smiled, his eyes sparkling with mirth behind his pink-rimmed glasses.

“That, my friend, is why you never, ever make a bet with Little Suzi. She’ll make you pay every time.”

I was about to ask the man how he got away with referring to the Springs’ top cop so informally when a customer walked in.

“Can you tell me where I can find Craig’s Cruises?” The man, who had two teenagers in tow, was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and had a large camera bag slung over one shoulder.

Goob handed the visitor a map of the marina. “When you go back outside, turn left. It’s about a ten-minute walk from here. There’s a red, white, and blue sign. You can’t miss it.”

After the tourists left, Goob’s smile turned into a frown. “Craig’s Cruises. That operation’s nothing but trouble. I wish they’d have picked any other place on the Gulf than here.”

“You and me both.”

Craig’s Cruises arrived in Paradise Springs the previous March with so much fanfare that you would have thought the operation was single-handedly saving the town from financial ruin. With six pontoon-style tour boats and another dozen Jet Skis, the company’s owner, Craig Abbott, had promised good-paying jobs, environmentally friendly business practices, and never-before-seen recreational opportunities for the good citizens of and visitors to Paradise Springs.

Seemingly overnight, glossy trifold flyers touting the company’s offerings were all over town. Digital billboards, one on each side of town, informed passersby where to find Craig’s Cruises. The owner himself had appeared in a puff piece on the front page of the local news weekly, the Paradise Springs Palladium.

A lot of people were thrilled with the development, including Mayor Wil Crabtree, who never said no to a business development opportunity. Many others weren’t. I, along with Goob and a lot of the group of small and independent businesses, aka the Old Guard, was among the unhappy crowd. There were a lot of reasons why I’d opposed the new venture.

Craig’s Cruises was in direct competition with Paradise Springs Charters, the business owned and operated by my on-again, off-again girlfriend, Nicola Beecham. With whom I was happily back in the on-again stage.

“How’s your lady friend doing?” Goob wiped down the counter with a dry cloth instead of the normal damp one. Nic’s predicament had my old friend worried to distraction. He really was the godfather of the Springs’ OG.

The good kind of godfather. Not the scary Marlon Brando kind.

“She doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s struggling. Losing Desiree was a tough blow. She’s been doing the work of two people, maybe three, for months now.”

Desiree LaFontaine had worked with Nic for nine years. She started out as deckhand and was promoted to first mate in 2019. Over the years, she’d become like a sister to Nic.

Within two weeks of Craig’s Cruises’ arrival, Desiree submitted her two-week notice and went to work as Craig’s Paradise Springs chief of operations. When Desiree told Nic how much the new position paid, Nic didn’t bother countering. It truly had been an offer Desiree couldn’t refuse.

Since then, the punches to Nic’s livelihood hadn’t stopped coming. Staffing shortages and equipment trouble had been constant headaches.

“I’d imagine. Sybil was in this morning. Told me Nicola and Craig got into a row at the Magnificent Marlin last night and almost came to fisticuffs. Is she okay?”

“First I’ve heard of it. I’ll swing by her place later.”

“Well, give her my love and tell her the next time she drops by, a grouper sandwich has her name on it. My treat.”

“Will do.” My phone buzzed, a reminder that I had an appointment for my critter removal business in twenty minutes. It was time to get going.

I gathered my things, but as I moved for the door, Goob draped his arm over my shoulder. “Rumor has it the Sea Breeze has a new owner. Someone local.” He winked. “Good luck on the new adventure.”

“Um.” So much for a witty denial. Good going, dummy. I’d been so careful. Or so I thought. Every step I’d taken toward the purchase of the Sea Breeze Resort, the largest private employer in the area, had been made with two thoughts in mind.

First, it needed to stay open. The previous owner was in jail. He was liquidating his assets to pay for his legal fees. I couldn’t bear the thought of the Sea Breeze being left rudderless until new ownership took control. I had the cash to make the purchase. So, I did.

Second, I wanted to maintain my low profile. The community didn’t need to know I was assuming control. All that mattered was that the new ownership was local and was committed to the resort’s long-term prosperity.

“Sorry, Goob. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was a better response than nothing.

My friend laughed. “Of course you don’t. My lips are sealed.”

As I exited the store, a disturbing thought came to me. Goob was a great guy. I’d trust him with my life. Not everybody in Paradise Springs was a kind soul like him, though. That begged the question.

If he knew about the purchase, who else did? And was there anyone among those in the know who wanted to cause trouble?

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Wild animal removal specialist Elmo Simpson has another murder on his hands. It’s starting to become a habit…

When a body is found on the beach near the Paradise Springs marina in the sleepy panhandle of Florida, Elmo’s disinclined to weigh in on it. But the victim is Desiree LaFontaine, former first mate of Elmo’s girlfriend, Nic, who apparently was the last person to see Desiree alive. Which makes Nicola suspect number one.

But there are other suspects. Like Craig Abbott, owner of Craig’s Cruises, who’s been taking a slice of Nic’s tour boat customers ever since he set up shop. Or could it be Desiree’s old boyfriend Bobby Darrin, who just plain doesn’t want to be found? And why is Drunk Paul, who’s rarely drunk but hangs around the marina, acting so squirrelly?

Elmo doesn’t believe for a minute Nic’s a murderer, so he dives headlong into the seamy underbelly of Paradise Springs’ tourism industry to try to clear her name. But time is short, and Elmo must reel the murderer in before Nic is put away and Elmo ends up under water–for good.

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Meet the Author:

J.C. Kenney is the bestselling author of The Allie Cobb Mysteries, The Darcy Gaughan Mysteries, and The Elmo Simpson Mysteries. He’s also the co-host of The Bookish Hour webcast. When he’s not writing, you can find him following IndyCar racing or listening to music. He has two grown children and lives in Indianapolis with his wife and a cat. Follow J.C. Kenney on Bluesky.
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