The Not Quite Enlightened Sleuth by Verlin Darrow
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press (April 8, 2024)
Category: Mystery/Suspense, Murder Mystery, Female Amateur Sleuth
Tour Dates April 22-May 30, 2024
ISBN: 978-1509254194
Available in Print and ebook, 312 pages
Description Not Quite Enlightened Sleuth by Verlin Darrow
A Buddhist nun returns to her hometown and solves multiple murders while enduring her dysfunctional family.
Ivy Lutz leaves her life as a Buddhist nun in Sri Lanka and returns home to northern California when her elderly mother suffers a stroke. Her sheltered life is blasted apart by a series of murders, which she attempts to solve with the help of a smitten detective.
She understands why someone might want to kill her stepfather, who it turns out to be is a smuggler on the run, but what about her mother? Is Ivy’s unstable sister right that she was murdered, too? Ivy struggles to live by her Buddhist principles and employ her mindfulness skills, and discovers they both hinder and help in her search for the truth.
Praise for Verlin Darrow
“I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a murder mystery more. Between the insightful sarcasm, inside jokes, flat out madcap hilarity and keenly wicked observations, there’s literally something to laugh or chuckle about on every page. This is truly a clever, one of a kind book that really turns everything upside down and inside out.”-Donna Thompson, Amazon Review
“I loved every page of this and I know that you will too! I highly recommend this to lovers of mystery and suspense novels, or anyone who likes a good novel at all!”-Sally S., Bound 4 Escape
“Almost immediately when I started reading this, I knew that I was going to enjoy it but I didn’t know that by the end, it would end up being one of my favorite reads of the year, so far!
I loved the narration in this novel. Tom Dashiel’s character was so funny and easy to root for. I found myself really wanting him to unravel the mystery at the center of this novel and somehow manage to get out alive.”-Nora, Storeybook Reviews
“Murder For Liar,’ is a book that just feels new. It feels unlike any other book you’ve ever read. I truly enjoyed this novel and couldn’t put it down once I started reading it! This book was perfection!”-Bee, BookPleasures.com
“Murder for Liar by Verlin Darrow is a twisty type of murder mystery that keeps you guessing until the very end. Just when you think you have it figured out, something new happens.”-Becky, Life As Rog
Read the Excerpt Not Quite Enlightened Sleuth by Verlin Darrow
“You might know him by another name. Let me show you a photo.” I pulled out the photo that Dee had found online and laid it on the slick wooden bar.
“Oh, you mean Anton. He comes in all the time.”
“He won’t be coming in anymore,” I told him as gently as I could.
“Why’s that?”
“He’s been murdered.” I watched Skip’s face closely. His expression didn’t change.
“Really?” he responded matter-of-factly.
“Really. You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’m not. If you lie down with dogs, you get fleas.”
“Meaning?”
“Look, I’m talking to you because you’re with Brian. We go way back. But you don’t want to know who Anton used to meet in here.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Trust me. You think you do, but you don’t. Brian’ll back me on this.”
I turned and looked at my uncle, who was in the act of trying to erase a grimace.
“Why’s that, Brian?” I asked. “Why can you back him?”
“Regrettably, I’ve seen some illegal activity in here,” he told me. “Ruthless types.”
“We need to talk about that later.”
I returned my gaze to Skip. Now he was frowning and slowly shaking his head, as if to emphasize what he’d said before.
“Is there anyone else in here who knew Anton?” I asked him.
He started to look toward a booth in the back of the bar before he could stop himself. “No,” he then said vehemently. “There’s no one.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I began walking to the back booth, which was occupied by a hard-looking giant and a slim older man in a gleaming blue sharkskin sport coat over a cream-colored silk turtleneck. He looked even more out of place than Brian and I did. In fact, I couldn’t imagine where he’d be in place.
“Hold it!” Brian said, grabbing my arm. “You can’t do this. I think that guy’s a drug dealer.”
“How do you know that?” I felt my face heat up.
He didn’t answer. I kept walking and my uncle followed me.
The giant looked up as we approached. His gaze was studiously blank. Close-up, even sitting, he scared me simply because of his size, but his face was also intimidating. He didn’t have the dead eyes that assassins did in movies, but his deep-set blue ones still seemed to be profoundly disinterested in what happened around him. Whatever it might be, it was all the same to him. Upon closer examination, I thought he might be someone who’d been wounded and had adopted this attitude in response to trauma—to protect himself emotionally.
The older man kept his eyes glued to a tablet he’d propped up on the table in front of him. His face was lined, with several small dents in his temple and forehead, probably from skin cancer removals. My mother had exhibited similar scars.
His jet black hair, which was mostly what I saw because of his slightly bowed head, was thick and lustrous.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Do you have a minute?”
“I have many minutes,” the man said without looking up. “Who wants to know about these minutes?”
He had a thick Eastern European accent, and spoke in a low-pitched growl. On the other hand, his tone wasn’t unpleasant in the way I usually associated with that timbre. It was almost playful.
“My name is Ivy. I was Anton Todorov’s stepdaughter.”
At that, he looked up and surveyed me with interest. “Ah, the poor man. So he had a stepdaughter? What can I do for you? And why are you here with Brian?”
He knew my uncle? I was thrown off-balance for a moment. Brian and I were going to have another little chat soon.
Now I could see a complexity to the man. If he was a criminal, he wasn’t a garden variety one. His dark, alert eyes sat above a hawk nose. A bushy, stiff-haired mustache below that drooped onto his upper lip, which was a thin slash mismatched to his generous lower lip. His teeth were yellow and jumbled as if his parents had never brought him to a dentist.
I couldn’t read him at all, which was anomalous. Right or wrong, I usually got a sense of who someone was, at least in general terms. Even the man’s energy—his chi—was a mixture of indecipherable elements.
“You know my uncle?” I asked.
“Your uncle, eh? Interesting. Brian and I are old friends.”
I turned and stared at my uncle for a moment. He smiled a shaky smile, seemingly aware of my thoughts. Then I returned my attention to the man at the table.
“I’m looking into my mother and Anton’s death, and—”
“Why? Why are you doing this?” The man held his hands up, palms facing me.
“I want to find out what happened.”
He shook his head and muttered, “It’s better not to know these things.”
“I disagree. In my world, it’s all about knowing.”
“What world is that? Are you a librarian? No, don’t answer. I think maybe a tech person who answers me when I google.”
“I’m a Buddhist.”
“So? Is that supposed to impress me?” He leaned back, apparently pleased with himself. I couldn’t see why.
“Can we get back to the deaths? Is there anything you know that I should know?”
“Should? No. But I know many things about many people. Perhaps some of that could come your way. But what do I get from this?”
“What do you want?” I couldn’t imagine what I could offer from my side of a deal.
“A date.” He smiled a wicked smile—almost a smirk.
“You’re serious? You want a date with me?” My eyebrows shot up and I felt my mouth form an O.
©Verlin Darrow
About Verlin Darrow
Award-winning novelist, Verlin Darrow is currently a psychotherapist who lives with his psychotherapist wife in the woods near Monterey Bay in northern California. They diagnose each other as necessary.
He is the author of Blood and Wisdom, Coattail Karma, Prodigy Quest, and Murder For Liar. Two of these won major book awards. Verlin is a former professional volleyball player, country-western singer/songwriter, import store owner, and assistant guru in a small, benign cult.
Before bowing to the need for higher education, a much younger Verlin ran a punch press in a sheet-metal factory, drove a taxi, worked as a night janitor, shoveled asphalt on a road crew, and installed wood floors. He barely missed being blown up by Mt. St. Helens, survived the 1985 Mexico City earthquake (8.0), and (so far) he’s successfully weathered his own internal disasters.
Website: https://www.verlindarrow.com/
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