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The
Calhoun Mercer Mysteries
Justice wears a crooked grin.
Set in the forgotten corners of the modern South, the Calhoun Mercer Mysteries follow a pipe-smoking, euphemism-slinging former lawyer turned investigator. Mercer may come off like a worn-out old hound, but under the hat and drawl is a memory like a machine, a knack for sniffing out lies.
A Debt comes due - coming soon
“He walked in for shoes. He left feet first.”
Ellis Latham's body hits the floor of a country-western boutique, blood blooming across the pine. Every face in the store says they didn’t see a thing—but Mercer knows better. The killer didn’t run. The killer watched.
“Calhoun doesn’t need luck. Just a lie out of place.”
Some men chase leads. Mercer lets the rain fall until the truth floats to the top. Every detail matters—especially the one that doesn’t fit the story the witnesses rehearsed.
“He’s not after your story. He’s waiting for you to choke on it.”
The suspect swears he’s clean. But those shoes on the table? They tell a different tale. Mercer doesn’t raise his voice—he doesn’t have to. The longer he stares, the guiltier the room gets.