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J.B. Kohl is an avid reader of all fiction, especially noir. She began writing professionally in 2006. Her first book, The Deputy’s Widow, is available at all online bookstores. In October of this year, she completed her first co-written novel, an urban crime story set in 1939 Kansas City. The book, entitled One Too Many Blows To The Head, was co-written with writer/producer, Eric Beetner, who lives and works in L.A.
The sequel to The Deputy’s Widow, entitled A Finger Too Few, is near completion.
J.B. is a member of Chesapeake Bay Writers, Gloucester Writers, and the online group, Deadly Prose, founded by Kunati Publisher, Derek Armstrong.
J.B. lives in Virginia with her husband of 17 years, her three children, and three dogs. When she’s not writing, she can be found reading books, taking long walks, or folding the mountains of laundry five people make on a daily basis. She maintains a website at www.jbkohl.com. She loves to hear from other writers.
J. B. Kohl
The Deputy’s Widow
The year 1948 is drawing to a close and things couldn't be much worse for Private Detective Hamilton Baker. It starts with a simple phone call from a woman named Diana Kramer. With a voice like a teaspoon of honey drizzled over Lauren Bacall, she begs the detective to find letters she's written to her lover, Sheriff's Deputy Chester "Chet" Ferrebee. Chet is to wed another woman this afternoon and Diana, the scorned mistress, wants the letters back where they belong…with her. Hours after the wedding, when Chet turns up dead in a roadside motel room, his bride beaten beyond recognition and unable to remember anything, Baker fears his client is somehow involved. As he searches for the letters, he unwillingly digs into the past of the sleepy town of Crane Haven and uncovers the dangerous secrets of a group of men who shattered a young girl's mind, as well as her chance for happiness, years ago.
Chapter 1
Crane Haven, New York
November 1948
Baker climbed from the Packard. The smell of snow hung heavy in the air and he searched the sky for signs of the storm to come. There were none. There was only a quarter moon, but it was bright enough to cast shadows on the day-old layer of white crust spread over the ground. He spied the Big Dipper too, almost laughing at the ridiculous surge of pride that swept over him whenever he was in a group and was the first to see it. There was no sign of snow. But it would come. Sixteen inches of snow so far this month and more on the way. Already, fingers of cold slithered into his coat, pawing at him and he lifted his collar against the feeling. The man with the heavy boots leaned against the car and rolled a cigarette. Baker hated the gangster, but he had to admire the way the man could roll a smoke in this wind. The gangster caught Baker looking and winked once before jerking his head again in the direction of the ravine.Baker pulled his coat tighter and moved off toward two large rocks overlooking what used to be the Goosely River. Three decades ago, the river dried up and residents took to throwing their garbage over the cliff. The bottom of the ravine was littered with rusted Fords and Chevys, old tires, bottles and cans, and scrap metal from every imaginable source. And, what with this being so close to the city and all, the occasional stiff turned up as well. Baker knew he hadn’t been brought here to view the sorry remains of an old car. Gangsters didn’t like to show off their garbage…unless it served a purpose. And the only garbage that served a gangster’s purpose was a corpse. Baker moved closer to the ravine, circling around the larger of the two rocks overlooking the dried riverbed below. Frigid wind surged up from the gulch, carrying stinging sand that scraped his cheeks. He made his way around the rocks and paused as his toe touched the body. He recognized the scarf first. Red plaid. He had one just like it in blue. Their mother loved to buy them the same gifts in different colors and three years ago the scarves had been Christmas gifts.
“Stewie.” He whispered his brother’s name, as if saying it aloud might wake the too-still form lying at his feet beside the boulder. Stewie lay on his side, his outstretched hand clutching a fistful of snow. Entranced, Baker knelt beside him and touched the cold flesh. In this weather, time of death was impossible to estimate and determining how long ago a stiff was zotzed became guesswork, at best. Baker looked over his shoulders, past the boulder, to the three stooges standing by the Packard. He figured an hour for them to come and get him and another for them to drag him out here to the ravine. That meant Stewie had been dead for two hours at least, probably more. Baker had seen his share of stiffs in the war. He drove the ambulance. Meat wagon, they called it. And he’d taken more friends than he cared to remember for their last ride. Occasionally, he was able to put a soldier back together before making the trip to the field hospital…where the guy could die in a bed. But mostly, he just picked up whatever was left, put it on a stretcher, loaded it in the back, and drove away. There was no meat wagon waiting here at the top of the ravine for Stewie. There was just Baker and his brother and behind them, three thugs hungry for another corpse.The sound of heavy boots on frozen ground grated on Baker’s already taut nerves. He looked up into the face of Leadfoot Barone, who had just finished that smoke he’d been rolling. “Funny thing about dead men,” Barone said, “they can’t pay their debts.” A man with heavy boots climbed from the back seat and two more climbed from the front. They too shivered as they stepped into the wind, looking for the snow that had yet to arrive. “Over there,” one of them said, jerking his head toward the ravine. The second front-seater was looking into the sky. “There’s the Big Dipper,” he said. And Baker resisted the urge to shout that he’d seen it first.Baker’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He smoothed the collar on Stewie’s jacket and let his numb finger trace the hole left by the bullet as it drilled through the left temple. The medic in Baker took over and he forgot about Barone standing behind him and about the sand grating against his cheeks. He assessed the body as if he was back in the field, preparing to give a report should it be asked for later. There was a single bullet wound to the head at the left temple. Judging by the powder burns, Stewie had been shot at close range. But not before putting up a fight. The hands were bloody, the knuckles bruised. There was a gash across the left cheek and the left eye was swollen shut. The left hand was clenched, tightly gripping its tiny pile of snow. Baker gently pried the fist open, not giving a shit if he was tampering with a crime scene. There was nothing there, just frozen snow in a dead man’s hand.For more of The Deputy's Widow....grab your copy today!
Captures the noir essence!
An Enticing Noir Detective Story. J.B. Kohl has brilliantly succeeded in capturing the noir essence in her debut novel “The Deputy’s Widow.” We are instantly transported back to the days of 1948 when men where tough and gritty and women were called dames. Here we meet Detective Hamilton Baker, who is a well rounded character: a great detective, a rejected husband and a man who believes in finishing the job… regardless of the consequences. This talented new author has taken a mix of murder, deception and repressed memories and created an enticing read reminiscent of the noir classics we all know and love. -Mary Menzel, AllTheseBooks.com, BookHuntersBlog.com
A noir of the highest quality!
Whether you're in the mood for a fine mystery done in the tradition of the good old pulp novels of the forties and fifties or simply want to read a page turner that sucks you in from the first chapter, the Deputy's Widow is the book for you. J.B. Kohl is a name to remember. -Alan Draven, Author of "Bitternest"
JB Kohl wears her influences on her sleeve but seeing as we're not getting any more Raymond Chandler books then she has proven herself a worthy author who is here to satisfy those of us who still like a good old fashioned detective story. It's familiar not in a worn-in blanket sort of way but in the way a favorite revolver fits snugly in your hands on a cold winter night. -Retro-Noir
The Deputy's Widow is a great read!
The story has some twists and turns that I did not expect and
I loved the ending! I can't wait to read the next book
in this series! - J. Kretschmer
A Must Read!!! - Angellesa, BlogTalkRadio
