Synopses & Reviews
Chapter One
All the Sunday afternoons I can remember have that same grainy, black-and-white quality as those old photographs in a familyscrapbook.
Edna and I are at home. She's cooking, a chicken probably, or a roast, and I'm doing the things I always do on Sundays, loungingaround the house, maybe working in the yard, reading the paper, or watching an old movie on television.
We sit on the porch, my mother and I, wave at the neighbors as they drive by, cuss out the politicians, or the Atlanta Braves, or theweather, or each other. It don't mean a thing.
Nothing happens, nothing changes. It's a lie we tell each other, a charm to keep us safe, like the tiny gold St. Christopher's medalEdna wears on a fine gold chain around her neck.
My daddy gave Edna the medal when he got sick and knew he would die. The Catholic Church took away Christopher's saintfranchise at about the same time we Garritys stopped going to Mass. Edna doesn't really believe in saints, but she believes if sheacts like she believes, something good could happen.
It was one of those unremarkable Sundays. Not unbearably hot, because we'd had an early afternoon shower. The windows wereopen, and I could hear the soft swish of a lawn sprinkler nearby. I was inside the house, watching an old gangster movie. I thinkGeorge Raft was in it. Edna had put a chicken in the pressure cooker, and I was supposed to be listening for the steam to besputtering good so I could turn down the heat. She was outside on the porch, probably dozing over the Sundaypaper.
All of a sudden she let out a howl like a scalded dog. I went running out just in time to see her out in the yard, beating this poorold drunk with a dripping-wet floor mop.
She chased him down Oakdale, halfway to DeKalb Avenue, his pants still at half-mast around his knees, her pink terrycloth houseshoes slapping against her bare feet, and all the while she was right behind him, jabbing the wet mop at him like a bayonet.
Her heart condition has slowed her down some in the past year. Otherwise, I believe Edna would have run that old wino to groundand pummeled him to death with that mop. As it was, she stopped chasing him only because I went after her and dragged her homeby the arm.
"For God's sake," I told her, standing there on the sidewalk, panting for breath, hoping my own heart wouldn't give out, "that guycould have had a gun or a knife. What if he'd turned on you? What would you have done?"
"Son-of-a-bitch bums," she yelled, brandishing the mop in the direction he'd run off in. "The son of a bitch was using my yard asan outhouse. I saw him, Jules. He came right up to the edge of the porch and took a crap on my gardenia bush!"
Old Mr. Byerly across the street met us by the driveway. Homer, his Boston terrier, was barking and snarling and running incircles around Mr. Byerly's feet.
"I seen him, Callahan," Mr. Byerly said, working his toothless gums in agitation. "It's that same damnedwino I caught sleeping inmy car last week. Stank up the Buick so bad I had to use a whole bottle of Pine Sol on it. I think he's been sneaking around myback porch too, stealing Homer's food. Homer ain't never eat a whole box of Gainesburgers in one week. Have you, buddy?"
Homer lifted a black-and-white leg and directed a good-natured stream of urine at Mr. Byerly's work shoe.
"It's awful," Edna said. "Awful. Decent folk shouldn't have to put up with this. And I intend to put a stop to it." But her chest washeaving so hard, she couldn't say more. The chase had done her in.
She pushed my arm away. "My gardenia," she said. "I've got to hose off that gardenia."
"I'll do it," I promised, steering her toward the porch.
"Soap and water," she said, pausing to rest after climbing the first step. "Otherwise, it'll be burned. Damned bum. I've beennursing that gardenia for four years. Longest I've ever been able to keep one going. Everybody says Atlanta's too cold forold-fashioned gardenias."
She eased down into her rocking chair, and I hustled into the house to turn off the pressure cooker, which was rattling and hissingand throwing off great clouds of steam inside the kitchen.
"The chicken's fine," I told her when I got back outside. She just nodded and pointed at the hose.
Synopsis
Callahan's unique ability to talk the talk of the superanuated hippie and crawl the drawl of small-town South allow her to dig into the victim's past and come up with some succulent revelations. Her search also turns an old friend into a new enemy-one who will kill to keep a secret hidden.aCore fans will be particularly pleased that Garrity's usual cohorts-her ornery mother, outragious employees, and on-again/off-again lover, Mac (on-again here)-make return engagements in Strange Brew.
Synopsis
Strange Brew is set in Atlanta's Candler Park, once a genial mix of boho and hobo, now changed by gentrification. When a beloved local business loses its lease to a trendy microbrewery, trouble begins. On the night a hurricane hits the Big Peach, the grasping young entrepreneur behind the brewery scheme is found murdered. Callahan Garrity's unique ability to talk the talk of the superannuated hippie and crawl the drawl of the small-town South allows her to dig into the victim's past and come up with some juicy revelations. And as her investigation grows more intense, she unleashes her wry wit, tussles with her ornery mom and outrageous employees, and rekindles romance with her on-again/off-again lover, Mac.
Synopsis
The winds of change are blowing, bringing gentrification to Callahan Garrity's funky Atlanta neighborhood. Though it probably won't harm her House Mouse housecleaning service, not everyone welcomes the rebirth. And when the body of a murdered microbrewer is discovered in the aftermath of a furious Halloween gale, suspicion falls on the aging "flower child" shopkeeper whom the victim put out of business.
A former cop, Callahan isn't as quick to condemn a colorful local character as some law officers still on the force. But her investigative zeal is stirring up secrets that are forcing her to reassess old friendships and a one-time love -- and is brewing up more lethal trouble than Callahan and her "mice" can safely swallow.
Synopsis
Cleaning lady cum sleuth Callahan Garritty has cautiously watched her seedy bohemian Atlanta neighborhood morph into a trendy haven for yuppies. When the young owner of a microbrewery looking to score some prime real estate turns up dead, neighborhood local Wuvvy, an aging flower child and the brewer's worst enemy, becomes the prime suspect. Digging for evidence to clear Wuvvy, Callahan isn't prepared for the succulent secrets she finds as even deadlier developments surface.
Synopsis
A taste for trouble Cleaning lady cum sleuth Callahan Garrity has cautiously watched her seedy bohemian Atlanta neighborhood morph into a trendy haven for yuppies. But just as she fears, too much cappuccino and new money can be a bad mix. When the young owner of a microbrewery looking to score prime real estate turns up dead, neighborhood local Wuvvy, an aging flower child and the brewer's bitterest foe, becomes the prime suspect. Digging for evidence to clear Wuvvy, Callahan isn't prepared for the succulent secrets she finds--shocking truths that force her to reassess old friendships and an old love--as even deadlier developments surface.
About the Author
Kathy Hogan Trocheck is the author of ten critically acclaimed mysteries, including the Callahan Garrity mystery series. A former reporter for the Atlanta Journal Constitution, she is also the author of Little Bitty Lies and the Edgar®- and Macavity-nominated Savannah Blues, under the name Mary Kay Andrews.