An English grad student is haunted by the ghost of a glam rock legend in a rip-roaring, space-and-time-bending journey through music, murder, and mayhem.
28th August 1976: glam rock star Damon Brent lies dead on the bathroom floor of his Gloucestershire mansion. But something darker lingers behind what’s written off as a stupid accident and, three decades on, Damon’s back.
He was murdered – or so he says – and he wants Ellis Ross to find out who did it. Ellis is a practical kind of girl, and not too keen to get involved. But, when you’re being haunted by a man wearing more eyeliner than you are, it’s hard to say no.
Excerpt
Water lapped against the concrete edging of the pool. Sunlight dappled the terrace through the sharply green leaves of lime and beech trees, and Damon Brent leaned back, sinking that little bit further into the bean bag as he stared up through the glass panes of the conservatory roof at the beautiful blue and white jumble of the sky. He brought the roll-up to his lips and took a pull, inhaling before blowing a thin plume of smoke up towards the pattern of glass and steel, watching it curl in dissipating ribbons. He was chilled. No pressures, nobody wanting a piece out of him, no politicians blowing bad news on the airwaves, just…cool.
He felt a sharp prod in his knee and raised his head just enough to squint down at the sun-warmed floor. A light breeze blew through the open French doors, and Hendrix was All Along the Watchtower on the record player.
“You’re bogarting the doobie, man.”
Leon Fielding raised a decorous hand from the floor and snapped his fingers. Damon passed the joint down to him wordlessly and, linking his own hands behind his head, listened to his friend take a deep drag.
“Oh,” Leon murmured. “Yeah….”
They had known each other since the age of fifteen, when the Feldmans, as they’d been then, left the pre-Gateway blight and concrete expansion of Newark, New Jersey, for a return to Mrs. F.’s native London.
The Elephant and Castle did not, for the Feldmans, swing as much or in quite the way as had been expected, but the young Leon—notwithstanding certain insecurities about his nose, his hair, and his accent—found an instant love for the city’s grimly hip, denim-clad bustle. For Damon Brent, still struggling to make the hire-purchase payments on a Lambretta and skipping two meals a day in the hopes of shedding enough puppy fat to squeeze into a pair of drainpipe Levis, the friendship represented something both genuine and transfiguring. They smoked cheroots outside Habitat together, posing in high hopes and tight jeans, saw Dylan at the Albert Hall, and endured each other’s epiphanies, struggles, and heartbreaks over women, money, and barre chords. By the dawn of the new decade, the Brent/Fielding partnership itched to bust out of the button-down scene of work-a-day jobs and weekend parties. They’d never realised what hung around the corner, or just how stupidly lucky they were gonna get.
Damon watched Leon smoke and stare at the glass ceiling through half-closed eyes, thinking vaguely about old times and new faces; how things might have been different in another place, another time. He looked up, hearing the glazed door from the sitting room open, and a lazy smile spread over his face as Inez, freshly bathed and wearing something short, chiffony, and very sweet indeed, breezed into view. She looked past them, out to the pool where the sound of splashing water had ceased, replaced with the wet slap of footsteps on paving.
“Hey, foxy lady! You got the time to take a dip with me?”
Damon tilted his head back, about to admonish Charlie for hitting on his lady, although neither the flirting nor the reprimands normally had any effect. The words died in his throat as he gazed at the bassist’s dripping, naked figure, hands on his hips, member at half salute, and a broad smile on his face.
Beside him, Leon started to giggle.
Professional Reviews
Recommended Read from Fallen Angel Reviews
“WOW! What a marvelous story! Many books that jump back and forth between the past and present lose me somewhere in the telling, but not this one. British author M. King does a spectacular job of intertwining the events of the past that led up to Damon’s murder with the events of the present that lead up to finding out who dunnit. The story is full of twists and turns and more suspense than you can shake a stick at.
Ms. King’s characters are richly and dramatically portrayed. Both Ellis and Damon, along with Leon, Damon’s best friend and former member of his band, are enormously likeable. I loved Ellis’ forthright humor and patient indulgence with Damon, who is often an appealing little boy in a man’s (dead) body. … [E]ven at 582 pages, this wonderful book ended way too soon.”
Awarded a 'Golden Angel: Recommended Read' by Fallen Angel Reviews: http://fallenangelreviews.com/2009/October/merrylee-daemon.h-
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