Friday, April 29, 2016

The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club - Unleashed by @DuncanWhitehead #ASMSG, #Mystery


The thrilling sequel to the bestselling and award winning novel, The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club.             

Four months after the disappearance of Tom Hudd from a leafy Savannah neighborhood, the members of an afternoon cocktail and dog walking club ponder his whereabouts; despite one of them knowing his true fate. Recently elected mayor Elliot Miller has new agendas, and just where is Doug Partridge? 

An old man's death bed memories recall his ultimate revenge, while Savannah Detective Jeff Morgan has been assigned to two missing person's cases and a years old murder that he believes already solved.   Once again, though, a killer lurks and even more secrets unfold, as does an ever expanding web of deceit and lies. Who will die and who will live to see out the conclusion to a story of revenge, twists and murder? 

As before, the plot thickens, and the residents of Gordonston, all with deep hidden agendas, resume their plotting and desire for revenge and retribution; twists and turns lead the reader once again to a conclusion, and another sucker punch ending that will leave them breathless.




His body was much heavier than she had anticipated. It had taken her twenty minutes to remove the sheet-wrapped corpse from the trunk of her car and drag it from the street, through the gate that led to the rear of her house and then along the path leading to her back yard. She wiped her brow as trickles of sweat began to pour from her forehead.

She checked the time once more on her watch; it was 4 am. It appeared that no one had seen her, but she had remained vigilant, checking for the twitching of curtains, passing vehicles and any early morning dog walkers or returning late night revelers – she was satisfied that her nocturnal activities were not being watched. The last thing she needed was a curious neighbor or passerby witnessing her dragging a sheet-wrapped body from the rear of her new SUV. She paused for breath, sweat now pouring from her brow, which she again wiped away, leaving a trail of dirt across her forehead, dirt from the hole she had dug the previous evening in her back yard. A hole that had taken her hours to dig and a hole that was soon to become a grave.

It had taken her over three hours to dig the grave, again while ensuring she was not seen, and she had had to destroy many of the plants and flowers it had taken her years to grow, but it was a necessary consequence of burying a body, and there was simply nowhere else viable for such an endeavor. She sighed as she stared at the pile of disrupted flowers and plants. Her butterfly weeds and the hibiscus they’d planted when they had first moved into their home had been totally destroyed.

She smiled to herself. He had hated gardening. Detested it. She had lost count of the times they had argued and fought over her flower garden and plants. He had wanted to grow vegetables, to save money for one thing, but she saw no beauty in onions and potatoes. She had allowed him to plant a tomato bush, which remained intact and undamaged by the digging. Wherever he was, he would probably be laughing that her gardening labor of love had had to make way for a grave. Ironic, she thought, replacing the living for the dead.

Eventually, after what had seemed an eternity, she stood over the hole; it looked deep enough; four feet deep had been her aim. Though she wasn’t an expert, she estimated that her digging had been sufficient. She stood about five feet and four inches tall, so she guessed if she stood in the grave then she could estimate the depth. The last thing she needed were wild animals digging up the body; the thought of a neighborhood dog, or even cat, running around with bones in their mouths sent shivers down her spine. She jumped into the hole and her head peered over the top. Yes, she was confident it was deep enough.

The corpse, which was securely wrapped in the bed sheet, lay at her feet. For a minute she just stared at it. She had expected to feel more than she did, more grief, more sorrow, but the truth was that she felt relieved more than anything. She was glad it was eventually over. The hard part was done, mentally and emotionally anyway; the physical hardships, compared to what she had done earlier that day, were easy. She bent over, and placed a hand on the body. Despite her indifferent feelings of grief, a solitary tear fell from her eye. Intermingled with her sweat and the soil on her face, it formed a dark stain on the once pristine clean white sheet.

She looked backwards, towards her home. It was dark and silent, and the building’s sole occupant had been sleeping for hours. She thought about praying but dismissed the idea as pointless and hypocritical. She wasn’t even religious, and he certainly hadn’t been. There was, though, one more thing she had to do. She entered the shed that sat to the right of the destroyed plant bed and the freshly dug grave, and retrieved the bag of lime salts that had sat there for weeks. She understood that these lime salts would assist with the decomposition of the corpse and help mask any smell produced as a result of the decomposition. He had told her that.

“I guess I will miss you,” she whispered. “I know she will miss you,” she added. She placed her hand on the sheet, one final gesture of affection, though even that seemed forced and contrived. Would she really miss him? She wasn’t even sure. One thing was sure, her life would be easier without him.

With all the strength she could muster she rolled the body into the hole and watched as it tumbled into its final resting place. She sighed and took a deep breath. It was done. She lifted the half full bag of lime salts and scattered the contents into the grave, covering the sheeted corpse. Glancing to her left she picked up the same shovel she had used earlier that evening to dig the grave and began filling in the hole; shoveling the earth back to where it had come from. It was far easier, she thought, filling a grave than digging one, something else he had been right about. She paused for a moment. How many times had he done this? How many graves had he dug? How many families grieved and mourned for loved ones, with no knowledge where their bodies lay?

In the morning she would plant more flowers and maybe even vegetables; to cover the grave and to help disguise the unevenness of her disturbed garden. In a few weeks no one would ever even guess her flowerbed had been disrupted and hidden below it, a dead body. Not that she had many visitors anyway, and those she did have she doubted paid much attention to her gardening efforts. He certainly hadn’t.

So it was done. He was gone. Their lives would be so different now and she knew that she would miss him, and the truth was, sadly, that she would be the only one to miss him, and maybe even the only person to notice he was no longer around. Briefly, that thought filled her with fleeting sadness, not for him, but for her, but, as time would pass, he would become just a memory, and then she would move on. Kids were like that. They had no real concept of death, not at her age at least, there were more important things to think about, such as toys and games.

Thirty minutes later the hole was covered and filled. It had been a long and tiring night; in fact the whole day had been tiring. She was exhausted. She could not recall the last time she had felt so tired, so drained. She yearned for her bed, the bed she no longer shared, and the sleep she so desperately needed.

Suddenly she heard a sound behind her. She turned her head quickly and instinctively dropped the shovel. It was the sliding door opening, the sliding door leading from the den to her back yard.

“Honey, get back to bed. You shouldn’t be wandering around,” said Veronica Partridge as she abandoned her task, though sufficiently completed in any case.

“Mommy, I was having a bad dream,” explained Katie Partridge turning back to enter the house as her mother followed behind her.

“Well, mommy is here now, so we can forget all about bad dreams. Where is bunny?”

Katie raised her left hand and produced a small stuffed rabbit. “Here he is, mommy, I have him,” she replied.

“Well,” said Veronica Partridge, as she collected her daughter in her arms, not caring about the dirt and sweat that covered her body, “that’s all that matters.”

Katie Partridge giggled and lifted her stuffed toy into the air, showing her mother that bunny was indeed safe in her custody, then her face took a more serious look. “Mommy, I have a question,” she said.

“Sure, honey, what is it?” replied Veronica Partridge as she slid the back door shut, taking one last glance at the recently dug grave.

“Where’s Daddy?” 





Award Winning Writer, Duncan Whitehead, was born in England and is the author of the best-selling and award-winning GORDONSTON LADIES DOG WALKING CLUB Trilogy. The series, inspired by the quirky characters and eeriness in the real life Savannah neighborhood in which he once lived is a humorous mystery, which boasts an assortment of characters and plot twists.  

He has also written over 2,000 spoof and comedy news articles, under various aliases, for a variety of websites both in the US and the UK.  

He has written further novels; a comedy set in Manhattan, THE RELUCTANT JESUS, published in April 2014 and republished in July 2015 & three short stories.

Duncan is well known for his charity work, kindness to animals, children and old people; and, of course, his short-lived bullfighting career and his hideous hunchback.

In February 2045, he invented time travel and now spends much of his time in either the future (where he has won the lottery an astonishing 117 times) and the present day.


Social Links






The Reluctant Jesus

Murder At The Fourth

The Best Man

An Actor's Life

Home For The Weekend

You Say Tomato, I Say Tomato, She Says Murder

Thanks for sharing can't wait to share the last book tomorrow,


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