The Motorhome Murder Mysteries is my series of humorous whodunits set in RV parks and campgrounds across the country. They’re not like “cozy” mysteries you may have read: no knitting circles, no grandmotherly sleuths, no recipes. Rather, our protagonists Franklin and Wendy Becker, an odd couple if ever there was one, travel across country supposedly to find themselves but stumble upon corpses instead.
Perhaps you have a camping horror story worthy of being a Motorhome Murder Mystery. Watch my newsletters. I’ll be asking for your ideas!
Originally short stories, the Motorhome Murder Mysteries are growing into novels like mold in a refrigerator. The first in the series, Cooked Goose, came out early in November 2020. Spacemen Don’t Camp launched in June 2021. Anger Management will be out in May 2022 if the stars and planets align.
Here are synopses of the first three novels in the series:
Family is everything. Unless they kill you. Franklin and Wendy Becker’s motorhome trip across the country skids off course when they discover Charlie Gosling’s body in a campground. Charlie’s dysfunctional family offers no shortage of suspects: the man’s ex-wife, two disgruntled brothers-in-law, a ditzy sister-in-law, and more. When the county sheriff leaves for an emergency and the Elk Rump, Idaho, townspeople fail to help, the Beckers speed ahead with their investigation. But someone is trying to stop them dead in their tire-tracks.
An RV trip that’s out of this world! In a remote camp outside Roswell, New Mexico, bumbling, big-hearted Franklin Becker sets out alone at midnight to find an alien spacecraft. When he comes up missing, and his ufologist friend is found dead, Franklin’s wife, Wendy, battles other UFO-seeking campers to save her husband. At least the spaceman is friendly—at first.
You have to be mad to be this crazy! Camping in the Colorado Rockies, Franklin and Wendy Becker find the poisoned body of a local birder. When a bedeviled park ranger is arrested, Franklin tries to help her by performing an exorcism. After that, it all goes to hell.
Cooked Goose
The barbecue bounced like a rowboat on rough seas as the truck hauling it rounded the last turn into the campground. This particular grill housed not a porcine dinner but Lucy’s ex-husband, Charles Gosling. He was neither seasoned nor glazed but was most assuredly dead.
Stars filled the night sky above the old CCC camp, twinkling and winking at dark tents and silent motorhomes below. Few campers lasted long in the desolate patch of no-man’s-land east of Roswell, New Mexico, but those who did stay viewed starlit nights they would remember for the rest of their lives. For camper Melvin Potkin, that memory lasted only a few hours, until he drew his last breath under eerie blue light.
Bert Crappert thought he knew everything about bird watching. Migration patterns of woodland ducks and hummingbirds. Mating calls of robins and the danger cries of thrush. Even the average length, to the nearest millimeter, of seagull bills. It was thus fitting that Bert’s last sighting was red-breasted sapsucker droppings, landing on his nose as the poison took effect.