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.
Originally written as short stories, the Motorhome Murder Mysteries are growing into novellas like mold in a refrigerator: Cooked Goose (November 2020), Spacemen Don’t Camp (June 2021), Anger Management (May 2022), and The South Dakota Beech Diet (April 2023).
Perhaps you have a camping horror story worthy of being a Motorhome Murder Mystery. Watch my newsletters. I’ll be asking for your ideas!
Here are synopses of the first four novels in the series:
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.
Sheila Astor Gould loved to mingle with the rich and famous. She savored tweets of their lavish lifestyles and drooled over posts of their Botox-filled faces. Rarely did she deign to spend time with the little people, everyone else on the planet. But when she learned a movie star had rented a remote cabin from the leader of the Black Hills Outdoor Club, Sheila wheedled an invitation from the club to travel to his cabin. It was a fatal mistake she, unfortunately, would not live to regret.