The Savage Son #6
Summary:Tuesday, December 15, 1953
Ivan Kopek is missing and his parents desperately want Nick's help. Ike, as he's known to his friends, is quickly found once Nick, Carter, and their pals are on the case. Unfortunately, Ike's in jail for a murder he didn't commit. And it was only because he didn't get the chance to do it himself.
Meanwhile, it's almost Christmas. Nick's least favorite time of the year.
But, Carter wants a Christmas tree and Dr. Parnell Williams, Nick's evil bastard of a father, has summoned them both to the mansion on Sacramento Street for Christmas day at 12 noon. And they're not to be late.
In the end, Christmas brings Nick & Carter a number of unexpected and life-changing packages, both big and small.
Summary:
Monday, December 19, 1955
It's early in the morning and Carter is worried that he and Nick won't be warm enough for their Christmas trip to Vermont.
Nick, for his part, is wondering if they will ever be able to return to the big pile of rocks he's finally come to love. An exile in France isn't the worst thing in the world but still...
But before they can get much more than halfway from San Francisco to Vermont, they discover that the mob is after them and is on their tails, chasing them across the country as they take planes, trains, and automobiles.
They finally get to Vermont, all covered in freshly-fallen white snow, and begin to wonder if it will be their last Christmas, after all.
The Savage Son #6
Original Review July 2024:
As it's Xmas in July I was in a holiday reading mood so i skipped ahead a couple of entries and read The Savage Son, the sixth entry in Frank W Butterfield's Nick Williams Mystery series. I want to start by saying as it was when I read #14 The Pitiful Player for my Oscar reads I wasn't lost but I could tell a few things that happened in entries #4 & #5 were still very fresh in Nick and Carter's minds but because of both inner and outer convos I knew enough info for context and yet not enough was retold to spoil going back(which I will over the next few weeks).
Now that I mentioned that, on to The Savage Son.
Carter wants Christmas and all the trimmings, the very things he's went without since meeting Nick as he knew Nick wasn't a fan but this year he wanted it. With some moments of secrecy not often displayed between the couple, Carter gets his Xmas but will it change Nick's thoughts on the holiday? Well I think you all know my answer to that: you have to read to find out😉.
The mystery is so brilliantly weaved throughout with many possible outcomes that before I knew it, the book was over and I was kicking myself for not slowing my pace to make the enjoyment linger. To me that feeling says it all and the epitome of reading greatness. Ivan has gone missing and his parents come to Nick to find him. Sounds simple, sounds straightforward but as we all know in the land of fiction, missing is rarely simple and even rarer to stay at just a missing person. So many twists and turns kept me guessing till nearly the reveal.
Now besides the "main" mystery, there is another unanswered scenario that Nick and Carter find before them. Nick's not-so-favored father, Dr. Parnell Williams, summoning both(and the inclusion of Carter adds even more ??? to the equation) men to his home on Christmas Day at Noon. I can't lie, having read the N&C Holiday short story series I maybe should have picked up on this sooner but I didn't and it knocked me sideways for a moment or two before smacking my head and saying "how did I miss that?".
I don't want to give too much away so I'll end it here but The Savage Son is a brilliant mystery, wonderful established couple romance, with friendships-turned-found-family at every corner, and it somehow manages to embody everything a Christmas tale should: heart. Savage Son may not fit the Hallmark-style holiday fare but it's definitely a delicious holiday treat.
A Happy Holiday #17
Original Review December 2024:
I'll admit once again to jumping around to read entries that fit the holiday currently going on and in doing so I know there are something factors I'm a little unawares about, so there might be a few holes here and there info tidbit-wise that need to be filled, for which I'm truly looking forward to but at the same time I wasn't lost. The main reason I wasn't lost? Nick and Carter stories having mystery and ongoing scenarios but the meat and potatoes of their world is the chemistry and love between them and the ever growing found family they have around them.
A Happy Holiday finds them trying to have possibly one last holiday with family and friends before being exiled in Paris. As par for the course, things don't exactly go as planned but that doesn't mean the holiday cheer is ruined just downsized a bit. That's about the extent plot-wise you'll get out of me but just know Holiday will suck you in until you reach that final page.
When you jump into Nick Williams and Carter Jones' world you never know what you're going to get: pure mystery, pure romance, friendship, family, drama, blend of some, blend of all, holidays, every day, but one thing that is guaranteed: you will always be entertained and taken on an amazing journey.
RATING:
The Savage Son #6
Chapter 1
Offices of Consolidated Security
777 Bush Street, 3rd Floor
San Francisco, Cal.
Tuesday, December 15, 1953
Just before 10 in the morning
I sat at my desk and stared off into space. The day was chilly, and I was glad I hadn't taken off my coat when I walked into the office. I tried to read the letters on my desk, but nothing was getting through.
Carter Jones, my tall, muscled, ex-fireman of a husband was mad at me. We'd had a fight the night before, and I ended up sleeping in the front bedroom. I wanted to invite his mother to town for Christmas, and he didn't. Somehow, in the heat of it all, the argument became a repeat of a standing disagreement we had about my father. I was still simmering. And I was hurt. And I didn't like sleeping alone.
Over breakfast, we were cool. He kissed me once we were in the car. But we were quiet on the drive to the office. He dropped me off and Carlo Martinelli, one of our co-workers, got in and the two of them headed north across the Golden Gate Bridge to the small town of Novato.
They were going up there to meet a deputy sheriff and to look over the remains of a suspicious house fire. Consolidated Security, the company we'd founded back in the summer, offered help to local towns and villages with investigations, including arson. Carter and Martinelli had been firemen together in San Francisco at Station 3 before they'd been fired in May for associating with a known homosexual, myself to be precise.
I was still in reverie when I heard Marnie, the best secretary a guy ever had, knock on my office door.
"Nick!"
"What, doll?"
"Where are you?"
"I'm just thinking. What's up?"
"Don't forget you got a 10 o'clock today."
I nodded. "Right. Thanks for the reminder. You got any coffee for me?"
"Sure." She walked over to the side of the front office. I could hear her as she poured the coffee from the percolator and stirred in a couple of sugar cubes.
She walked through the office door, handed over the cup, and stood there looking at me.
"What?"
"You gonna tell me what's really goin' on?"
I took a sip of my coffee, stalling for time. Right then, the front door opened.
Marnie gave me the eye, turned, and walked over to greet the visitor. I heard a few murmurs and then watched as a middle-aged man, about 5'9" tall with gray hair, light blue eyes, and a strong jawline, walked into my office. He was dressed in an everyday suit of clothes that had seen better days but was neat and pressed.
I stood up. "Mr. Kopek?"
The man nodded, hat in hand. "Yes." He didn't look like he wanted to shake, so I didn't offer.
"I'm Nick Williams. Have a seat."
"Thank you."
His speech was clipped, and his accent sounded German or maybe from someplace east of Germany. As he sat down, he took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. Instead of putting it back in his pocket, he held it in his hand as if he was expecting to need it again.
"So, how can I help you?"
"It's my son."
I nodded. I preferred to ask as few questions as possible and let the client do all the talking.
"He's missing."
I waited.
"And I want you to find him for me." He paused. "Please." His voice was quiet but desperate.
"Have you notified the police?"
"No! No police!"
"Why not?"
"Well, you see—" He stopped and looked around. "He, my son, he is like you. And, I don't want the police to be involved. I don't want him to go to jail."
I nodded. "When you say he's like me, do you mean that he's a homosexual?"
The man wiped his face again. "Yes."
"Can you describe your son?" I pulled out a pad and a pencil.
"He's a good boy, Mr. Williams."
I smiled. "I'm sure he is. But, what does he look like?"
"Oh, yes. Well, he is six feet tall and he weighs one hundred and eighty pounds. More or less. Probably more now. He is, how do you call it?" He thought for a moment. "He is a weight builder?"
"He lifts weights?"
"Yes, that is it. He lifts weights."
"How old is he?"
"He is 23 a week ago." The man's face clouded over.
I waited for about half a minute while Mr. Kopek tried not to cry. I pulled out a package of Camels and offered one to the man. He took it.
"Thank you." He reached into his coat, pulled out a box of matches, and lit his own cigarette. I did the same with my old beat-up Zippo.
After we'd both taken a deep drag, he said, "My son disappeared the day of his birthday. He had been with me at the store in the early morning, helping me with the plumbing and, when we finished, he said he was going to meet his friend." The man paused. "I think it is his special friend."
I nodded and waited.
"When he did not come home the next day, my wife and me, we did not know what to think. We waited until the noon and then we decided to go visit his other friend, the special friend from before, that we knew where he worked. But he did not know anything." Mr. Kopek shook his head slowly as he took another drag on his cigarette.
I asked, "And you haven't heard anything since?"
"No. Nothing."
"What is the name of the friend you went to see?"
"He is Randy Robbins. He works at Ernie's. Do you know it? Very expensive."
I nodded. Carter had taken me to Ernie's the night before Halloween. It had been a wonderful evening, full of champagne and laughter. Or, at least that's the little I could remember. It was all a blur. A very pleasant blur.
Snapping back to the present, I asked, "And, do you know the name of his friend, the one he was going to meet?"
"No. My wife, she thinks this is so, but I do not know the name."
"Where does your son work?"
"He drives a truck. For the newspaper."
"Which one?"
"The Call-Bulletin."
"Is he in the Teamsters?"
"Yes!" Mr. Kopek smiled with pride.
"What does his face look like?"
"He has yellow hair."
"Blond?"
"Yes, blond. His eyes are green, like his mother."
"Any scars?"
"Yes, one." He pointed. "On his chin."
"Is it small or large?"
"It is small. When we left Czechoslovakia, he was five years old. The day we left, he tripped and fell on the stones on the street."
"Are you Czechoslovakian?"
"No. There is no such thing. There are Czechs, and there are Slovaks. And then there are Poles. And that is what Kopek is: Polish. We are from Silesia, the Polish part of Czechoslovakia."
"And you left before the Germans took over?"
"Yes. We knew it was coming. We came to New York in 1935. And then, my cousin, he lived here, and he invited us to San Francisco."
I nodded. "Where do you and your wife live?"
"We are at 335 Turk Street. Apartment 5-R."
I wrote down the address and kept a straight face. That was one of the apartment buildings I happened to own.
"How did you find out about Consolidated Security?"
Mr. Kopek shrugged. "I... well... my wife. She knew about you from Ivan."
"And Ivan is your son?"
"Yes. But his friends call him Ike. Like the President." Mr. Kopek smiled broadly.
"How did your son know about us?"
"He has all the, how do you say?" He paused for a moment. Using his hands to demonstrate, he said, "He takes the scissors, and he cuts the newspaper."
"He collects clippings from the paper?"
Mr. Kopek nodded. "Yes, that is it. He has the clippings in a book. The famous and wealthy Nicholas Williams. He has many clippings of you and—" He looked away and wiped his face again with his handkerchief. "You and the other one."
"Carter Jones?"
"Yes. Mr. Jones."
I nodded. That made me think of something. "When your son is lifting weights, does he do that at home?"
Mr. Kopek shook his head. "Oh, no, Mr. Williams. He goes to the gymnasium." His pronunciation of the word was odd. He did something strange with the letter "g" when he said it.
"What is the name of it?"
Mr. Kopek shrugged. "This, I do not know."
I asked, "What is your phone number?"
"It is Prospect 5612."
"You mentioned a store. What do you do, Mr. Kopek?"
"Oh, I own the grocery at the corner of Turk and Leavenworth. Maybe you know it? It is the Maryland Market."
I shook my head. "Sorry." I leaned back in my chair and asked, "How about if I come by this evening when you and your wife are at home?"
Mr. Kopek looked surprised. "Yes. Of course. But, why?"
"I'd like to have a look at your son's bedroom. That might help me discover where he's gone."
"Yes. That is fine. You come at 8. We will prepare you a nice dinner."
I smiled. "That would be nice. I'll probably bring along a friend."
"Your special friend?"
"No. A work friend. By the name of Andy Anderson."
"Oh, yes." He wiped his face again. "How much this cost?"
"Can you pay me a hundred today?"
His eyes opened wide. "One hundred? That is all?" It was a token amount. Truth be told, I didn't need the money. We would find the man's son and I'd tell Marnie to skip sending the bill.
"Well, let's start there and see how it goes."
He nodded, looking very relieved. "Yes. Good. I give you one hundred." He reached into his pocket, took out a folder-over hundred-dollar bill, and handed it to me across the desk. I put it down on the blotter and called out, "Marnie?"
"Yeah, Nick?"
"Can you make out a receipt for Mr. Kopek? He's paying a hundred."
"Sure." She walked into the office. "Mr. Kopek?"
He stood up and nodded.
"Come in here with me, and I'll make you out a receipt."
I stood. He looked at me and asked, "Tonight at 8, yes?"
I nodded and smiled. "Yes. Thank you for coming in, Mr. Kopek."
He smiled briefly. "Thank you, Mr. Williams." Once again, he didn't offer his hand, and I followed suit.
A Happy Holiday #17
1198 Sacramento Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Monday, December 19, 1955
Half past 4 in the morning
"Do you have everything?"
I looked up at Carter from my side of the bed. I was leaning over and lacing my boots. "Gustav took care of it all. The trunk is down in the car."
Carter, my tall, muscled, ex-fireman of a husband was looking around the bedroom. "How cold do you think it will get?"
"I have no idea." I sat up and looked over at him. He was obviously nervous about something. It might have been about spending the next eight days cooped up in the middle of Nowhere, Vermont for a big family Christmas. Or it might have been about leaving our home on Nob Hill in San Francisco for the unforeseeable future. Or it might have been something as simple as the fact that he was worried about how cold it could be in a place as foreign to us both as Vermont. It might have even been all three.
While I was thinking about that he caught me watching him, so I grinned at him and said, "Carter Woodrow Wilson Jones, if you don't know what else to do, you could lace up these boots for me. I should have broken them in. The leather is stiff."
He nodded and knelt down in front of me. He yanked on the laces of the boot on my left foot. As he did, I could feel that odd sort of comfort which came from having my ankle and calf held tightly in place.
Over the previous week, we had spent a fair amount of time preparing for eight days in Vermont. We'd been buying clothes of all sorts that we didn't usually need in San Francisco: bulky sweaters, thick socks, heavy boots, mufflers, gloves, and warm overcoats. We'd finally decided to buy a couple of sets of flannel pajamas for sleeping in, along with robes to cover up with. Usually we slept in our BVDs or nothing. But with company coming and going, we thought it would be better to be covered up than not.
Somehow, Gustav had got everything packed into a single trunk. The night before, he and Carter had hauled it down to the Roadmaster in the garage so we would be ready to leave the house in time to be in the air by half past 5.
I owned a house in Vermont that I'd inherited from my mother. We'd only been there one time, and that was the previous March when I'd finally discovered that my mother didn't die in '29 as my father and I had long thought. After finding a cache of unopened letters that my mother, Alexandra, had written in the 30s, I had brought in some of our employees at Consolidated Security, our private investigation firm, to start digging into the past. What they found was that Zelda, the housekeeper my mother had hired in the late 20s, had been slowly poisoning her with arsenic. After a doctor mistakenly diagnosed her stomach problems as cancer, she had left by ship for Mexico to die overlooking the ocean. However, we discovered she had lived eighteen more years, including six in an old farmhouse in Grafton, Vermont, a small town in the south central part of the state.
While living there, my mother had met and fallen in love with the local deputy sheriff, a man by the name of Ed Richardson. Once we'd met Ed, the older man had embraced the two of us as if we were his own sons. I thought of Ed as my stepfather, even though the man had never married my mother.
In the previous July, and after knowing each other for only four months, Ed and Carter's mother, Louise, had announced their engagement. And, in October, the two had married at our house in San Francisco.
Just before the wedding, Ed had asked about the family spending Christmas in Grafton. My father and Lettie, my stepmother, had enthusiastically embraced the idea. Several other family members had been invited. My mother's house only had two bedrooms. All of the needed accommodations in Grafton had been arranged by Ed. And, last I'd heard, everyone finally had a place to sleep. The big gatherings, of course, would be at my mother's house.
So, on that third Monday in December, we were all getting up early in order to fly to Boston. There we would meet Ed's oldest son, Kenneth and his wife, Michelle. Ed's youngest son, Robert, was still not happy with his father's marriage and plainly didn't like Carter and me, so he was staying by himself at the small apartment he'd recently rented in Cambridge, just outside of Boston.
Carter took me by the hand. "You ready?"
I swallowed and nodded. I put my hand on the post of the big bed my grandfather had carved after the '06 earthquake and fire. I felt its solidity and, not for the first time, was grateful to my grandfather and the carpenters who built it. Thanks to them, it was solid enough to let Carter and me play around as much as we wanted without any fear that it would collapse.
I looked around the room, taking in the fireplace, the big Chesterfield, and glancing up at the hand-carved wood ceiling. I wondered if we would ever see any of them again.
Carter put his hand on my neck. He gently pushed me towards and through the bedroom door. As we moved down the hallway, I stopped next to the door to my childhood bedroom. It was ajar and, after switching on the light, I walked in. My eyes were immediately drawn to the table Carter had set up a few days earlier. I walked over and squatted down on my haunches to get a better look.
The table was covered with a set of wooden Prussian soldiers my father had once brought me from Germany. They were each six inches tall. The set came from an antiques store in Berlin. My father had bought the set in '32 while on a work trip.
I looked at the captain, handsome in his uniform, and gave him a mock salute. "You're in charge of the house now."
Carter walked over and squatted next to me. "They're so lifelike."
I sighed. "Yeah. That colonel from the Presidio told me that the officers are based on real people who fought during the Napoleonic wars."
Carter picked up one of the lieutenants and closely examined the carved face. "He's my favorite."
I smiled and said, "Better watch out, Chief. That other lieutenant is his lover."
Carter gingerly put the soldier back and, in a very serious voice, said, "My apologies, Lieutenant."
"Coffee, Mr. Nick?" That was Mrs. Kopek, our housekeeper. She and Mrs. Strakova, our cook, were both waiting for us in the kitchen. They were both bundled up in thick wool robes against the morning chill.
I nodded as she poured a cup and added two sugar cubes. After stirring slowly, she handed me the cup and asked, "When do you return from France?" I took a sip and shrugged. "We don't know."
"I am glad you leaving. No good for you be in jail like my Ivan was." That was her son. We called him Ike. He'd just been released from Soledad State Prison down south of Salinas after doing time for distribution of pornography.
I nodded in agreement. "But you'll come visit us, won't you?"
She wiped the counter with a towel and quietly replied, "Yes."
The way she answered made me realize she had no interest in going back to Europe. She was from Czechoslovakia and had left back in the 30s, before Germany annexed the country. Except for her accent, she was as American as anyone I knew.
I looked over at Mrs. Strakova, who was yawning while packing up a huge hamper of food for us. "What about you, Mrs. Strakova?" She shook her head. "I cannot go back to Paris. Too many bad memories."
I sighed and took a sip of my coffee.
"Was everyone up and waiting to see you off?" That was John Parker, Carter's cousin. We'd stopped at his apartment to pick up him and Roger Johnson, his lover, on the way to the airport.
Carter turned around in his seat and replied, "No. Only Mrs. Kopek and Mrs. Strakova were up. That's where the hamper came from."
In the big backseat, John sat on one side of the hamper while Roger sat on the other. We were only three blocks down Van Ness and he was already zonked out and leaning against the window.
Carter continued, "Last night, we told Gustav and Ferdinand to sleep in, along with Nora and Ida. We'll see them next week in Boston."
John sighed. "I still can't believe you're leaving. And I'm amazed that no one has said anything. Every morning, I open up the Examiner and expect to read something about Notorious Nick leaving the country. So far, so good."
In the rear-view mirror, I could see Roger stretch out his arms. He yawned and said, "So they all agreed to go?"
Carter nodded. "Yep. And, to be honest, I'm glad. Ferdinand's aunt lives in Paris."
John asked, "But I thought that lawyer kid was going with you too? He and his boyfriend. Isn't the boyfriend a frog?"
I laughed. "Jake is the lawyer. Did you ever meet Antoine?"
John shook his head and looked at me in the rear-view mirror. "No, why?"
Carter said, "He's my height and not quite as broad, but he's solid. More than you are. I've spent some time at the gym with him."
John grinned. "So, you're sayin' I should mind my Ps and Qs when Roger and I come visit you in April?"
Carter nodded. "Yeah. That would be smart. He's hard to read at first, but he's a real sweetheart. He's very good to Jake."
Roger asked, "How do they feel about going back so soon? Didn't they just get here? Didn't it take a long time for the boyfriend to get a visa?"
I replied, "I think they were relieved, to be honest. I was raised to believe that San Francisco is the center of the world, but it's nothing like Paris."
No one disagreed.
We were flying to Boston on our Lockheed Super Constellation, dubbed The Laconic Lumberjack. The front of the main cabin held twelve oversized seats. Leather benches lined both sides of the cabin just behind. Small tables bolted to the floor in front of the benches provided space to eat or work. A full galley sat in the center of the plane. In the rear of the ship were two smaller cabins, one with a set of Pullman-style lower and upper sleeping berths, the other with a full-sized bed and large bathroom, including a shower.
When we'd arrived at the small private terminal at the south end of the international airport, we'd found my father and Lettie already on board along with Carter's Aunt Velma, Marnie, and Alex.
Marnie was my secretary, the best a guy could ever have, as well as being my stepsister, Lettie being her mother. Marnie and Alex had been married for a year or so. I knew him from prep school and, now that we were all older, he was turning out to be a really good guy and a great husband to Marnie.
Once we were in the air, our pilot, Captain John Morris, emerged from the cockpit and walked up to me. Carter and I were sitting in the front row. He knelt down next to me and asked, "If you'd like, I can go over our flight path with everyone."
I nodded. "Sounds good."
He stood. "I'll get Christine"—she was our stewardess and his wife—"to gather everyone together in about thirty minutes. How do you like that big table in the back that Robert had put in?" Robert Evans managed all of my properties, including the airplanes. Since we were leaving the country, I'd handed that part of my business over to him. His first decision had been to install a big work table behind the galley. It was similar to the one in our—now his—smaller Constellation. There were five planes in the stable I'd handed over to Robert, including a Comet jet that was sitting in Ireland, being updated and retrofitted.
I smiled. "Looks good."
He nodded and stood. "I'll ask Christine to get everyone back there."
As we all gathered around the table, sipping coffee in the light of the pre-dawn twilight, Captain Morris rolled out a big map. He pointed to where we were right then, approaching Las Vegas from the northwest, and said, "There's a big storm over Wyoming, Colorado, and northern New Mexico,"—using his finger, he drew a big line through those states—"so we're headed down towards El Paso. We have to scoot around some of the Air Force bases in the area, so we'll fly parallel to the Mexico border from around Tucson until we pass over El Paso. From there, we'll angle north." He stopped and drew a line to Dallas. "Once we're there, we'll head towards a line that's a hundred miles south of St. Louis and then turn due east towards Cincinnati. We want to avoid the Great Lakes where they're socked in from Cleveland to Buffalo. After Cincinnati, we head towards Philadelphia. Then we turn northeast, flying over New York. We should land in Boston at around half past 6 in the evening, local time."
I said, "Thank you, Captain. It's always—"
Right then, I heard a strange metallic sound from the port side wing. Captain Morris quickly made his way over to the window just past the galley and looked out for a moment. Without saying anything, he ran forward to the cockpit.
Always calm, Christine said, "Let's all get seated quickly and fasten seat belts."
Following her instructions, we did just that. As soon as we were buckled in, the captain made an announcement over the loudspeaker.
"Sorry about that, folks. We had a misfire in the number two engine. But Captain Obregon just cycled her through and now she's back up and running. Let's stay seated for a few more minutes, just to be sure. I'll let you know when you can get back up again. Thanks."
Nick Williams Mystery Series
In 1953, the richest homosexual in San Francisco is a private investigator.
Nick Williams lives in a modest bungalow with his fireman husband, a sweet fellow from Georgia by the name of Carter Jones.
Nick's gem of a secretary, Marnie Wilson, is worried that Nick isn't working enough. She knits a lot.
Jeffrey Klein, Esquire, is Nick's friend and lawyer. He represents the guys and gals who get caught in police raids in the Tenderloin.
Lt. Mike Robertson is Nick's first love and best friend. He's a good guy who's one hell of a cop.
The Unexpected Heiress is where their stories begin. Read along and fall in love with the City where cable cars climb halfway to the stars.
Long before the Summer of Love, pride parades down Market Street, and the fight for marriage equality, San Francisco was all about the Red Scare, F.B.I. investigations, yellow journalism run amok, and the ladies who play mahjong over tea.
Nick & Carter Holiday Series
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!
This is a series of short stories with each centered around a specific holiday.
From New Year's Day to Boxing Day, each story stands on its own and might occur in any year from the early 1920s to the first decade of the 21st Century.
Saturday Series Spotlights
Frank W Butterfield
Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.
A Happy Holiday #17
Nick Williams Mystery Series
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Nick & Carter Holiday Series
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