A professor’s beautiful wife is dying a slow and miserable death. A brazen cat burglar is terrorizing a small university town. An auto executive’s sailboat disappears mysteriously on Lake Huron. A chemistry student will stop at absolutely nothing to secure her passing grade.

When supermodel Lila Docker becomes an unwitting victim, the affable Steven Burr rallies his unlikely cadre of acquaintances to connect the dots and to bring the criminals to justice, with potentially disastrous results.

REVIEW

“No matter what subject matter Nuetzel explores, his style is easy to read, highly visual and entertaining. You won’t be disappointed.”

Reviewed by: Mac Macoy, Ghostwriter

EXCERPT

He turned to sip his now rank styrofoam cup of coffee as he surveyed the ocean of nubile loveliness on proud display before him. These girls had been hand picked from over seventy detailed applications, photos, resumes and, oh yeah, they had to have at least seen a picture, well, maybe even a drawing of a sailboat once to qualify for his crew. “We’ll all be back on deck the morning of the second day at NOAA weather buoy number 45003, It’s our only mean course change and the final turn to the finish line at Mackinaw Island. She’s forty three miles northwest of Alpena set in 460 feet of water. It’ll be about forty five degrees out there with winds from the south west at around eight miles per hour so we’ll be tacking our butts off until the finish.”

“Captain ‘W,’ what about the girls on the main sheets?” It was a chesty little munchkin from Sandusky. Wallace noted that she did a delightful chair squirm as she locked his eyes.

“Good question (keep asking!) The girls on the mains need to be tightly tuned to the helmswoman. They will be the two of you largest in stature because of the strength and stamina required on the winches. We can’t stray or be tacked off wind. It’s gotta be tight and true because every second counts. Our time to beat is thirty seven hours, fifty five minutes and forty two seconds after the gun goes off in Port Huron, that’s the record and I want us on the line heading north, northeast when we hear it. Not behind, not ahead, but on the line and don’t forget this, cross that line when you see the puff, not when you hear the gun shot. Sound travels slow so the boats near the starter would otherwise have the advantage. Hey, who knows what luff means?”

Wallace was experiencing his annual malaise, that of being forced to differentiate demonstrated sailing prowess as separate from raw sexual attraction. Though a little short of breath, he bucked up as he brushed back his hair with his hand.

“A loose hauled mainsail will luff at the downhaul and you gotta sheet in just to the point of filling it for maximum efficiency,” piped a girl named Marcy from the University of Missouri who looked pretty darn good in her Stax Recording Studio Memphis T-shirt.

“See me here at three o’clock. Well ladies, that’s ten finalists, We’ll narrow it down to six this afternoon. I’m handing out a list of other crew opportunities for the race if you want to stay in town and interview. You’ve been a great bunch and please be sure to come back next year. There’s lunch in the chart room.” The group rose in unison and they all stretched vigorously.

Steve’s wrench clattered across the gray concrete floor. Lila gave him the look and shot her hip out.

“What?” he asked her, eyes wide and palms up.

“Last I knew we were working on your car. We were certainly not wishing you were on an airport bus.” Lila knew this guy well enough to know where and when to poke him and she did it well and often. She admired his almost noble appreciation and hearty respect for femininity and womanhood.