murder mystery book, Chill Run, Eddie Barrow, books by Russell Brooks, authors similar to Eric Jerome Dickie

Eddie Barrow 1

Chill Run

How do you know a publicity stunt has backfired? When someone dies.

Framed for murder after a harebrained publicity stunt backfires, fledgling author, Eddie Barrow, seeks the help from two unlikely friends—an alcoholic and a dominatrix—to expose a billion-dollar investment scam before the real killers hunt them down.​


North Hatley, Quebec

Eddie Barrow, Jr. didn’t remember feeling the bullet tear into his shoulder. From where he lay on the hardwood floor, the ceiling spun in and out of focus. God, I can’t even lift my arms and legs, let alone move my wrists. The bullet may have been small, but he felt that it had blown a hole in him the size of a golf ball. Now a chunk of his shoulder was gone. It was surely splattered on the wall somewhere, oozing towards the floor and leaving a trail of blood and tissue.

Eddie could barely open his eyes, but he heard several voices all at once. It wasn’t too long after, that he felt himself lifted onto a slightly softer surface and tied down. The frost gnashed into his cheeks and chin as he felt a wintery wind-chill seconds after being wheeled outside. He caught glimpses of men and women in burgundy jackets, shouting orders and calling out words in French that he barely caught. Eddie soon felt himself being jerked upwards and hoisted into the belly of the ambulance, the doors slammed shut.

The warm air inside was a welcome relief as it chased away the chill on his face. This was followed by the jarring, unpleasant screaming of the siren. Although he was strapped in, he still rocked from side to side as the ambulance raced off.

Through partially opened eyes, he saw one of the burgundy jackets—a woman in her forties—staring down at him.

“Ca va?” You’re doing all right? But Eddie was too weak and drowsy to answer. He guessed that’s what morphine did to a person. “Soyez fort, mon grand. On est presque là.” Be strong, buddy. We’re almost there. He felt the patting on his forearm from the paramedic, which gave him some comfort.

It was only supposed to be a stupid and harmless publicity stunt. No one was supposed to die. How was he supposed to know that he’d be involved in the biggest investment-fraud scandal in Canadian history? As of now three people were dead and his best friend had been shot. He’d dreamed of making it big in the world with his first novel. For now, he’d settle to live long enough to see tomorrow’s sunrise.

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