Mac McKenzie is rich. So rich that he's left his job as a Twin Cities police officer and spends his time doing favors large and small for friends. So when an old Marine buddy of his father's calls with a request Mac takes the time to help him out. And it is one of the stranger favors he's ever been asked: the elderly Mr. Mosley, a beekeeper, wants Mac to find out why his bees are suddenly dying in droves. Mac does some digging and before long turns up a hornet's nest of trouble in the person of Frank Crosetti, a new neighbor on the property abutting Mosley's bees. What started out as an innocent investigation into some unregulated pesticide quickly turns lethal. Crosetti sticks around long enough to make some very specific threats, then disappears into the wind leaving behind a vicious rape, a lifeless body, and a very angry McKenzie bursting for someone to blame. With only the faintest of trails to follow and a suspicious group of federal agents gunning for him, Mac dives underground, taking only a stash of cash and a small arsenal with him on his undercover mission. Before long Mac's deep in the forgotten corners of Minneapolis sniffing for any sign of Crosetti, unable to rest until he gets results. Combining engaging humor and wit with action-packed storytelling, Edgar Winner David Housewright's second Mac McKenzie novel is clever, compelling, and thoroughly enjoyable. Housewright hits his stride in this second outing for good-hearted Minnesota tough guy Rushmore McKenzie. It all begins innocently enough when an old family friend hires Mac to look into who or what is killing his honeybees, but when a routine investigation leads to assault, rape, and murder, it's payback time. As the guilty parties seem to be enjoying federal protection, Mac drops off the radar and winds up in a trailer park, where lives a lovely lass. The smooth, straightforward action comes off without a hitch, lightly seasoned with a dash of introspection from a wry, self-assured hero who is a true pal to those in need and who charms ladies and librarians alike. For those who can accept Mac's advice, "Best not to think too much about it . . . just sit back and see what happens next," this series may be seriously habit-forming. It's also a welcome selection for libraries where Robert Parker is popular, which is to say everywhere. David Wright Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved "[E]ntertaining second noirish mystery…Channeling Raymond Chandler with tongue-in-cheek humor, Housewright delivers plenty of action, a pinch of romance and more than a few surprises." -- Publishers Weekly "[E]ntertaining second noirish mystery…Channeling Raymond Chandler with tongue-in-cheek humor, Housewright delivers plenty of action, a pinch of romance and more than a few surprises." --Publishers Weekly ( Publishers Weekly ) David Housewright has worked as a journalist covering both crime and sports (sometimes simultaneously), an advertising copywriter and creative director, and a writing instructor. He won the Edgar Award for his first novel, Penance, in 1996, and the Minnesota Book Award for his second, Practice to Deceive, in 1998. He lives in St. Paul, Minnesota. Tin City 1The old man held three dead honeybees in the palm of his caramel-colored hand."Here," he said."What?""Take 'em."I took a step backward. "What do you mean?""Take 'em."I kept retreating until I was hard against the kitchen counter."What's the matter with you?" he wanted to know."They're bees.""They're dead.""So?""They can't hurt you.""Who says?""You big baby." He dumped the bees on top of the kitchen table andsat down. "Honest to God, McKenzie--a grown man afraid of harmless honeybees." He shook his head like he felt sorry for me.It disturbed me that Mr. Mosley would question my manhood. But twenty-five years ago I had been stung no less than sixteen times by "harmless" honeybees in his own backyard, and the incident had stayed with me. Once I even abandoned my Jeep Cherokee along I-94 because two wasps had flown through the open window. When I explained it to the state trooper who was going to cite me for illegally stopping on a freeway, he put his ticket book away. He understood, even if my own father had not. But then my dad was a big believer in the Nietzschean philosophy--"That which does not kill me makes me stronger"--though I doubt he knew who Nietzsche was. Mr. Mosley was the same way. He and Dad had fought together with the First Marines at Chosin Reservoir. They weren't afraid of anything. Not even God."You gonna sit down or what?" Mr. Mosley asked.I sat in a chair on the other side of the table and as far away from the bee carcasses as possible. The tall black man ran his fingers through the fringe of silver hair just above his ear while he stared at me. The hair seemed thinner--and so did he--than the last time I had visited him, and it gave me a small jolt. My dad had died two years earlier, and he and Mr. Mosley were the same age."I need