An Austin private eye finds that his Native-American heritage just rubs some people the wrong way.
Hardly anyone knows that the last name the tribal elders gave the half-breed foundling was “Treegrow.” So pretty much everyone calls the grown-up Travis just plain “Trav,” except the reporter who coined the nickname “Blue-Eyed Indian.” Country music up-and-comer Johnny Gringo, for instance, calls him Trav when he asks him to investigate singer Trish Mirandez’s murder at the Kasperville Folk Festival. Kasperville sheriff’s deputy Alvin Turnbull has some other names for Travis, which he uses right before beating the detective to a pulp. Now suspended, Alvin has a grudge that makes him follow Travis back to Austin, where Gringo and some of his music pals want him to stop Bent Lenny Coggins from dealing them out of their royalties. Where there’s Lenny, there’s the kind of skinhead militia type that Travis hates to tangle with. Meanwhile, the attempted murders of two other prominent women make him wonder whether the Mirandez case may be going serial. Travis gets pulled between the two cases, partly because state senator Max Bolens wants him to look into his daughter’s militia ties, partly because skinhead Alvin won’t play nice. Oh, and there’s also comely deputy Cassie Winnick, who puts settling Alvin’s hash just a notch above warming Travis’s sheets.
Hall (Goodbye, She Lied, 2007) raises some plotting issues, but nothing his redoubtable sleuth can’t handle.