Author Glen Ebisch's mystery suspense crime novel, Stormy Weather is a first-rate thriller. I found a solid story-line, well-written, with well-developed characters, and plot lines which will hold the readers interest.
- verasbookreviewsandstuff, Amazon Reviewer

This book has quite a bit of mystery of where you reveal each piece a layer at a time. You learn one thing about the victim from his co-workers and then you dig a little deeper and you learn something else.
- Seraphia, Amazon Reviewer

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Harriet Hughes, know around the station as Dirty Harry, shoved the microphone further toward my mouth as tough it were a giant cotton swab and she was reaching for a saliva sample. Not that she would have gotten much, nerves had already turned my mouth into the Sahara. In fact, as I stared across the yard, I began thinking that a trip to Timbuktu sounded pretty good right now. When the News on the Move truck has pulled up in front of my house a few minutes ago, I had expected that someone front the station had been following the police frequency and had come by to offer sympathy and support. Instead I had gotten Harry--vain, ambitious and thoroughly ruthless Harry.

“Did you know that Travis’ body was residing only ten feet from your kitchen?” Harry asked, nodding her head up and down as if that would encourage me to admit guilt.

“Of course not,” I replied hoarsely. I wasn’t even sure that dead bodies resided, It seemed to me that their residing days were over.

“Do you know who buried his body there?”

“No.”

“Do you know why someone would pick your property on which to do such a thing?”

I snapped. I reached out and gave the bulbous end of the microphone a sharp turn, imagining that I was twisting little Harry’s head right off her shoulders.

“Ouch,” Harry said, releasing the microphone into my hands.

I gave Sam, the cameraman, the cut sign. Although he had a crush on Harry that led him to obey her every whim, even he looked relieved to shut off the camera.

“C’mon, Victoria, this could be my big break,” Harry said in her shrill but now wheedling voice.

“Accusing me of murder is going to be your big break?”

“I’m not saying that you actually killed Travis. But you still might know who buried the body and be covering up for him or her.”

“You think I’d let a killer bury a murder victim practically on my front doorstep?”

“Maybe it was only temporary. You know, sure you can leave him there for a day or two, but he has to be gone by Friday. That sort of thing.”

“And I let him put the body right where my landlord is going to build a garage?”

“You probably forgot.”

She was right enough on that one. I remained silent.