Why Laurel Canyon?

 

For a music fanatic like me, Laurel Canyon is one of those holy places that defined the music of a generation. That generation happened to be before my time, but ever since I read John Densmore’s Riders On The Storm when I was sixteen years old, I’ve always felt like a connection to that time and place. When my world was full of big hair, Beastie Boys, and Sperry Topsiders, I wore long straight hair, and drove around town in my 1973 Volkswagen Super Beetle blaring The Doors and Led Zeppelin. I read histories of The Haight Ashbury neighborhood in San Francisco and novels by Ken Kesey, and fell in love with the musical Hair. I shouted about the injustice of not being old enough to be an extra in the film The Doors, which filmed scenes at my favorite concert venue…I always felt like I was out of time, a bit like my heroes Kal and Dane in my Carnival of Mysteries books, so perhaps writing these stories is my way of exploring what that would be like.

 

There have been several documentaries about the Laurel Canyon scene, and I finally got around to watching them in the past year. For those who aren’t geeks like I am about music history, this quirky neighborhood in the Hollywood hills was, at one time, home to stars like The Mamas and The Papas, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, members of The Monkees, The Doors, The Byrds, The Flying Burrito Brothers, The Eagles, Alice Cooper, Frank Zappa, and Joni Mitchell and many more. It’s not a big place, just a collection of unique mansions and bungalows up above the sprawling Los Angeles Metropolitan Area. It also contains within its territory the scene of the Manson Family murders of Sharon Tate, her unborn child and her friends, a thriving drug scene, and quarrels that tore apart some of these bands. I took a deep dive into all of the stories and the albums of the era and did a lot of wondering. What would it have been like to be a fly on the wall at Mama Cass’s house parties? What was Jim Morrison really like? What must the Beatles have thought when they came for a stay? The Rolling Stones spent time up there too, and Mick and Keith became pals with the phenomenal Gram Parsons, who was rumored to be one of the great musical minds of the time, and a member of the 27 club along with Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, who also spent time there. So much creative energy, so much self-destructive behavior.

 

I’d never been to Laurel Canyon before starting this book, though I’ve spent plenty of time on Sunset and Hollywood Boulevards, which run right below. It’s such a magical place, Hollywood. It’s dirty and gritty and at the same time, it has flashes of glamour. It’s an area bursting with history and mysteries both in film and music. If you’ve never been, I highly recommend going. Have a meal at The Rainbow Bar and Grill. Go to the Hollywood History museum. Catch a movie at the Chinese Theater (not sure who owns it now).

 

I finally got to drive through the canyon on my way down to San Diego for Love & Devotion in June and wow. It was so surreal my hair stood on end. I get it now. I wish I could have seen it back then. I stopped at the Lauren Canyon Store and took some pictures. I was even listening to Serj Tankian’s recent memoir, Down With The System and there was a pivotal moment in his life that took place on the very road I was driving at the time I was listening to that part (I highly recommend listening to the audio. It’s an incredible story of an Armenian man living apart from his homeland who became, simultaneously, a huge rock star and influential activist for peace.). During the writing of this book, I also listened to the memoir from Cass Elliot’s daughter Owen. So good. Highly recommend it. Powerful stuff, and it all swirled around in my head while I wrote You Can Save Me. Stay tuned for more posts, including my playlist for the book…

R.L. Merrill has a new MM paranormal romance in the Carnival of Mysteries series, the sequel to You Can Do Magic: You Can Save Me.

Sixties folk singer Dane Donovan vanished from a desolate highway rest area in 1979. Forty years later, he’s found hitchhiking in the California desert on a cold winter’s night. He hasn’t aged a day, but the roadmap of scars he wears tells a chilling tale.

Veteran detective Walter Muse took over the case twenty years ago, but his haunting connection to Dane Donovan goes back to a peculiar run-in as a child with The Troubadour and his Talking Board at a traveling carnival. He receives a late-night call with Dane’s whereabouts and races to Laurel Canyon to see for himself whether Dane is real — or a ghost. Walter’s carefully honed detective instincts are thrown out the window when his obsession with the case turns into an undeniable attraction to the mysterious singer.

Dane is on a mission to stop a new killer hell-bent on picking up where Dane’s kidnapper left off, and Walter is determined to protect him, no matter the personal and psychological cost. They’ll have to rely on new friends and trusted colleagues as well as the power of a mystical spirit board to stop the killing, and have a chance at a real future together.

Warnings: discussion of suicide, serial killer attempted murder

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On a dark desert highway somewhere in California, I walked alone on the dusty shoulder with a borrowed acoustic guitar strapped to my back and my sole possession tucked under my arm in a brown paper bag. I shivered as though evil was breathing down my neck, when in reality, I was the one in pursuit. The sky had a purplish hue with some storm clouds off to the north but directly above me, the stars flickered in a surreal dance.

I walked with purpose, and it was a very important one.

I’m the only one who can stop him.

I passed a sign that said Highway 58 to Mojave, and I pulled my salvaged coat tighter around my scrawny self. The ground was warm beneath my tattered boots, but the air bit into my skin like an icy monster gnashing its teeth, hungry.

I turned to look behind me and spotted headlights coming my way. It had been at least an hour since another car had passed. I stuck out my thumb, hoping they’d stop. The boots I wore were also borrowed, as were my clothes and hat. I chose them because they were the only ones in the carnival storage that were the right size and fit.

I had only one memory from before I’d started working with the traveling carnival, and it was awful enough to make your blood run cold.

The lights hurt my eyes, and my energy flagged, but I kept my thumb out. I had something important to do, and if this car didn’t slow down, I’d keep going until the next one came. Someone had to stop. How else did people get anywhere if not for thumb power?

The headlights grew nearer and were impossibly bright. I had to cover my eyes briefly as I was nearly blinded. I heard the crunch of gravel as the vehicle pulled over and coughed at the cloud of dust that rose. A door opened and a male voice called out.

“Hey, man. What are you doing out here?”<

The bright lights faded and only a set of yellow ones down low on the front of the…pickup truck were left on. It was a massive thing, jacked up high, with big tires and a shiny chrome grill.

What does it look like I’m doing? The large concrete sign with the strange name loomed in my consciousness, and though every cell in my body struggled against my purpose, I stood tall and called back, “Need a ride. To Buttonwillow.”

The truck door closed, and I saw the man’s shape pass in front of the dim lights. What was he doing getting out of his ride? I backed up a step, trying to play it cool. He wasn’t the person I was worried about.

Then the passenger door opened, and a much larger man got out.

“Ryan, don’t.”

There were two of them. I didn’t like my odds, but I had no choice. I had to get there. I had to stop…

“Forget it man, I’ll walk.”

“Wait, come back. You can’t walk that far. That’s, like, almost a hundred miles away.”

The driver came closer, but the big man stepped in between us. I reached for the guitar on my back. Maybe I could whack him with it and run away. I was pretty fast.

“Do you have any weapons?” Then the passenger barked an order at me. “Let me see under your jacket.”

“Come on, man. I just need a ride. I don’t have anything.”

The driver pushed past him. “Kal, it’s okay. Hey, kid, what’s your name?”

“Dee Dee.”

The driver held his hand out, and I shook it. “Dee Dee, I’m Ryan, and this is my husband, Kal. Damn,” he said, letting go of my hand and slapping his together, the loud crack making me jump. “I love saying that.” He turned and smiled at the large man, whose scowl seemed to lessen the slightest bit. “We just got married in Vegas.” He held up a hand and the light flashed off of his wedding band.

“Congratulations?” It came out like the question it was. How were they married? Two men? Guess they really do let anything happen in Las Vegas.

“Where’d you come from?” Kal asked, standing next to Ryan as if to protect him from me. Not sure I’d ever been seen as a threat to anyone, but I didn’t blame him for being cautious. Wish I’d had someone to look after me like that.

“Back that way. Was working at a carnival, and I needed to—”

Ryan put a hand on my chest and his eyes went wide. “Did you say carnival? Like, ‘Welcome, Traveler’ carnival?”

“How’d you know?” I tried to step back and my heel caught on a rock. I was about to go down, but Kal caught me—and then I was caught up in his gaze.

“I came from there, too,” Kal said.

And then I heard it. In my mind. Calliope music.

I’d never gone to see it. I hadn’t done much exploring. I’d only gone from my trailer to my booth and back for however long I’d been employed there. Didn’t seem long, but then, time did weird things at the carnival.

>“The Troubadour’s Talking Board,” Kal said. He gripped my arm a little tighter as he brought me back up to standing. “The booth in the arcade. I know you.”

“That’s right. That’s me. Well, it was. I left. Got something I gotta do.”

Ryan grabbed Kal’s arm. “The promise. Babe, we have to help him.”

Kal continued to stare down at me, and though he seemed good—the big man oozed honor from his pores—he was a scary guy. His hand could have wrapped around my bicep twice. Or my throat. He looked from Ryan to me, and then he let go of my arm.

“We shall help you along your path.”

Seemed like a strange way of saying “sure, we’ll give you a ride,” but I’d take it.

“Thank you.”

Ryan gestured to the truck. “Hop in.”

Kal remained at my side and when we reached the cab, he opened the front of two doors. I’d never seen a pickup with two sets of doors before. This thing was unreal.

“You ride up here,” Kal said, taking the guitar from me. “I’ll be right behind you. If you hurt my husband, I will hurt you.”

“God, Kal. That’s hot, but babe, don’t scare the kid. We promised we’d help him.”

“Promised who?” I asked as I climbed into the tall pickup. “And I’m not a kid.”

Kal shut my door after I sat, and then he climbed in. I turned my back to the door. I didn’t like having him behind me. Didn’t like anyone at my back, especially after what had happened to land me at the carnival in the first place.

“I think you know,” Kal said as Ryan started the pickup. “Ryan and I are married because someone else made a promise to help us on our path. Ryan made a promise to Mr. Ame. Now we will do the same for you.”

I’d known cats who lived together, maybe even called themselves husbands, but marriage couldn’t happen between homosexuals. This was all too much. It was like I’d left one odd place and wound up in another.

But what he said about promises put my purpose front and center in my mind.

I sighed and turned just a bit, still able to see Kal out of the corner of my eye as he sat in the middle of the backseat. He rested a hand on the seat behind Ryan’s shoulder, his fingers tangling in the man’s shoulder-length copper hair.

“Thank you for stopping,” I said before I let my eyes drift closed. I needed to rest. I would need my strength when we arrived.

“What’s in Buttonwillow?” I heard Kal ask Ryan.

“All I know about it is there’s a pair of rest stops on either side of the highway. Creepy-ass place. Every time I stop there, I’m sure a murderer is going to jump out of the bushes.”

You don’t know how right you are.

Whether she’s writing contemporary romance featuring quirky and relatable characters or diving deep into the paranormal and supernatural to give readers a shiver, R.L. Merrill loves creating compelling, diverse, and inclusive stories that will stay with readers long after. Winner of the Kathryn Hayes “When Sparks Fly” Best Contemporary award for Hurricane Reese, Paranormal Romance Guild’s Best Rockstar Romance for You Can Do Magic, and Daphne DuMaurier finalist for Connection, Ro spends every spare moment improving her writing craft and striving to find that perfect balance between real-life and happily ever after.

You can find her connecting with readers on social media, advocating for America’s youth, cruising around town with Great Dane Velma, cuddling with twin black cat familiars Frankenstein and Dracula, or headbanging at a rock show near her home in the San Francisco Bay Area! Stay Tuned for more…

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