Title: The Devil’s Garden

Author: Jack Bumgardner

Publisher: NineStar Press

Cover Artist: Mandy Porto

Release Date: 10/21/2025

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: NB/NB

Length: 366

Genre: Contemporary, Crime, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, poetry, small town, law enforcement, mental illness, prison, fugitives, road trip

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Description

Otho Linker is a gay man living in a small Southern town. Long abandoned by his family, he refused to leave the area and subsequently became a police officer. His neighbor, Wheeler Yost, is an older gay man who has watched over Otho for years, serving as a father figure and mentor. To Otho, Wheeler is the family he always needed, and he loves him unconditionally.

When an abandoned house in the woods suddenly explodes, Otho is called in to assist the two detectives on the force. This appears to be just another meth-head disaster until a body is found incinerated inside. As Otho investigates the case, he quickly identifies at least one suspect who could have been involved.

As he learns more about the suspect, Russell Snell, he also realizes he has feelings for the man. Then, in the midst of the ongoing chaos of the investigation, Wheeler passes away, leaving Otho totally alone. With nothing to lose, he decides to go on the lam with Russell, despite the doubts he still harbors about Russell’s involvement in the child’s death. Will he find love, or will he find heartache? Only time will tell.

The Devil’s Garden
Jack Bumgardner © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Scrambling for his car, Otho fell into his seat, then pounded the gas pedal to catch up. He debated about whether to turn his siren on, but Sidey was only using his gumball machine so he turned on his lights and tried to keep up with them.

Both cars raced through the town, not really attracting much attention since there was never much traffic and most shops were closing up anyway. Otho checked his rearview mirror to make sure no one was behind him. He certainly didn’t want some rubberneckers following them.

They reached the outskirts where most of the “new” residents and some of the less-lucky older citizens resided. Roped with gravel roads and dead-grass fields, the county part of town was nothing but acres of woodland no one had cared to develop. So, it was prime real estate for those with secondhand trailers, which were rectangular boxes of filth, and clapboard houses that should have been abandoned years before.

Suddenly, they were at Old Major’s Road. Sidey swerved onto the side of the road, gravel spewing onto Otho’s windshield, tire tracks tunneling through the red clay. He jumped out of the car with Ladonna close behind him. Otho clapped his hand on his gun as he swung open his door and ran up to them.

The three of them rushed down the road, ignoring the old ladies sitting in kitchen chairs in their yards and children screaming at them as they passed. Sidey seemed possessed, like a bloodhound on a trail as he tore into the woods at the end of the road and Ladonna struggled to keep up with him.

“I don’t see anyone,” Otho said between gasps.

“Don’t matter. Sidey did. He’s got what I call ‘Perp-Vision.’ But I think I see him too,” Ladonna said as she continued to run, slowly drawing her gun from its holster.

“What’s the ID on this guy?”

“White. Thin. Dark hair,” Ladonna said as she stopped at the entrance to the woods and motioned for him to come up beside her. “Keep up, goddammit. Sidey’s going to give us a run for our money.” She stood like a sentinel and pivoted around, peering into the forest. “Do you see the perp?” she said to Otho, who shook his head. She opened her mouth as if to holler to Sidey but seemed to think better of it and crept into the woods with Otho following.

Sidey was not too far ahead of them. The big guy had planted his hefty legs onto the leaf-covered ground and stood with his hands on his hips. His face gleamed with sweat, his shirt drenched, sticking to him in ragtag places. Huffing well-deserved breaths, he motioned for Ladonna and Otho to come up to him.

“Saw him run just ahead, toward that crest,” he whispered, pointing to a break in the woods where a slight upslope led to an open field. “We’d better split up. He could be anywhere in here.”

“These woods look pretty deep,” Otho whispered back.

“Nope. They’re as shallow as a donkey’s ass. I grew up near them, played in them as a kid. Ladonna, take the south end. There’s a creek down that way, but you can run through it. I’ll go up here toward the field. He probably darted across, heading toward the trailer park on the other side.”

“And me?” Otho said, irritated at Sidey but still buzzing with excitement at actually doing some real police work.

“Go north. There’s clusters of trees and shit up there he can hide in.”

They all ran off in their separate directions. Otho kept his gun out in front of him but also tried to scan the ground for any footprints in the muddy soil. Then he’d look up to try to catch a glimpse of something human as it flashed through the trees. Adrenaline kicked through him like a club drug and for some reason, he found himself smiling, almost laughing at the excitement.

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Jack Bumgardner is a Southerner by birth and a Westerner by choice. Born and raised in Charlotte, North Carolina, he graduated from Stetson University in Florida.

He is the author of the novella Underneath It All and has had several short stories published in literary magazines. He also co-scripted a radio drama, “The Fire Talker.”

He now calls Denver, Colorado his home.