Dirty Myrtle

Dirty Myrtle is the kind of book that grabs you by the collar and doesn’t let go. Kennedy Weible drops you into the sweaty, neon underbelly of Myrtle Beach and makes it impossible to look away. This is crime fiction with a big heart and a wicked sense of humor.

Sailor, an HVAC tech who’s half-stoned and fully messy, finds out her sister Carrie needs proof that her husband’s cheating. So Sailor plays private eye—no license, no plan, just loyalty and a borrowed camera. What she doesn’t know is how deep Morgan’s in with the wrong people, and how fast things will spiral. The story pulls in her brothers, a cop with a soft spot for the family, and an old friend just back in town—messy, tense, and by the end you’re fully behind this flawed, loud crew. I kept thinking it would let up; it doesn’t. Weible puts you right there with them, and you don’t want to leave.

The cast feels real: Sailor’s defensive humor, Carrie’s quiet steel, Tusk’s decency, Jumper’s cold logic. Weible’s prose is sharp and funny even when it’s dark; the dialogue crackles and the Grand Strand becomes a character. The book has a lot going on—multiple threads and voices—and a moment or two of intensity that some readers may prefer to take in stride; the family bond and dark comedy land so well that the ending, with Neil Diamond, a Sidekick, and two sisters screaming the lyrics, is one I kept coming back to.

It doesn’t tidy up its people or its town; it lets them stay complicated and still lets you care. Weible has written a rowdy, big-hearted thriller that earns its laughs and its bruises. You close it feeling like you’ve been somewhere specific and real—and for me, that’s exactly what good crime fiction does.