- All
- Cordell Logan Series
Readers sometimes ask me why Cordell Logan, the reluctant sleuth of my mystery series, makes his home in Rancho Bonita, California—a town that does not appear on any map, travel brochure, or DMV registration form, yet somehow exists vividly enough in at least some readers’ minds that they’ll insist they once drove through it. This question is usually followed by a comment from them that Rancho Bonita looks...
If you’ve followed Cordell Logan across the pages of my mystery novels, you’ve probably noticed something early on: Logan can’t turn off his pilot brain. Even when he’s nowhere near the cockpit of the Ruptured Duck—his aging but stubbornly reliable airplane—he’s mentally scanning, evaluating, cross-checking, and trying to stay three steps ahead of whatever might go wrong next. It’s a habit that saves his life outright in Flat...
Long before Cordell Logan ever taxied onto the page in his beat-up Cessna 172, the Ruptured Duck, I spent my days—and too many nights—chasing leads as an investigative reporter for the Los Angeles Times. Back then, my world smelled like newsroom coffee and the faint whiff of panic as another deadline closed in. Today, the aroma tends more toward avgas and the warmth of a sunbaked runway. But...
Readers often assume that because Cordell Logan flies a creaky, seen-better-decades Cessna 172—the Ruptured Duck—I must fly something equally geriatric, dented, and emotionally complicated. This could not be further from the truth. In reality, I fly a first-generation Cirrus, a sleek, exceedingly comfortable aircraft with glass avionics, a side yoke, and a temperament suggesting it was designed by psychologists intent on making flying feel therapeutic. Logan’s airplane may...
https://davidfreed.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/11/whales.mp4#t=0.01 I recently went whale watching with family off the coast of Santa Barbara, where I live, and had an epiphany. It struck me after several close encounters with humpbacks—one so close its exhale misted us like an enthusiastic carwash—and only later, when a few modest Minke whales zipped past our boat like plus-sized dolphins on a schedule. The epiphany was this: whales are a lot like writing...
I once met Robert Redford. I was a young reporter in Denver, covering the state legislature and governor’s office for the now-defunct Rocky Mountain News. I’d received a tip that Redford was scheduled to have breakfast the following morning at the Governor’s Mansion with then-Governor Dick Lamm. I showed up early and met Redford at the door. After introducing myself, I asked why the two men were meeting....