BLOODLINE, by Gerry Boyle, G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 260 pages, $19.95.

Jack McMorrow left a world of crime and corruption in New York City to settle down in rural Maine, but calamity has followed him like an obnoxious reporter chasing a lead.

McMorrow, a fictional New York Times reporter who was featured in Gerry Boyle’s well-received debut novel, “Deadline,” makes an encore appearance in the follow-up, “Bloodline.”

McMorrow’s Times retirement fund allows him to take it easy in Prosperity, Maine, worrying only about the dwindling supply of beer in the refrigerator and whether he blew his most recent relationship.

But an old colleague calls to offer a free-lance magazine assignment about rural, teen-age mothers. McMorrow accepts, thinking it’s an easy hit — a few thousand words for a few thousand bucks.

McMorrow’s research leads him to Missy, who gave up her baby for adoption so she could leave Prosperity to attend college and carve out a future for herself. But the day after McMorrow interviews Missy, she is found on the side of the road, murdered.

Being from away, McMorrow is immediately thrown onto the list of suspects. The magazine article then becomes almost an afterthought, and McMorrow investigates Missy’s murder to keep himself out of jail. In the meantime, he also must dodge whoever has shot out his home window and burned his truck to a crisp.

While “Deadline” earned Boyle — a columnist for the Central Maine Morning Sentinel and the Kennebec Journal — rave reviews, it’s difficult to see how “Bloodline” will attract the same praise.

McMorrow’s character is given little depth, and his annoying quips tend to grate on the nerves. The man never gives a straight answer, and by the end of the book, the reader doesn’t really mind that McMorrow is the target of a depraved murderer.

For example, McMorrow is searching for Missy at the University of Southern Maine and thinks to himself: “That meant exploring a few of these brick buildings and hoping that if I stumbled into a calculus quiz, they wouldn’t make me take it. Or at least they’d let me use my notes.”

Or when a sheriff’s deputy asks McMorrow about the shotgun blast that took out his window: “Good thing, too,” I said. “There wasn’t anything on TV at all.” And later, when his truck is set ablaze: “Damn,” I said. “And I just filled it up.”

“Bloodline” does have pockets of strong writing, particularly in the beginning, and a couple of the characters are given adequate depth and description.

But the real problem with “Bloodline,” which was published by a major house, is the editing. Some story avenues mentioned early on in the book are only barely touched later. And while the ending is somewhat surprising, it’s disappointing because no roads led to this point. Even McMorrow’s age changes — at one point he’s 38, at another he’s 35.

So while Boyle certainly shows promise as a Maine novelist, he should find himself a good editor before his next offering hits the bookstores.