Category Archives: Vicki Delany

I’ll Be Your Warrior of Care*

Village BobbiesOne of the more enduring (and to some, endearing) figures in crime fiction is the local (usually small-town) copper – the village bobby if you want to think of it that way. This character is depicted differently, depending on the point of view of a novel. There are even novels in which the small-town copper turns out to be the killer, or at least a ‘bad guy’ (no spoilers). But whether they’re depicted sympathetically or not, bobbies and their counterparts in other cultures are woven throughout the genre, and not just in classic/Golden Age crime fiction.

It’s easy to see why, too. For one thing, they are police officers; they investigate crimes. For another, there’s a certain relationship that develops between local coppers and residents. In places where everyone knows everyone, the bobby often has a feel for the people who live in a town. That knowledge can be crucial for getting information and solving cases.

M.C. Beaton’s Hamish Macbeth uses this sort of knowledge quite a bit when he solves cases. He’s the village bobby for Lochdubh, in the Scottish Highlands. He knows the locals very well; he’s one of them. Because he’s an integral part of that community, he finds it easier to get people to talk to him than he would if, say, he were an ‘outsider’ up from Inverness to investigate. So on the one hand, it serves him very well to be on the low rung of the police ladder. Much to the chagrin of his superiors, he’s good at solving cases, too. On the other hand, it’s not exactly a high-status position. Nor is it particularly lucrative. So there are those who don’t have the kind of respect for him that they might if he were a Superintendent. Still, being the village bobby suits Macbeth; he really has no ambition to move up.

Constable Evan Evans, Rhys Bowen’s creation, chose to be the village bobby for the small Welsh town of Llanfair, in the Snowdonia Mountains. He’s from the area, but moved to Swansea as a boy. At first, he hoped that life in Llanfair would be peaceful, but it’s hardly turned out that way. As the local bobby, he gets involved in all sorts of investigations, from trampled flower beds to brutal murders. Still, he is committed to the people he serves, and he is considered ‘one of us.’ He has a perspective that his superiors don’t, and that often gives him insights that help him solve cases.

When readers picture village bobbies, they often think of the traditional UK bobby. And there are lots of them in crime fiction. I know you’ll be able to think of many examples. But this sort of character has counterparts in other places in the world. And it’s interesting to see how the character has evolved outside the UK and Ireland.

For instance, there’s Craig Johnson’s Sheriff Walt Longmire. His jurisdiction is Absaroka County, Wyoming, and his base of operations is the town of Durant. Like the more traditional bobby, Longmire is an integral part of the local community. Just about everyone knows him; he knows just about everyone. He cares about the people who live in the area, and for the most part, they know that and respect him for it. So there is a similar sense of ‘small-town copper’ that you see in ‘English village’ murder mysteries. But there are some interesting differences. One is that, as sheriff, Longmire is elected, not appointed. This does affect the dynamic between him and the people he serves. Longmire’s no toady. Still, he knows that if he doesn’t do his job well, or if he loses the respect of the locals for another reason, he won’t be re-elected. It makes for a subtle, but real difference in his interactions with people. Another is that he’s got a very large area to patrol. And that has a real impact on the way he and his team go about investigating. It’s not often a matter of a quick trip to a shop to ask about who’s been there.

There’s also Vicki Delany’s Moonlight ‘Maggie’ Smith. Born and raised in Trafalgar, British Columbia, she now serves the town as constable. Smith works with a slightly larger team than you sometimes find in series featuring local coppers. But there’s still that almost-intimate relationship between her and the members of the community. In some ways, that’s helpful to her. She knows a lot of the local history, and she can find out things that aren’t as easy to learn if you’re not from the area. On the other hand, since she grew up there, a lot of people remember her from her early years. And sometimes that’s awkward for her, as she now has a position in law enforcement. Still, her local ties are very helpful to her boss, Sergeant John Winters. That connection is part of what she brings to the team.

And I don’t think a post about local bobbies and their counterparts would be complete without a mention of Martin Walker’s Chief of Police Benoît ‘Bruno’ Courrèges. He is a former soldier who now serves the small French town of St. Denis. He’s tightly woven into the community, and most people trust him in ways that they don’t trust the police nationale or even the local gendarmerie. He knows a lot about the area, too, and the histories of most of its people. He coaches youth sport, and has gotten to know most of the families. Like the British bobby, Bruno has a relatively small jurisdiction. He travels from time to time, but his cases are generally quite local. And, like the bobby you probably think of when you hear the term, he’d prefer to settle matters informally and peacefully. He’s a practical, pragmatic person, and he’s found that to be a lot more useful than obeying only the letter of the law.

There are many, many other examples of the local copper. Whether they’re traditional village bobbies or not, these characters fill an important role in law enforcement. And in crime fiction. Which ones do you like best?


*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Alanis Morissette’s Guardian.


Filed under Craig Johnson, M.C. Beaton, Martin Walker, Rhys Bowen, Vicki Delany

But the Cowboy and the Rancher Knew His Name*

WesternsMany people find a real appeal in what I’ll call Westerns, whether books, film or television. Even if you don’t care for them yourself, you no doubt know that they have a strong following. There are arguably several reasons so many people love Westerns, just as there are a lot of reasons for which people have moved to ‘the wide open spaces.’

One of the allures of Westerns and their settings is the chance to start over in beautiful, open land. We see that, for instance, in Kate Grenville’s The Secret River. It’s 1806, and William Thornhill, his wife Sal and their children have just arrived in Sydney Cove, Sydney, to start their lives over. Thornhill is a former London bargeman who was sentenced to transportation to Australia for stealing wood. He and his family have experienced real poverty in London, so even though transportation is nerve-wracking, it’s also a chance to build new lives. Before very long, Thornhill finds work delivering goods up and down the local waterways; his wife opens a makeshift pub. One day, Thornhill finds a piece of irresistibly beautiful land, and sets about to claim it. And therein lies the problem. People have been living in what is to become New South Wales for many thousands of years, and it’s not long before there are serious, even bloody and brutal, conflicts between the two groups. Grenville doesn’t make light of the crimes committed in the name of new land and new opportunities. At the same time, we see just how tempting that land can be.

Even today, people are drawn to the prospects of open land, the chance to put the past behind, and the opportunity to start all over. That’s arguably part of what makes Craig Johnson’s Walt Longmire series popular. It’s also, of course, highly regarded as a well-written set of novels. But as we learn about the characters, we see a pattern of people who’ve chosen to live in Absaroka County, Wyoming because it’s beautiful, because it gives them a chance to build their own kinds of lives, and because the open land appeals to them. For instance, Longmire’s deputy Victoria ‘Vic’ Moretti is originally from Philadelphia, where she served as a police officer. She’s had her share of ups and downs in life, but she’s found a certain kind of contentment if you will in Absaroka County. Philadelphia may at times offer more conveniences, but Moretti has chosen to start over in the west. I know, I know, fans of C.J. Box’s Joe Pickett series and of Margaret Coel’s Wind River series…

‘Going West’ offers other kinds of opportunities too. As you’ll no doubt know, many people have taken the risks involved in starting over because of the discovery of gold and other precious metals. Vicki Delany’s historical Klondike series, set during the Klondike Gold Rush, has this theme as a backdrop. These novels feature Savoy Dance Hall owner Fiona MacGillivray, who’s originally from Scotland. She’s got a past that she’d just as well leave behind, and a teenage son Angus. Together, they’ve started over in Dawson, Yukon, just as the area is feeling the full effects of the gold rush. She herself isn’t in search of gold, but she knows that there are a lot of other ways to profit from the surge of newcomers. Taverns, restaurants, food and supply purveyors, dance halls, and of course assayers are all benefiting from the search for riches.

Patricia Stoltey’s Sylvia Thorn isn’t really a westerner. She’s a retired judge who lives in Florida. But in The Desert Hedge Murders, she certainly gets a taste of the Old West. She travels with her mother’s traveling club, the Florida Flippers, on a sightseeing tour to Laughlin, Nevada. The group gets caught up in a case of murder when the body of a dead man is found in the bathroom of one of hotel rooms the club is using. Then, one of the members disappears and is later found dead in an old mine now used as a tourist attraction. As Thorn helps her mother and the rest of the group, she also experiences ghost towns, information about mining and prospecting, and legends. And burros.

For some people, the appeal of Westerns also comes from the ‘good guys v bad guys’ tension. Cattle rustlers, sheriffs, posses, outlaws and so on can tap the desire a lot of us have to see the ‘good guys’ win and the ‘bad guys’ get their due. Of course, it certainly wasn’t that simple; a quick glance at history makes that clear. But for a lot of readers and viewers, there’s a real appeal to following the adventures of ‘larger than life’ characters.

And it’s that sense of adventure that also draws many people to the Western. A lot of series and novels feature the sort of cliffhangers that you might see in old-style Western serials; one of them is Stark Holborn’s Nunslinger series. The protagonist in these stories is Sister Thomas Josephine, a Roman Catholic Vistitandine nun from St. Louis, Missouri. As the series begins, she is making her way to start a new life in Sacramento. Everything changes when the wagon train she’s on is attacked in Wyoming. Left stranded there, Sr. Josephine ends up being falsely accused of murder. She goes on the run and is drawn into all sorts of dangerous situations. Sr. Josephine is definitely not your ‘garden variety’ nun…  I admit I’ve not (yet) read these stories. But I’ve already gotten a solid sense of them from the terrific Col, who blogs at Col’s Criminal Library. You’ll want to check out his great blog and see for yourself why it’s one of my must-visits.

There are also plenty of readers/viewers who are interested in Westerns because they want to know more about the people who have always lived in those areas. Novels that depict the lives of Indigenous people in the West can give readers a window on a fascinating perspective on life. And they fulfil the important role of sharing information that doesn’t always make it to the textbooks. Fans of Tony Hillerman’s Joe Leaphorn/Jim Chee series, for instance, will know that those novels depict life in the modern US West/Southwest, often from the point of view of members of the Navajo Nation. Those stories give an important perspective on aspects of Western life such as mining, oil prospecting, and land and water rights. They also share the culture and lifestyle of the people who’ve lived in that area for a very long time.

We also see that perspective in Arthur Upfield’s Napoleon ‘Bony’ Bonaparte novels. Those stories give readers a look at mining, ranching and prospecting in Australia. Very often they feature the point of view of Bony, who is half White/half Aboriginal. So we see several ways of looking at the same places and events. Adrian Hyland’s books feature Emily Tempest, who’s an Aboriginal Community Police Officer (ACPO) in Australia’s Northern Territory. Those novels give readers a look at modern life in the ‘great wide open’ parts of Australia.

Whether it’s the myths of the Western or the actual history of settlement, there’s something about the Western in all its forms that can draw people in. Does it have that effect on you? If so, what appeals to you about the Western? If not, what puts you off?



*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Billy Joel’s The Ballad of Billy the Kid, a song he refers to as ‘completely historically inaccurate.’ Still, for my money, it captures all of the adventure, danger and myth of the Western.


Filed under Adrian Hyland, Arthur Upfield, C.J. Box, Craig Johnson, Kate Grenville, Margaret Coel, Patricia Stoltey, Stark Holborn, Tony Hillerman, Vicki Delany

Wherever We’re Together, That’s My Home*

Home is  Where You AreA really interesting post from writer and fellow blogger Jan Morrison has got me thinking about how we conceive of ‘home.’ For some people, that word represents a geographical place. Home has to do with the culture, lifestyle, and language of a particular setting. There are also people who think of a building when they think of ‘home.’ Perhaps it’s one they grew up in or had constructed.

For other people, though, it’s less about a physical place than it is about family and the people in one’s life. In those cases, home is wherever loved ones are. I don’t have the data to support this, but my guess is that that conception of home is getting more common as the world gets smaller and more and more people move. Certainly we see it in crime fiction, and have for some time.

For example, Agatha Christie’s Tommy and Tuppence Beresford are not physically bound to one place they call home (as, say, Miss Marple is to St. Mary Mead). They’ve lived in several places, and they’ve traveled to many more. For the Beresfords, home isn’t so much a geographical location. Rather, it’s wherever they are together. They’ve lived in small service flats, houses, and, in Postern of Fate, a smaller house they intend to use as their retirement home. It’s not spoiling the series to say that even at the end of that novel, when the Beresfords are into their ‘golden years,’ they’re contemplating moving yet again. For them, ‘home’ means family rather than one particular town or region.

Timothy Hallinan’s Philip ‘Poke’ Rafferty is an ex-pat American travel writer who lives and works in Bangkok. His conception of ‘home’ has little to do with geography, although he’s come to feel comfortable in his adopted city. Rather, ‘home’ for him is the life he’s cobbled together with his wife Rose and adopted daughter Miaow. Rose, too, equates home with family, rather than one particular geographic location. Her conception though is a bit different. She is Thai, with that culture’s view of family and family obligations. Her parents, siblings and relatives are as much a part of how she sees ‘home’ as are Rafferty and Miaow, much as she cares for them. It’s an interesting difference in world views and perspectives, and Rafferty and Rose have their occasional difficult moments as they learn to live together.

Angela Savage’s PI sleuth Jayne Keeney is originally from Melbourne. She’s happy enough with her Australian cultural identity, but she doesn’t really think of Melbourne as ‘home.’ In fact, she’s got no real desire to live there at all. She’s made a life for herself in Thailand, where she’s come to feel very comfortable. And she’s also begun to equate ‘home’ with her partner, Rajiv Patel. He’s originally from India, but moved to Bangkok to escape his family’s micromanagement. He starts by helping run his uncle’s bookshop (that’s where he and Keeney first met). Later he becomes Keeney’s business partner, then her partner in life as well. Like Keeney, Patel is happy enough with his cultural identity. But ‘home’ for him is no longer India. Rather, it’s the life he’s trying to build with Keeney. Interestingly, they’re both moving from not having a strong sense of ‘home’ to a perception of ‘home is where you are.’

Vicki Delany’s Constable Moonlight ‘Molly’ Smith is from Trafalgar, British Columbia. That’s where she grew up and the place she thinks of as home. For her parents, though, it’s a very different story. In the early novels featuring Smith, we learn that her mother Lucy ‘Lucky’ and father Andy are originally from the US. Lucky moved to Canada with Andy so that he could avoid being drafted to serve in Vietnam. They’ve made a new place for themselves in Canada, and are content there. For both of them, ‘home’ has much less to do with a particular geographic place than it does with being together.

Of course, ‘home is where you are’ doesn’t always turn out well, as Joanna Lindsay discovers in Helen Fitzgerald’s The Cry. She and Alistair Robertson met and fell in love in Scotland, where he moved from his home outside Melbourne. Now he wants to return to Australia with Joanna and their nine-week-old son Noah. It’s not so much that he misses Australia, so he tells Joanna. What he wants is to fight for custody of his teenage daughter Chloe, who lives there with her mother Alexandra. He believes that a stay in Australia will strengthen his case. Joanna’s never been there, but she agrees to go; as many qualms as she may have about leaving Scotland, her home, as she sees it, is with Alistair and Noah. When they arrive in Australia, they begin a long drive to the house where they’ll be staying. Along the way, they face every parent’s worst nightmare: the loss of Noah. When his disappearance is reported to police, they start a massive search; soon, the Australian press goes into high gear about it. But gradually, questions are raised about, especially, Joanna’s possible role in what happened. As the story evolves, we learn what really happened to Noah. Without spoiling the plot, I can say that Joanna’s perception of home as ‘where my family is’ doesn’t turn out as she expected it would.

What about you? What do you think of when you think of ‘home?’ Is it family? A geographical place? A building? Thanks, Jan, for offering this rich ‘food for thought.’ Folks, do check out Jan’s wonderful writing blog, as well as her blog about life in Labrador.


*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Billy Joel’s You’re My Home.



Filed under Agatha Christie, Angela Savage, Helen Fitzgerald, Timothy Hallinan, Vicki Delany

And Who Was Wrong? And Who Was Right? It Didn’t Matter in the Thick of the Fight*

MemorialDay2015Most people will likely say that they don’t like war. War is ugly, dirty, bloody and brutal, and no-one leaves unscathed, even if one makes it home from the war. And there’ve been conscientious objectors to armed conflict for a very long time.

But some wars give rise to especially strong controversy, and feelings run very high about them. Yet, those who serve their country in the military have to participate in those wars, whether they want to or no, whether they think their country should be involved or no.

Among the modern wars generating perhaps the most controversy has been the Vietnam War. Emotions about that war still are still strong; and at the time, conflicts between those who opposed involvement in the war and those who supported it sometimes turned deadly.

Caught in the middle, as you might say, were members of the military. Whatever their own feelings about the war, they were expected to go. And those who came back often received far from a hero’s welcome. Add this to the not-very-surprising struggles they had with the trauma of surviving a bloody conflict, and it’s not surprising that many Vietnam veterans have had serious difficulties.

The controversy over the war in Vietnam has also, not surprisingly, found its way into crime fiction. Here are just a few examples. I know you’ll think of many, many more than I could, anyway.

Derek B. Miller’s Norwegian By Night treats this theme. Sheldon Hororwitz is an octogenarian, originally from New York, who’s gone to live in Oslo to be nearer his granddaughter Rhea and her Norwegian husband Lars. One plot thread of this novel concerns Horowitz looking back on his life and, especially, on the death of his son Saul in Vietnam. Horowitz feels a great deal of guilt about Saul’s death, because as he sees it, he’s responsible. He persuaded his son to go, telling him that it was his responsibility to support his country – to show how loyal he was, to put it another way. During his first stint there, Saul experienced some horrible things that made him question everything about the war. But he went back for a second tour; this time he didn’t come home. Among many other things, this profoundly affects Horowitz’ feelings about Rhea. And it impacts what he does when he gets mixed up in a case of murder.

Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch comes face to face with his memories of service in Vietnam in The Black Echo. In that novel, the body of an unidentified man is found stuffed in a drainpipe. The dead man turns out to be Billy Meadows, whom Bosch knew when both served in the war in Vietnam. Both men were ‘tunnel rats,’ responsible for finding and destroying the Viet Cong’s underground bunkers and supplies. Like many veterans, Meadows struggled with heroin addiction, so at first, his death is put down to an accidental overdose. But Bosch still feels the connection from the war, and starts asking questions. It turns out that Meadows’ death is more than just a junkie who overdosed. It’s connected to a large bank heist and to wartime events. In both Bosch and Meadows, we see how people came back from Vietnam physically alive, but bearing a lot of scars from service. Fans of James Lee Burke’s Dave Robicheaux will know that he also is a Vietnam veteran. Like Bosch, he saw more than his share of ugliness in the war, and it still haunts him.

Service in Vietnam was hard enough for those who volunteered for military service before the war began. It was even harder for those who were conscripted. Many people were so opposed to the war that they chose not to fight. Instead, they went to Canada, rather than be drafted. Vicki Delany treats this theme in In the Shadow of the Glacier. Moonlight ‘Molly’ Smith is a fledgling constable for the Trafalgar, BC Police. She gets her first ‘trial by fire’ when she discovers the body of controversial developer Reginald Montgomery. Once it’s clear that Montgomery was murdered, Smith and her superior, Sergeant John Winters, investigate. In one plot thread of this novel, the town of Trafalgar is faced with a dilemma. Ex-pat American Larry O’Reilly has recently died. He came to Canada to avoid being drafted in the war in Vietnam and felt strongly that those who acted according to their consciences should be honoured. So in his will, he’s bequeathed a large sum of money to the town on condition that the money be used to create such a memorial. On the one hand, many citizens, including Smith’s mother Lucy ‘Lucky’ want to do as O’Reilly wanted and create a Peace Garden. Others (and Montgomery was among these) oppose the idea. They’re afraid that it might be too controversial (and therefore, bad for business), since many Americans viewed those who went to Canada as traitors. It’s not an easy question, and still causes a lot of hurt on both sides. And it’s a source of real tension in the story.

And then there’s George Pelecanos’ Hard Revolution, which serves as a prequel to his Derek Strange series. In this novel, Strange is a rookie cop in 1968 Washington, DC, a town on the point of revolution sparked by racial tension and controversy over the war in Vietnam. Burning, rioting and so on are convulsing the city; and it seems as though society is coming apart at the proverbial seams. Strange is a Black cop in a dangerous situation, and it gets even worse when his older brother Dennis gets drawn into a scheme to rob a local shop. Meanwhile, another person Strange knows, Dominic Martini, gets involved with a group of White thugs in the drunken murder of a young Black man and a planned bank robbery. The two events play out against the turbulent times, and Strange has to do his best to negotiate all of the high emotion as he tries to do his job. Both Dennis Strange and Dominic Martini have served tours in Vietnam, and it’s scarred both of them. Here’s what Martini has to say about his return from service:

‘In bars, he no longer talked about Vietnam. It didn’t help him with women and sometimes it spurred unwelcome comments from men. When he mentioned his tour of duty, it seemed to lead to no good.’

Many Vietnam veterans had a similar experience.

Today (or tomorrow, depending on when you read this) the US observes Memorial Day, a time to remember those who gave their lives in service to their country. I can’t imagine what it’s like to do that in any case, let alone in the case of an unpopular war. Whatever your feelings about Vietnam, I think it’s important to honour the memories of those who died there.

*NOTE: The title of this post is from Billy Joel’s Goodnight Saigon.


Filed under Derek B. Miller, George Pelecanos, James Lee Burke, Michael Connelly, Vicki Delany

The Shouts of Joy Skiing Fast Through the Woods*

SkiingDo you enjoy skiing? For people who do, there’s nothing like the feeling of almost flying as you go along. It’s good physical activity and it can be a lot of fun. But is it really healthy? Not if you read crime fiction. If you think about it, a ski lodge and ski slopes are terrific contexts for mysteries. You have a disparate group of people and lots of opportunity on the ski lift or slopes for a murder to occur. So it’s little wonder we see skiing pop up in crime fiction as much as we do. Here are just a few examples.

In Patricia Moyes’ Dead Men Don’t Ski, we are introduced to Scotland Yard’s Henry Tibbett and his wife Emma. In the novel, they take a skiing trip to Santa Chiara, in the Italian Alps. While they’re there, they’ll be staying at the Bella Vista Hotel. Shortly after their arrival, one of the other hotel guests, Austrian-born businessman Fritz Hauser, is shot and his body found on one of the ski lifts. Local police Capitano Spezzi and his team arrive to investigate. When they learn that Tibbett is with Scotland Yard, he is included in the team. Tibbett thinks he’s settled on the right suspect when there’s another murder. And this murder calls into question Tibbett’s entire theory. Once he re-thinks matters, he’s able to work out who the murderer is. And I think I can say without spoiling the story that there are several impressive ski scenes in the novel.

There’s also some memorable skiing in the ‘Emma Lathen’ writing duo’s Going For the Gold. The 1980 Winter Olympic Games are set to start in Lake Placid, New York. The Sloan Guaranty Trust has won the bid to provide banking services to the athletes and their coaching staff, as well as to those there to see the competitions. John Putnam Thatcher has been sent to Lake Placid to oversee the setup of the three Lake Placid branches of the Sloan and ensure that all goes smoothly during the games. Shortly after the games begin, French ski jumper Yves Bisson is shot by a sniper as he’s making his jump. Then, one of the Sloan’s branch managers, Roger Hathaway, reports that the Sloan has lost half a million dollars in a counterfeit scheme. A counterfeit traveler’s check signed by Bisson is an important clue that those two events are related. It’s not long before Thatcher discovers that Bisson was quite possibly part of a major swindling ring. Then, another competitor, Tilly Lowengard, is disqualified when it’s discovered she was under the influence of drugs during one of her runs. She says that she’s innocent, and it’s not long before it’s clear that she’s also been a victim of the killer. Then a blizzard strikes, trapping everyone in Olympic Village. Thatcher will have to work fast to catch the killer before there’s another murder.

In Beth Groundwater’s To Hell in a Handbasket, gift basket designer Claire Hanover travels to Breckenridge, Colorado, for a ski trip with her family. One day, the group is out on the slopes when Claire hears her daughter Judy shriek. She finds Judy distraught and her brother’s girlfriend Stephanie dead of what looks like a terrible accident. The police investigate, and it’s not long before they begin to suspect that Stephanie was murdered. Since Judy was with her at the time, she becomes a ‘person of interest.’ She claims that she’s innocent and Claire is determined to prove that she is. Soon enough, Claire finds herself and her family the targets of some very ruthless people.

Skiing is also popular of course in Canada. But it’s no safer there. Just ask the Wyatt-Yarmouth family, whom we meet in Vicki Delany’s Winter of Secrets. Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth, her brother Jason and four friends take a ski trip to Trafalgar, British Columbia. Tragedy strikes when the SUV the group rented goes off an icy road and into the Upper Kootenay River. Inside are Jason and his friend Ewan Williams. Constable Moonlight ‘Molly’ Smith and her boss Sergeant John Winter investigate and soon find something very strange. Jason was killed as a result of the accident. But Ewan, as it turns out, was dead for some hours before the SUV went off the road. Now it looks as though Ewan might have been murdered, and Smith and Winters look into the deaths more closely. I can say without spoiling this story that Smith is a very accomplished skiier, and we get to see her on the slopes in a very memorable couple of scenes.

And then there’s Jo Nesbø’s The Leopard (Could I really do a post about skiing without including Scandinavia?). At the beginning of this novel, Harry Hole is in self-imposed exile in Hong Kong. His plan is not to go back to Oslo, but then two women are found dead, killed in similar ways. It looks like the kind of case that Hary is especially good at solving, and so far, the police haven’t got any good leads. So police detective Kaja Solness is sent to Hong Kong to escort Hole to Oslo. He is, to put it mildly, reluctant. But in the end he goes with Solness when she tells him his father is severely ill. Still, he’s not eager to get involved in the investigation. Then, there’s another murder, this time of a female MP. Although it doesn’t seem so on the surface, Hole believes the cases are connected, and so they are. One of the links in the case is that all three women enjoyed skiing and went to the same ski lodge.

You see? Skiing can be an exhilarating pastime. But you do need to be careful. Which ski mysteries have you enjoyed?

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Rush’s Afterimage.


Filed under Beth Groundwater, Emma Lathen, Jo Nesbø, Patricia Moyes, Vicki Delany