By Dana Stabenow
Someplace within the hinterlands of Alaska, one of the hundreds of thousands of sprawling acres that contain "The Park," a tender nationwide Park Ranger has long gone lacking. whilst the detective despatched after him additionally vanishes, the Anchorage DA's division needs to flip to their reluctant former investigator, Kate Shugak. Shugak is familiar with The Park simply because she's of The Park, an Aleut who left her domestic village of Niniltna to pursue schooling, a profession, and the righting of wrongs. Kate's look for the lacking males will take her from self-imposed exile again to a existence she'd left in the back of, and face-to-face with humans and difficulties she'd was hoping by no means to confront again.
The first novel within the well known Kate Shugak sequence, a chilly Day for homicide demonstrated Dana Stabenow as a brand new voice in Alaskan secret writing, and earned her an Edgar Award.
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Extra info for A Cold Day For Murder (Kate Shugak, Book 1)
It was twenty yards to the hearse waiting at the curb: a long way. The funeral director, usually all smooth, inconspicuous moves and black-suited calm, clasped his hands in dismay. Confrontational funerals were poor advertising for the Elysian Glen Mortuary. He urged the pallbearers forward. Nikki lifted her chin and followed, her face like varnished wood, sunglasses hiding her swollen eyes. A snub-nosed woman jutted forward from the crowd. ‘‘Slut lovers! Queer lovers! ’’ Mourners deliberately looked past the protesters.
It was a six-foot-by-four-foot cartoon, reworking The Last Supper as a scene from Platoon. It showed Christ and the Apostles in combat fatigues, with camouflage paint striping their faces, weapons at the ready. Beneath the drawing ran the tagline: He’s back . . and this time, it’s scriptural. I gaped at it, appalled. Not because it depicted Jesus juiced on steroids and brandishing an M16. No. I stood horrified because it forced me to see the truth. Peter Wyoming did not speak in metaphors. He slapped the poster.
The Catholic Church was a lie, nothing but witchcraft. Latin was a lie. Yup, Latin, a pagan tongue, supposed to be a dead language—but it wasn’t dead; it’s been kept alive as . . what? As the language of law, and science, and the Mass, and sorcery. ’’ Mexican came out meskin. ‘‘Am I right? It’s not coincidence. Can’t you see, people, how they’re all connected? ’’ I felt the hair rising on the back of my neck. I turned, saw a young woman in the back row looking at me, a teenager whose Kewpie-doll mouth punctuated her moon-round face.