The Alpine Journey (Emma Lord Mysteries)
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A JOURNEY OF TERROR
Murder is news--even when editor-publisher Emma Lord is away from The Alpine Advocate. A picturesque Oregon seashore village may not be Emma's traditional beat, but when a sensational headline-grabbing murder occurs, she's on the case.
It all begins as sexy Audrey Imhoff emerges from her nightly nude dip in the Pacific--and a killer makes it her last. A week later Audrey's husband disappears, and the couple's three adolescent children seem strangely relieved by his absence.
What's the story behind all this bizarre behavior? Emma Lord will find out-- or die trying. . . .
man in coveralls followed almost upon their heels. To our surprise, Rosalie let out a little gasp. “Walt!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” Walt Dobrinz peered through thick glasses, then walked over to our table with a pigeon-toed step. “Rosie? Where you been? I just got—” “Walt, meet Rett’s sister-in-law, Vida, and her friend Emmy.” Rosalie had risen to her feet in such a hasty fashion that she dropped her cigarette. “Damn! Now where’d that go?” “Another Runkel, huh?” Walt put out
bookstore. “The college certainly helps offset the lousy timber business.” Kip agreed wholeheartedly. At twenty-one, he had come of age in the shadow of the decimated logging industry. “I really like my sociology class,” he said, grinning at me from a face full of freckles. “Maybe next quarter I’ll have time to take more than five credits.” “Maybe you can,” I said in a noncommittal fashion. Between putting together the paper, the in-house job printing, and the Wednesday deliveries, Kip logged
thoughtful. “Their grief is under wraps, except perhaps for Molly. Or else they’ve done all their mourning, and their concern now is for their father. I wish the sense of loss showed more. Sometimes they seem quite unaffected, as if their lives had never been so brutally disrupted.” “Denial, maybe,” I said. “Resentment,” Vida murmured. “I feel they resent both their parents.” “Because they were separated?” “Because they’re gone.” Vida, who wasn’t wearing her glasses, gazed at me with eyes
voice was flat. “Screwing is big trouble,” Marlin declared, now very serious. “Big trouble. You get some chick in trouble, and you have to marry her. Like Gord did with Audrey. Or my old man did with my old lady. It runs in the family. Anyway, you get married and you end up miserable. Honest to God, that’s what happens. I know—I’ve seen it with my folks, I’ve seen it with Audrey and Gord. I don’t screw, I don’t get married.” He took a long drag on the joint. “It’s better that way. I do all right
far away at the time of the murder. I’ve never really figured him for the killer if only because of the distance between Cannon Beach and Salem.” Vida didn’t comment. After the fact, it occurred to me that the younger generation doesn’t always view long drives in the same light that we somewhat older, less flexible folks do. Adam, for example, thought nothing of making frequent two-hundred-and-fifty-mile trips between Ben’s mission church in Tuba City and the Arizona State campus in Tempe.