By Sue Henry
Up north, the summers are short -- and iciness, like dying, is chilly and lengthy . . .
getting better from knee surgical procedure that would reason her to overlook the impending dogsled racing season, champion ''musher'' Jessie Arnold feels empty and bored -- so she grabs a chance to fill her days manning the Iditarod sales space on the Alaska country reasonable. yet homicide turns into an appeal the following to boot -- a particularly brutal one -- while the corpse of a small-time hoodlum slain by means of a double-blade awl blow to the cranium turns up at the fairgrounds. Jessie should not become involved, having already visible an excessive amount of violent dying in her lifetime. yet unusual connections are linking the killing with a kid's kidnapping . . . and with the surprising disappearance of her personal cherished lead sled puppy. quickly associates previous and new may be pulled in in addition while the unthinkable happens: Jessie herself vanishes with no hint.
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Extra resources for Death Trap: An Alaska Mystery
You’ll—” But realizing he had pushed his mother past her limits of sympathy or tolerance, Danny had already vanished. She heard the door to his room slam behind him. Now he’ll lock himself in and sulk, she thought in irritated discouragement, returning to the task at hand. Well, at least he won’t be whining at me. It worried her that her son didn’t like to read and was slow at it. His teacher had suggested in a parent conference that he would need remedial help if he was not to be held back a year in school.
Yet no one she could see so much as raised a glance toward the natural panorama surrounding them. All focused on the pleasures of the fair. There was certainly enough to retain that focus. Music and shrieks from the midway provided a background for the babble of dozens of passing voices and the blare of a loudspeaker announcing an upcoming skateboard event. From a sound system somewhere came snatches of a tune that Jessie could almost, but not quite, recognize. The smells of popcorn and hot sugar from a cotton candy machine drifted temptingly on the breeze from nearby booths, enhanced with the scent of barbecue from another.
Strands of light brown hair fell across his forehead D E AT H T RAP / 37 and over his eyes, released from the black-and-white bandana that had slipped from his head to the ground in the encounter. He combed them back with his fingers, and Jessie could see that the cosmetic artist had made him a pirate, complete with a goatee, a handlebar mustache, and a black circle around one eye, so that when he blinked it appeared to be a patch. “Good job on the face paint,” she told him. “Who are you? ” Any hint of a sinister seagoer was banished by his delighted grin.