Through the evil days A Clare Fergusson/Russ van Alstyne mystery

Julia Spencer-Fleming

Book - 2013

"On a frigid January night, Chief of Police Russ Van Alstyne and Reverend Clare Fergusson are called to the scene of a raging fire that quickly becomes a double homicide and kidnapping. Which is the very last thing Russ needs. Currently he's struggling with the prospect of impending fatherhood. And his new wife is not at all happy with his proposal for their long-delayed honeymoon: a week in an ice-fishing cabin. The vestry of St. Alban's Church has called for the bishop to investigate Clare's "unpriestly" pregnancy. She has one week to find out if she will be scolded, censured, or suspended from her duties. Officer Hadley Knox is having a miserable January as well. Her on-again-off-again lover, Kevin Flynn, ha...s seven days to weigh an offer from the Syracuse Police Department that might take him half a state away. As the days and hours tick by, Russ and Clare fight personal and professional battles they've never encountered. In the course of this one tumultuous week the lives of the Millers-Kill residents readers have come to love and cherish change forever. Readers have waited years for this newest book and Julia Spencer-Fleming delivers with the exquisite skill and craftsmanship that have made her such a success"--

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Subjects
Genres
Mystery fiction
Published
New York : Minotaur Books/A Thomas Dunne Book 2013.
Language
English
Main Author
Julia Spencer-Fleming (-)
Edition
First edition
Physical Description
357 pages : illustration ; 25 cm
ISBN
9780312606848
Contents unavailable.
Review by New York Times Review

NO MAN'S NIGHTINGALE (Scribner, $26) is Ruth Rendell's 24th Inspector Wexford procedural mystery in almost 50 years, so we're naturally curious about how that venerable detective may have mellowed in retirement. Well, his mind is still sharp enough to solve a murder case bungled by Mike Burden, his old deputy and now detective superintendent of the Kingsmarkham constabulary. Always a tolerant man, Wexford is ever more alarmed by the racism and bigotry that have taken root in his little patch of England and were a factor in the murder of the Rev. Sarah Hussain, abiracial single mother raising an out-of-wedlock child. And, if anything, he's grown more caustic about barbaric insults to the mother tongue, like the Alternative Service Book that replaced the Book of Common Prayer in Anglican churches. But while Wexford seems content to let a younger generation make its own mistakes, he does feel diminished by the loss of his professional status. He's also become quite testy about the limits imposed by age and, more annoyingly, by restrictive social attitudes about age. "He was realizing how insignificant he had become in the great scheme of law and order... of having nothing to do in a society where doing things was all-important." More philosophical? I'd say so. Mellow? Not on your life. MICKEY HALLER IS the kind of lawyer who works out of the back seat of his Lincoln Town Car and gets paid for his services in gold bricks. In Michael Connelly's latest legal thriller, THE GODS OF GUILT (Little, Brown, $28), a "digital pimp" arrested for murdering one of the prostitutes whose professional websites he manages joins Mickey's sterling client list of thieves, rapists, embezzlers and killers. But for once this ethics-challenged criminal defense lawyer needn't resort to any shady shenanigans because Andre La Cosse didn't kill Giselle Dallinger - or Gloria Dayton, as she was known to Mickey seven years earlier, when he helped her get out of the game and staked her to what he thought would be a new life in Hawaii. Disheartened to learn that he hadn't "changed the direction of a life" after all, Mickey feels compelled to perform another good deed to relieve his conscience. "There is no more noble a cause on this planet than to stand for the wrongly accused," he's advised by the old lawyer he considers his life coach. So saving La Cosse and finding Gloria's real killer might keep him from being haunted by the "12 apostles, the gods of guilt" who sit in life's jury box, passing judgment on him for a colorful but hardly glorious career of snatching lowlifes from the jaws of the law. An honorable performance in the courtroom might even redeem Mickey in the eyes of his 16-year-old daughter, who can't forgive her father for springing a guilty client who turned around and killed two people she knew in a drunken-driving accident. At this point, you want to buckle up for the roller coaster of a trial this has all been leading up to. Connelly stays cool as he crosscuts between tense courtroom scenes before the "gods of guilt" and brutal confrontations outside the courthouse with the hired killers from a Sinaloan drug cartel, a rogue government agent and some plain old crooked Los Angeles detectives. Mickey's got a lot riding on this trial - but, win or lose, let's hope his attempts at character reformation don't last too long. NOTHING JACK TAYLOR does should surprise readers of Ken Bruen's poetically violent novels - except how long this bad boy manages to lay off the booze, cigarettes and brawling in PURGATORY (Mysterious Press/ Grove/Atlantic, $24). But rest easy: Our roaring lad eventually rises to confront the taunts of a serial killer who wants him to join his crusade. The turning point for Jack is a recruitment dinner with a mysterious billionaire intent on acquiring the remaining assets of the faltering local economy. "You're a sort of Irish Zelig," he tells Jack, "witness to the history of Galway." But the things Jack witnesses these days - feral teenage gangs, high-school girls wasted on dope, thieves who steal the gold chalices from churches - would cause a saint to go blind. And Jack, whose heroism is fueled by "plain old-fashioned rage, bile and bitterness," is no saint. Never was, never will be. Amen. THE DOMESTIC AFFAIRS of fictional sleuths are rarely as fascinating as their authors think they are. But you have to admit that Clare Fergusson, the Episcopal priest in Julia Spencer-Fleming's mysteries, set in the Adirondacks of upstate New York, leads an eventful life. THROUGH THE EVIL DAYS (Thomas Dunne/Minotaur, $25.99) finds Clare very recently married, obviously pregnant and back at her pastoral duties in Millers Kill after serving in Iraq. But because of the awkward timing of that pregnancy she's been told to resign her post or be called up on charges of "sexual misconduct and conduct unbecoming to a priest." Meanwhile, Russ Van Alstyne, Clare's new husband and the local chief of police, has just learned the town council is proposing to shut down his department and outsource the work to the state police. Given all this Sturm und Drang, it's amazing Spencer-Fleming manages to carry off a layered plot that opens with an arson, a double homicide and a kidnapping and expands into a broader picture of the drug use, domestic violence and desolation squeezing the life out of this small town.

Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [December 1, 2013]
Review by Booklist Review

*Starred Review* Newly married (and pregnant) Episcopal priest Clare Fergusson and Miller's Kill Police Chief Russ van Alstyne are grateful for the solitude of their ice-fishing honeymoon, as they both have a tangle of professional and personal complications to sort. But soon after they arrive, a snowstorm begins burying the region. As the honeymooners make preparations to depart, they encounter a pair of cagey meth heads and find themselves battling criminals and the elements. In the meantime, Miller's Kill is left without Russ to solve the murders of local foster parents and the disappearance of their foster child. Officers Hadley Knox and Kevin Flynn, awkward after an ill-advised fling, are forced to struggle together against terrified witnesses and blizzard conditions to reveal the kidnapping's connection to a local methamphetamine kingpin. This novel, the eighth starring Clare Fergusson and Russ van Alstyne, is among the best in the series, combining steady action with complex, sympathetic characters and an immersive setting. Clare and Russ are an unusual but fitting pair, and Spencer-Fleming perfectly captures the contrasting emotions of love and frustration that define marriage. Readers seeking tales of city crime reaching small towns will love the well-crafted setting and story but shouldn't expect a cozy; there's plenty of grit here.--Tran, Christine Copyright 2010 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

In Agatha-winner Spencer-Fleming's eighth Clare Ferguson/Russ Van Alstyne mystery (after 2011's One Was a Soldier), the individual personal dramas of her leads overshadow the detective work. Clare, an Episcopal priest, and new husband Russ, the police chief of Millers Kill, N.Y., are looking forward to a week's honeymoon. Meanwhile, Clare's pregnancy, which began before their wedding, places her career in jeopardy, and Russ learns that his department may be completely eliminated. Clare's condition evokes conflicting feelings in Russ, whose first wife suffered numerous miscarriages. Russ also fears that Clare's substance abuse before learning she was pregnant will harm the baby. With all those issues to work through, the story's central crime-an act of arson aimed at covering up a double murder-almost recedes into the background. While the couple's complex relationship will engage readers, the very pregnant Clare's active involvement in getting the bad guys strains credulity. Author tour. Agent: Meg Ruley, Jane Rotrosen Agency. (Nov.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

Demand will be high for the eighth entry in this multi-award winning series (after One Was a Soldier). Pregnant Clare is directly in harm's way in this chilling January tale. (c) Copyright 2013. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

Now that they're married and pregnant--not in that order--Episcopal priest Clare Fergusson and Millers Kill Police Chief Russ Van Alstyne (Once Was a Soldier, 2011, etc.) are in for the honeymoon from hell. Mikayla Johnson has gone missing. The outlook is bleak, since whoever took her evidently shot her foster parents, retired federal agents Ted and Helen MacAllen, and torched their house, making sure to do an especially thorough job. Since Mikayla, 8, had a liver transplant not long ago, she's on a complicated regimen of immunosuppressants, and if she doesn't keep up with them, she'll die. As the Millers Kill Police Department begins their ticking-clock search for the missing child who's been abandoned by her meth-head mother, Annie, and her abusive ex-con father, Hector DeJean (whose name is a broad wink to industry insiders), they pick up chilling hints that her disappearance may be linked to Annie's well-connected drug supplier Tim LaMar. Meanwhile, there's trouble aplenty on the homefront. Russ learns that the state police, backed by some budget-conscious local officials, are looking to disband the Millers Kill department and take over its duties. Officer Kevin Flynn, a mainstay of the force whose relationship with Officer Hadley Knox is foundering, is offered a tempting job with the Syracuse Police Department. Hadley's smarmy ex-husband, Dylan, pops up from California demanding money she doesn't have or their children. Clare's bishop, scandalized by her premature pregnancy, asks her to resign her pulpit at St. Alban's or face disciplinary charges. There's barely room for the once-in-a-lifetime ice storm that strikes just as Clare and Russ are hunkering down in an isolated cabin in Cooper's Corner to get some quiet time for themselves. Spencer-Fleming, whose record has shown that she's not afraid to pile on the plot complications, ladles out threats, betrayal, redemption and seriously bad weather until Clare loses track of how many times her honeymoon has been interrupted by bad guys who've held her husband at gunpoint.]]]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

1. The dog's barking woke Mikayla up. Ted and Helen--she was supposed to call them Uncle Ted and Aunt Helen, but she never did inside her own head--had told her Oscar was really a sweet dog. And it was true, he never growled at her. He was so big, though, with his tail going thunk-thunk-thunk and his long pink tongue and his stabby white teeth. Mikayla didn't care how sweet he was, he scared her. Right now his big deep bark was booming, over and over and over again. Mikayla burrowed beneath her quilts and pulled the pillow over her head. "Shut up, stupid dog," she whispered. She waited for the thud of Ted and Helen's bedroom door, footsteps on the stairs. It sounded like Oscar had to go bad. She shivered. What if the MacAllens didn't do anything? She would have to let him out. That was the rule. Then she'd have to stand around in the freezing hallway until he pooped so she could let him back in. She pushed her pillow away and scooted up. It sounded like the dog was already outside. Maybe Ted had let him out and fallen asleep. Grown-ups could sleep through anything. There had been times Mikayla had to talk to her mom before the bus came in the morning, and she'd shake her and shake her and Mom still didn't do anything but mumble and roll over. She climbed out of bed and put on her booties and her robe. The MacAllens had given them to her the afternoon she had come out of the hospital. The robe was pink and woolly and the booties had real sheepskin inside, which was good, because the MacAllens' old house was always cold. She missed her mom's apartment. She could spend all Saturday watching TV in her shortie pajamas, it was so warm inside. Mikayla opened the bedroom door and wrinkled her nose. The hallway stank like a gas station, and the night-light was out. Moonlight streamed from Ted and Helen's open door at the other end of the hall, and for a second she thought about trying to get one of them to let Oscar in. But they might be mad if she woke them up. She clung to the railing as she walked down the unlit stairs. The stink was even worse in the front hall. She had her hand on the doorknob to let Oscar in when someone said, "Wait." She screamed. "Shh. Shh. Mikayla. It's me." She caught her breath at the familiar voice. "You scared me!" There was a clank, like a pail setting on the floor, and then a figure moved out of the deep dark of the living room into the shadowy gray of the hall. "I'm sorry. I'm here to take you to your mom." "My mom?" Her heart was going bumpety-bump. She wasn't sure if it was from her fright or from the idea of seeing her mom. "Really?" "Yeah. I was just coming upstairs to get you." "But--" She frowned. "It's the middle of the night. Are you supposed to be here?" "Look, do you want to stay here with them? Fine by me. I'll just leave." "No! Wait!" Mikayla stumbled toward the living room. "I wanna go. I wanna see Mom." "I dunno. Maybe I made a mistake, coming to get you." "No! No! Just let me--I have a suitcase. I'll get my clothes, and then we can go." "I'll get your clothes. You go get in my car. It's in the driveway. I'll be there in a minute" It was snowy outside, and she was in her robe and pajamas, but she was afraid if she argued, she'd be left behind. "Okay." She turned back to the door. "Can I take my coat and my book bag? They're right here." "Yes, yes, yes. Jesus." She snatched them off their hooks and opened the door. Oscar's barking got wilder. "And don't let the dog in!" Mikayla shut the door behind her and ran along the narrow shoveled path to the drive. Oscar, standing in the snow, whined as she passed him, but he didn't do anything to stop her. She jumped into the backseat of the waiting car and slammed the door. She sat, shaking from excitement and fear, her arms wrapped around her book bag. She was going to see her mom again. It had been so long. Then she had an awful thought. Her recorder. She had left it in the bedroom, and Monday was music class. If she forgot it again, Ms. Clauson would kill her. She could run back and get it. She knew right where it was. It wouldn't take more than a couple of minutes. That would be okay. Maybe. She bit her lip and opened the door. Slipped out. She left the door open. That would prove she was coming right back. She had taken three or four steps toward the house when she heard a whumping noise. Oscar stopped barking and lay in the snow. He whimpered. It sounded almost as bad as the barking. Then there was another whump, and another. In the black, moon-blank windows, she saw something orange-red kindle. It was far back, like something in the kitchen, maybe. Oscar whined again. The door slammed, and for a second she thought, It's Ted, he's running to stop me, he's coming to get me, he's going to save me, but she could see it wasn't Ted MacAllen at all. The orange-red glow grew brighter. Oscar sprang up, barking and barking, and Mikayla's whole body shook. She remembered what she learned on Fire Safety Day: Don't run back into a burning building, and that was a burning building, and what she had to do was call 911 and the firefighters at the station had been nice and she had gotten a real, hard helmet-- "What the hell are you doing? Get into the car, goddammit!" She scrambled into the car. The door slammed against the bottom of her boot, like a hard slap. She twisted around to see out the back. The firefighter helmet was up in the bedroom, too, she remembered. With her recorder. She stuck her thumb in her mouth. The car engine firing up almost hid the sound of breaking glass. She sucked her thumb harder. She wasn't going to think about Ted and Helen. She wasn't going to think at all. But she stayed facing backwards looking at the snow and the moonlight and the house and the fire, until they rounded the bend in the road and she was gone. Copyright © 2013 by Julia Spencer-Fleming Excerpted from Through the Evil Days by Julia Spencer-Fleming All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.