The Alpine Legacy: An Emma Lord Mystery (Emma Lord Mysteries)
KILL THE COMPETITION
Emma Lord, editor and publisher of The Alpine Advocate, has never faced such cruel competition--especially not the fierce personal attacks mounted by Alpine's radical new publication, Crystal Clear. So when Crystal Bird, the editor, commits suicide, Emma sheds no tears. But Sheriff Milo Dodge determines that Crystal was murdered, and the little town is out for blood--namely, Emma's. Pursued by hate mail and flying bricks, Emma vows to draw some blood herself--from the enemy who set her up to take the fall. . . .
still trying to run you out of town?” I nodded. “Why has she got it in for me, Paula? You mentioned that you knew her. Has she ever told you why she hates me?” The Burlington Northern Santa Fe whistled as it slowed on its approach to Alpine. A fresh snowfall the previous night had required crews to plow the stretch of tracks between Alpine and the Cascade Tunnel. Paula shrugged. “Don't editors need a target? You're a major one for Crystal. Who else can she pick on?” I admitted I wasn't the
asked me more about the break-in. “It was over a week ago,” I told him. “But I'm not sure that's when the sleeping pills were taken. Any number of people had been in the house since I last took them. In fact, I think the burglary was kids. They took the kind of things that kids take.” “It could have been a cover,” Tom pointed out. I admitted that was possible. Despite the cardboard, the living room still felt chilly. Going over to the fireplace, I threw in another log. “Are you staying for
he said, grinning at me and leaning on the shovel. “My dad had hurt his back, so I came home from my apartment on Eastlake to clear the walks for him and Mom. It was just about this time of year.” Meanwhile, the Peabody brothers and their plow had reached Fir. If necessary, we could get out in Tom's car, though mine was still blocked by the snow in the driveway. “I was going to get my Christmas tree today,” I said, standing in front of the broken picture window. “Maybe I can do that tomorrow.
“You? Scared?” Tom hugged me tight. “I didn't think that was your style.” “It isn't. Not as a rule. But this caper is creepy. Look, it isn't quite four, and it's already getting dark.” “I'm not going anywhere.” Releasing me, Tom knelt by the hearth and began to build a fire. “Have you ever thought of this scam as Milo's cry for help?” “What?” I was incredulous. “He's stumped. Or baffled, as they say in the headlines.” Tom paused while he stuffed kindling on top of the wretched sign and a
ordinary.” “That's the secret of all these little Edens tucked away amid nature's glory. They're very deceptive.” Tom knocked three times. We could hear loud music, mostly bass, inside. Finally, the door opened to reveal Aaron Conley, dressed in T-shirt and jeans. He could have been on the beach at Malibu instead of in a snow-covered cabin at Baring. “I know you,” he said, jabbing a thumb in my direction. “You're from the paper.” He started to close the door, but Tom had already put out a