A Fountain Filled with Blood: A Clare Fergusson and Russ Van Alstyne Mystery by

Description: A Fountain Filled with Blood by Julia Spencer-Fleming In a small Adirondack town, the violent attack on a doctor triggers a series of gay-bashing episodes. Episcopalian priest Clare Fergusson and Police Chief Russ Van Alstyne enter a reluctant partnership. As their investigation continues, closeness becomes inevitable. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description In In the Bleak Midwinter, Julia Spencer-Flemings Malice Domestic-winning first mystery, Reverend Clare Fergusson was quickly introduced to a more eventful life than she had expected after moving to the small town of Millers Kill in upstate New York. But the Episcopal priest and former Army Air Force chopper pilot proved to her flock and to police chief Russ Van Alstyne that she could cope with the unexpected, even when it was as dire as murder. In A Fountain Filled With Blood, this new adventure for the two ill-matched friends (who are gamely resisting something beyond friendship) shows that a small town can hold just as much evil as the Wicked City. Author Biography JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING is an Agatha, Anthony, Barry, Dilys, Gumshoe and Macavity Award winner. Her books have been shortlisted for the Edgar, and Romantic Times RC awards. The Clare Fergusson and Russ Van Alstyne mysteries include the multiple award-winning books In the Bleak Midwinter (first in the series) and All Mortal Flesh. Julia lives in southern Maine. Review "[Spencer-Fleming] pulls it off again." --Chicago Tribune "Spencer-Flemings second cozy-cum-thriller to feature the Reverend Clare Fergusson...is every bit as riveting as her first...with eloquent exposition and natural dialogue, the precisely constructed plot moves effortlessly to its dramatic conclusion." --Publishers Weekly (starred review) "The plot is complicated, and the ethical issues are even thornier. Wisely, Spencer-Fleming treats them with the same delicacy she extends to Clares forbidden love." --The New York Times "Despite the brutal crimes, this is a quiet and civilized story just right for those who enjoy a modern take on the old-fashioned whodunit." --Rocky Mountain News "Serious issues...add depth to the story. An exciting mountain rescue keeps the pages turning as the pace picks up at the end." --Booklist "Even more action, more plot-twists, and more unconsummated romance than in Clare and Russs notable debut." --Kirkus Reviews Review Quote The plot is complicated, and the ethical issues are even thornier. Wisely, Spencer-Fleming treats them with the same delicacy she extends to Clares forbidden love. Excerpt from Book A FOUNTAIN FILLED WITH BLOOD (Chapter 1) The yahoos came by just after the dinner party broke up. A few young punks--three or four, picked out as streaks of white in the cab and bed of an unremarkable-looking pickup. Emil Dvorak was tucking a bottle of wine under his arm and reaching to shake his hosts hands when he heard the horn haloowing down the Five Mile Road like a redneck hunting cry, and the truck flashed into view of the inns floodlights. "Faggots!" several voices screamed. "Burn in hell!" More obscene slurs were swallowed up in the night as the truck continued past. From their run in the back, the inns dogs began barking in response, high-pitched and excited. "Goddamn it," Ron Handler said. "Did you see the license plate this time?" Stephen Obrowski asked. His partner shook his head. "Too fast. Too dark." "Has this happened before?" Emil shifted the bottle under his other arm. The inns outdoor spotlight left him feeling suddenly exposed, his car brilliantly illuminated, his hosts faces clearly visible, as his must have been. His hand, he noticed, was damp. "Have you reported it?" "It started a couple of weeks ago," Steve said. "Probably kids let out of high school." "Released from county jail, more likely," Ron said. "Weve told the police. The inns on the random-patrol list now." "Not that that helps," Ron said. "The cops have better things to do than catch gay-bashers out cruising for a good time. The only reason we got a few drive-bys in a patrol car is that the inn is bringing in the precious turista dollar." "Tourism keeps Millers Kill afloat," Emil said, "but Chief Van Alstynes a good man. He wouldnt tolerate that trash, no matter what business they were targeting." "I better call the station and let them know weve been harassed again. Thank God our guests have already retired." Ron squeezed Emils upper arm. "Thanks for coming. Im sorry the evening had to end on such a sour note." He disappeared behind the inns ornate double door. Steve peered up the road. "Are you going to be okay getting back home? I dont like the idea of you all alone on the road with those thugs out there." Emil spread his arms. "Look at me. Im a middle-aged guy driving a Chrysler with M.D. plates. What could be more mainstream?" He dropped his hand on Steves shoulder and shook him slightly. "Ill be fine. Anyone comes after me, Ill break his head open with this fine Chardonnay." "Dont you dare. That bottles worth more than you on the open market." Emil laughed as they made their good-nights. Tucking the bottle under the passenger seat of his Le Baron convertible, he considered putting the top back up. He sighed. He knew he was getting old when a couple of drunken kids yelling out of the darkness could make him this nervous. To hell with them. It wasnt worth a twenty-minute struggle with the roof or missing fresh air blowing around him on a hot June night. The high-Victorian architecture of the inn dwindled behind him as he drove east on Five Mile Road. He turned right onto Route 121, two country lanes bordered on one side by Millers Kill, the river that gave the town its name, and by dairy farms and cornfields on the other. In the dark of the new moon, the maples and sycamores lining the sides of the road were simply shades of gray on black, so the round outline of his headlights, picking out the violent green of the summer leaves, made him think of scuba diving in the Caribbean, black blinkers around his peripheral vision, gloom and color ahead. Twin blurs of red and white darted into view, and for a second his mind saw coral fish. He blinked, and they resolved themselves into rear lights. Backing into the road, slewing sidewise. Christ! He slammed on his brakes and instinctively jerked the wheel to the right, knowing a heartbeat too late that was wrong, wrong, wrong as the car sawed around in a swooping tail-forward circle and crunched to a stop with a jolt that whipsawed Dvoraks head from the steering wheel to his seat. The smell of the Chardonnay was everywhere, sickening in its excess. Steve would kill him for breaking that bottle. His ears rang. He drew a deep breath and caught it, stopped by the ache in his chest. Contusion from the shoulder restraint. He touched the back of his neck. Probably cervical strain, as well. Behind him, some awful hip-hop nonsong thumped over a gaggle of voices. He turned off the engine. Better go see if anyone needed any medical attention before he took down the drivers insurance and sued him into next week. The idiot. A door thumped shut at the same time he heard the hard flat thwack of shoes or boots hitting the macadam. Glass crunched. "Look what we got!" A young mans voice, taut with excitement. "We caught us a faggot!" Another thump, more crunching, several whoops almost drowning out the stifling beat of the bass. Dvoraks hand froze on the door handle. The idiot. He was the idiot. He lunged for his cell phone, had the power on, and actually hit a nine and a one before the blow hit across his forearm, tumbling the phone from his grasp and making him gasp from the flaring pain. A long arm reached down to scoop the phone off the passenger seat. There were hands on his jacket, tugging him sideways, and he watched as the cell phone arced through the edge of his headlights into the thick young corn. "Queerbait! You like to suck dick? You like little boys?" He twisted against the hands, groping for his car keys, his heart beating twice as fast as the sullen song, thinking he could still get out of this, still get away, until one of them hit him in the temple hard; supraorbital fracture, the part of him that could never stop being a doctor thought as his vision grayed and the key ring jingled out of reach. In front of him, the headlights illuminated a swath of achingly green corn, cut off from the shoulder of the road by a sagging fence of barbed wire twisted around rough posts. His door was yanked open, and he wanted to think of Paul, to think of his children, but the only thing in his head was how the fence looked like the one on the cover of Time, like the one Matthew Shepard died on, and he was going to die now, too, and it was going to hurt more than anything. "Cmere, faggot," one of them said as he was dragged from his seat. And the pain began. A FOUNTAIN FILLED WITH BLOOD Copyright 2003 by Julia Spencer-Fleming. Details ISBN1250007828 Author Julia Spencer-Fleming Short Title FOUNTAIN FILLED W/BLOOD Publisher Minotaur Books Language English ISBN-10 1250007828 ISBN-13 9781250007827 Media Book Format Paperback DEWEY FIC Year 2012 Publication Date 2012-07-17 Imprint Minotaur Books Subtitle A Clare Fergusson and Russ Van Alstyne Mystery Series Number 2 Pages 336 Series Fergusson/Van Alstyne Mysteries Audience General UK Release Date 2012-07-17 We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:45378512;

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