By Nevada Barr
Park ranger Anna Pigeon returns, in a secret that unfolds in and round Lake improved, in whose chilling depths sunken treasure comes with a dangerous cost. In her most up-to-date secret, Nevada Barr sends Ranger Pigeon to a brand new publish amid the chilly, abandoned, and remoted fantastic thing about Isle Royale nationwide Park, a distant island off the coast of Michigan recognized for wonderful deep-water dives of wrecked crusing vessels. abandoning thoughts of the Texas excessive desolate tract and the environmental rip-off she helped discover, Anna is adjusting to the cool damp of Lake more advantageous and the spirits and lore of the northern Midwest. but if a regimen program for a diving allow unearths a grisly underwater homicide, Anna unearths herself 260 ft less than the forbidding floor of the lake, looking for the relationship among a drowned guy and an age-old shipment send. Written with a naturalist's believe for the desolate tract and a prepared knowing of characters who thrive in severe stipulations, a pretty good dying is a passionate, atmospheric page-turner.
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Their camp gear was all under a foot of water in the hold. “You won’t freeze,” Anna promised. There were half a dozen spare sleeping bags on the Belle Isle and as many army surplus woolen blankets. In hypothermia country it wasn’t excessive. Halfway around the hump of land that separated the cove from Todd Harbor Camp, Kenny came out of his stupor and demanded they return to the Low Dollar to retrieve some “personal” things. After medication, food, and shelter had been eliminated, Anna guessed it was booze and, though she could empathize with the need for a good stiff drink, she refused to go back in the rain and growing dusk to fetch it.
I’ve seen your tracks,” she whispered. ” A shadowy red form darted between her and the dock where gently rocking boats cradled fishermen. She refocused the glasses. The black muzzle of a little fox came into view. Head tilted to one side, pink tongue lolling, she sat less than twenty feet from the station steps ready to beg for her breakfast like a house dog. “Not you, Knucklehead,” Anna murmured and again trained the field glasses on the opposite shore. Somewhere to the north a power boat growled to life and morning’s spell was broken.
Anna kept her bow pointed into the swells and reveled in the sense of being part of the lake instead of a motorized nuisance, a noisy intruder it would shrug from its skin as a horse would twitch free of a fly. Northeast was Passage Island with its historic lighthouse. To the south long fingers of land, rock shredded by fifteen centuries of a glacier’s feints and retreats, reached into the lake. In the spring sunshine, the peninsulas were clothed in rich greens and the water in the coves was tropical blue.