Steampunk Crimes for the Adventurously Inclined
Judges' Comments:
"When the Flood Falls impressed us with the author's polished writing. The protagonist, and ex-RCMP officer, is engaging and flawed. Lacey's police career and marriage are in tatters, and she's currently working as security detail at a new art museum. Until she finds somewhere else to live, she's staying with a friend, the president of the building committee of the museum. Suspense is created by the threat of a midnight prowler.
What made this entry stands out is that a woman with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome plays an integral role in solving the case. Formerly smart and successful, her cells no longer produce enough energy and she deals with debilitating fatigue, watching the world through her window. A new medication allows her brain to briefly function the way it used to before the illness, and she is able to help solve the mystery.
When the Flood Falls depicts the shadier side of a favourite Canadian sport, portraying the power hockey team owners and agents have over their players. The writing shows confidence and the pacing expertly keeps the story moving toward its conclusion."
Golden Age Crime WritersIs it just to dazzle the reader with exoticism and provide a means of escapism? Or is there something more to it? After a lot of head scratching and pondering here are 8 possible reasons I have come up with…
“Hey, Dan. Borrow your twelve-gauge? Gotta go shoot up a house.”
Yeah. Like that would fly with a guy you haven’t seen in three years. Maybe put “Merry Christmas” first?” While he waited, Marcel shifted kindling from the porch’s woodpile into his backpack and crammed the day’s Northern Times in on top. He zipped up just as the door opened.
“Marcel. Thought you was in rehab.”“They let me out for the holidays.”He was supposed to be at Odelle’s in Hearst already, two dry weeks for the recovering drunken Indian. She’d be pissed when he didn’t show up, afraid he had veered into the first bar instead, but this side-trip was her Christmas present. She’d understand.He followed Dan indoors, dropping his backpack and parka on a chair. He kicked the snow off his boots but kept them on, against the cold and the decades of dirt on the hallway floor.“Borrow your twelve-gauge?”“You going bush in this weather?”“Nope. Gonna shoot up a house. You can have the shotgun back right after.”Dan peered at him, unsure about the humour. “That’d make me an accessory. They’d throw both our asses in the can.”“No place else to go until spring.” Marcel pulled a chair toward the gray-topped table, nudging aside a sleeping mutt with his boot.
