Outstanding Praise for Julia Spencer-Fleming’s
A Fountain Filled With Blood
“The plot is complicated, and the ethical issues are even thornier. Wisely, Spencer-Fleming treats them with the same delicacy she extends to Clare’s forbidden love.”
—New York Times Book Review
“Julia Spencer-Fleming ‘pulls it off’ again in her second outing.”
—Chicago Tribune
“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.”
—Denver 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 Russ’s notable debut.”
—Kirkus Reviews
In the Bleak Midwinter
“Atmospheric…. [A] freshly conceived and meticulously plotted whodunit.”
—New York Times Book Review
“Superb!”
—Library Journal
“Terrific action scenes…. [W]hat really distinguishes In the Bleak Midwinter, however, is the author’s skillful portrayal of her protagonist’s inner conflict.”
—Washington Post Book World
“Filled with many twists and turns….[A] warm tale.”
—Midwest Book Review
“A riveting page-turner from start to finish.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Fleming hits a grand slam with In the Bleak Midwinter. The tension is constant. The dialogue is dead-on. The characters are interesting, thought-provoking, and honest. The prose soars above the quality usually found in this genre. To top it all off, the story twists and turns to the last page.”
—Denver Rocky Mountain News
“Compelling…many twists.”
—Romantic Times
“Without ever slighting the central situation of the abandoned mother and her abandoned child, Spencer-Fleming shows admirable resourcefulness in the changes she rings on it.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“The prose soars…. [T]he story twists and turns to the last page.”
—Maine Sunday Telegram
St. Martin’s/Minotaur Paperbacks Titles by Julia Spencer-Fleming
IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER
A FOUNTAIN FILLED WITH BLOOD
~TO THE MEMORY OF~
VICTOR HUGO-VIDAL
1933–2002
WE WILL MEET, BUT WE WILL MISS HIM
THERE WILL BE HIS VACANT CHAIR
WE WILL LINGER TO CARESS HIM
WHILE WE BREATHE OUR EVENING PRAYER
—HENRY J. WASHBURN AND GEORGE F. ROOT
There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Emmanuel’s veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.
Lose all their guilty stains, lose all their guilty stains;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.
The dying thief rejoiced to see that fountain in his day;
And there have I, though vile as he, washed all my sins away.
Washed all my sins away, washed all my sins away;
And there have I, though vile as he, washed all my sins away.
Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood shall never lose its power
Till all the ransomed church of God be saved, to sin no more.
Be saved, to sin no more, be saved, to sin no more;
Till all the ransomed church of God be saved, to sin no more.
E’er since, by faith, I was the stream Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.
And shall be till I die, and shall be till I die;
Redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.
Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I’ll sing Thy power to save, When this poor lisping, stammering tongue lies silent in the grave.
Lies silent in the grave, lies silent in the grave;
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue lies silent in the grave.
—William Cowper, in Conyer’s Collections of Psalms and Hymns
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
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 inn’s 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 inn’s 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 inn’s 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.
“We’ve told the police. The inn’s 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 Alstyne’s a good man. He wouldn’t tolerate that trash, no matter what business they were targeting.”