The Dead of Sled Run Blog Tour
It is almost Christmas and yards glow with twinkling lights.
But more than chestnuts are roasting.
A raging fire sweeps through the decorated landscape of Sled Run, destroying the home of Chief Deputy Oren Rosenberg and killing two.
An accident? Or did something toxic fuel the flames?
Sheriff Piper Blackwell and Detective Basil Meredith believe Oren was targeted and are tasked with finding motive and means before more than the holiday burns bright.
With many clues reduced to ashes, can Piper and Basil catch the culprits before they strike again? Or is this blaze just the start of the most murder-filled time of the year?
Publisher: Boone Street Press (November 13, 2023)
Publication date: November 13, 2023
Language: English
Print length: 316 pages
Buy link: https://mybook.to/DeadSledRun
The Dead of Sled Run is book five of the Piper Blackwell Series. Want to read the series in order? Check it out on Amazon.
Prefer audio? The Piper Blackwell series is in audio, read by Catherine Wenglowski. Start with book one of the series, The Dead of Winter
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About the Author:
USA Today best-seller, Jean Rabe's impressive writing career spans decades, starting as a newspaper reporter and bureau chief.
From there she went on to become the director of RPGA, a co-editor with Martin H. Greenberg for DAW books, and, most notably, Rabe is an award-winning author of more than forty science fiction/fantasy and murder mystery thrillers.
She writes mysteries and fantasies, because life is too short to be limited to one genre–and she does it with dogs tangled at her feet, because life is too short not to be covered in fur.
Find out more about her at www.jeanrabe.comExcerpt
Oren retreated by feel, shoulder pressed to a wall, keeping hold of the struggling, yowling, confined cats, coughing even harder as he went.
So damn hot and hard to breathe. So noisy: the fire roared.
He was missing a cat. “Freya! Here, kitty!”
Save these three, he thought. Get them safe. Come back for Freya.
Bare-chested and in his pajama bottoms, he stumbled, gasping, out of the house, losing a slipper somewhere. Scorching inside, frigid out. The below-freezing winter air warred with the smoke he’d inhaled and made his chest tight and painful. He hurt terribly everywhere. Snow mixed with ice came sideways in a strong wind that battered him and made the walk slick.
Head and heart pounding, he half-ran, half-slid to his truck. Sucking in as much fresh air as he could manage, Oren only for a heartbeat considered using the truck’s radio to call the dispatcher again to make sure the fire department was on the way. The call would eat a few more minutes, so he decided against that. He shoved the soot-covered carrier full of hissing cats into the cab, slammed the door, and whirled back toward the inferno.
Oren’s chest heaved. He wobbled, catching himself against the front fender and forcing down dizziness. He headed back up the sidewalk, vaguely registering people coming out of front doors across the street. He owned a corner property. Across the other side stretched Lake Noel.
He heard one of the neighbors shout to call 9-1-1. Why did it have to be Candace on duty? Candace the fashionista. Why couldn’t Teegan be at the desk? Teegan with all the tattoos and piercings. Purple hair. He always gave her a hard time about her strange appearance, but he wished she had been on the desk. A seasoned veteran of the department, he trusted her, didn’t really know Candace, didn’t know if she was competent, if she’d get the fire department out before he lost everything and himself.
Someone shouted: “I just called 9-1-1!”
“I don’t hear sirens!”
“Isn’t that the sheriff’s house?”
“The deputy’s.”
“That’s Rosenberg!”
“We should hear sirens!”
Oren didn’t hear sirens either. But he heard his heart hammering, the wind whistling, and the whooshing, snarling conversation of the flames. The fire was so loud. He continued taking stuttering steps toward his porch, his bare foot registering the needle sensations of ice on the pavement. His arm hurt from the cat claws and something else. Burns, he was burned.
Sliding, staying upright.
“Don’t go in there!”
“Rosey, stay out!” That sounded like Dave from a few doors down.
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