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In In the Bleak Midwinter, Julia Spencer-Fleming’s 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 flockæ and to police chief Russ Van Alstyneæthat 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 ...
In In the Bleak Midwinter, Julia Spencer-Fleming’s 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 flockæ and to police chief Russ Van Alstyneæthat 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.
"Spencer-Fleming's 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 Clare's 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 Russ's notable debut."-Kirkus Reviews
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."
"I better call the station and let them know we've been harassed again. Thank God our guests have already retired." Ron squeezed Emil's upper arm. "Thanks for coming. I'm sorry the evening had to end on such a sour note." He disappeared behind the inn's ornate double door.
Steve peered up the road. "Are you going to be okay getting back home? I don't like the idea of you all alone on the road with those thugs out there."
Emil spread his arms. "Look at me. I'm a middle-aged guy driving a Chrysler with M.D. plates. What could be more mainstream?" He dropped his hand on Steve's shoulder and shook him slightly. "I'll be fine. Anyone comes after me, I'll break his head open with this fine Chardonnay."
"Don't you dare. That bottle's 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 wasn't 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 Dvorak's 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 driver's 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 man's voice, taut with excitement. "We caught us a faggot!" Another thump, more crunching, several whoops almost drowning out the stifling beat of the bass. Dvorak's 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.
"C'mere, 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.
Excerpted from A Fountain Filled with Blood by Julia Spencer-Fleming Copyright © 2012 by Julia Spencer-Fleming. Excerpted by permission.
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Posted January 6, 2004
This is a good second installment in a series featuring a reverend and police chief. The crimes being investigated in this case are a series of hate crimes. There is certainly a lot of action in the book. It was a good read.
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Posted May 16, 2013
Rainbow Dash sped around the morning air, clearing the thin clouds. All the ponies looked happy and blooming. So far so good. She flew forwards and kicked a fairly small cloud away. A silver pony with blonde hair lay on the dusty ground sadly. Pinkie Pie was out of her house, yelling at the pony. Rainbow Dash went down to investigate how mean Pinkie could possibly be. She was yelling, "Never, will you ever, take my chocolate-chip-double-fudge-peanut-butter-muffins right out of my oven! Now leave and never come back!" The earth pony backed away sadly. "I— I'm Derpy Hooves." Derpy Hooves fixed a cross-eyed gaze on Rainbow Dash. "Why was Pinkie Pie yelling?" "I took her chocolate-chip-double-fudge-peanut-butter-muffins because I love muffins!" She put on a serious look of silliness on her face. "Well, I could make you some muffins. Hold on a sec." Rainbow Dash sped off to Twilight's house. "Twilight," she panted. "Can you transfer a bit of powers to me?" Twilight nodded and touched her hoof to Rainbow's. Rainbow left and came back to Derpy Hooves. "Hold on. Touch hooves with me." They high-hooved and Rainbow Dash grabbed on to her. She flew up and stood on the clouds. Derpy Hooves could too. "Cool! I can walk on clouds now!" Rainbow Dash ran forwards. "Come on, bubble girl," she snorted. She ran off to the rainbow factories. "How about rainbow muffins?" She baked some quickly and gave it to Derpy Hooves. She recoiled at the taste. "Ow, spicy! No more rainbows!" "What about cloud muffins?" She whipped one up in the mold and gave it to her. "Mmm. Great! It tastes like whipped cream!" Well, duh. It's a cloud, Rainbow Dash thought. But she was still happy to help.
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Posted May 14, 2013
Posted May 14, 2013
You must write about Rainbow Dash and Derpy Hooves. To WAIT: Derpy Hooves is the grey pony with blonde hair and bubbles as her cutie mark. Shes crosseyed and clumsy an loves muffins. ~RD 8\/\
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Posted March 17, 2013
I don't know what it is about this series, but I don't have the desire to continue with the stories, but seem to have this incessant desire to
read "just one more" to see what develops between the characters.
As was the same with the first story, I felt like it took way to long to get to the heart of the story. I think that once the story finally takes off,
that it is good, but that's just not enough to make me love a story. It seems that the author really can write exciting events, but that seems
to be it. It seems like she just has a hard time executing it all together.
As for the characters, I find myself dying to know what happens with them, even though I don't care for the innuendo's that are taking place.
First of all, how strange is it that an Episcopal Priest is a female who is a former Army helicopter pilot that regularly drinks and drives a
Shelby Mustand, but most importantly finds herself more openly attracted to a married man than she should? I myself, don't agree with
infidelity, so it's hard to accept the budding relationship between Clair and Russ. I also just find Claire's character unbelievable. I don't have
such a problem with Russ as Chief of Police and it's obvious that the attractions are mutual between Russ and Claire but just don't
understand it, or my desire to see where it goes.
After reading the first book in the series, I said I would read the second and then decide if I would continue from there! After reading this
one I immediately decided that I was not going to continue, however, after reading the description of the third book, I'm going to give this
series one last chance!
Posted January 5, 2013
Posted September 19, 2012
Posted June 30, 2012
Joining Clare and Russ in Miller’s Kill is a reliable pleasure. This is the second of the series, but the fourth or so that I’ve read. Early on there are three assaults, all on men, all of whom are gay. This may or may not connect the attacks. One of those assaulted has professional connections with Russ, one, professional connections to Clare’s church functions, and one is a big player in the new development beginning in the area. The development may or may not have environmental implications. It has been cleared, but new allegations arise. Millers Kill being a small town, the incidents stand out and together. Personal tension between married Russ, the police chief, and single Clare, the Presbyterian priest, continue but at a lower degree than some of the other books. Their mutual appreciation remains steady in spite of a bump or two, and their interactions and relationship shine nicely throughout the book and series. Also shining nicely is how their different views of life and approaches to addressing the assaults counter one another in realistic ways. The secondary characters aren’t extremely deep, but fill the story well, particularly Russ’ feisty hippy-idealed mother. Like the other books in the series, this one is a good read and Spencer-Flemings’ treatment, pace and plot are in sure hands. I will be ready for another dose of Clare and Russ soon.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted May 27, 2012
Posted May 25, 2012
Posted May 1, 2012
Posted April 12, 2012
This is without a doubt one of the greatest series I have ever read. Lots of mystery, suspense, and action occurring around characters that are so wonderfully developed you almost expect them to walk in the door any moment. A word of caution, though . . . this is a HIGHLY addictive series --- once you get started, you may find it difficult to stop until you've read all the books! This is a great series for book clubs and discussion groups. Suggest you start with the first book in the series, "In The Bleak Midwinter" and read all in order. You won't be disappointed.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted April 9, 2012
Posted April 2, 2012
Posted March 30, 2012
Posted March 23, 2012
Posted March 12, 2012
Posted March 7, 2012
If you can read a mystery where the protagonist, a female priest, seems to have no connection to religious thought or behavio, and that aspect appears to be applauded, you will enjoy this book, I have to ask myself as I am reading the book why this woman would have chosen this profession and this is not explained. Both of the books I read have a plot that kept me reading but I won't be choosing this series again.
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Posted March 6, 2012
From the freezing winter to the steaming summer. Clare and Russ have managed to keep some distance in their relationship in the months since "In the Bleak Midwinter," but a new crime brings them together again and the underlying tension resurfaces. Meantime there's a great plot, villainous villains and heroic heroes. There's even more humor in this book than in the first one, which makes the main characters quite likable. Plus the theme of homophobia is a highly relevant one these days. Love these novels, looking forward to more in the series.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted February 29, 2012