After talking her way into a job writing for Portland's Northwest Extreme magazine, Meg Reed may now really be in over her head. Actually, about 8,000 feet over her head. . .
She's at Mount Hood's remote Silcox Hut, covering the the seriously hardcore Ridge Rangers Oregon's elite high-altitude rescue teamduring their four-day winter training. Sure, Meg beefed up her outdoor skills over the summer . . . but she's still hoping to cover the event with some hot chocolate by the cheery fireplace. Then, during a sudden blizzard, she swears she hears gunshots. No one stranded in the hut believes her . . . until self-absorbed Ridge Ranger Ben Rogers is found outside in a pool of frozen blood. Meg's now got to find this killer quickly . . . before cabin fever does them all in!
Praise For Scene Of The Climb
"A splendid overview of the greater Portland and Columbia River Gorge region, perfect for travel buffs. Her protagonist shows promise with her determined attitude and moxie." Library Journal
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|Product dimensions:||4.10(w) x 6.70(h) x 1.10(d)|
|Age Range:||18 Years|
About the Author
Kate Dyer-Seeley is the author of Scene of the Climb, Slayed on the Slopes, Silenced in the Surf, and First Degree Mudder in the Pacific Northwest Mystery series, as well as the memoir Underneath the Ash. Her writing has appeared in Climbing Magazine, The Oregonian, The Columbian, Portland Family Magazine, and The Vancouver Voice. She is an active member of the Willamette Writers Association and the Pacific Northwest Writers Association. Visit her website at katedyerseeley.com.
Read an Excerpt
Slayed on the Slopes
By Kate Dyer-Seeley
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.Copyright © 2015 Kate Dyer-Seeley
All rights reserved.
Silcox Hut, Timberline, Oregon Elevation 7,000 feet
You're an idiot, Meg.
Yep, that's pretty much the first thing that came to mind as I frantically scanned the frozen sky.
Why don't I trust my intuition? If I ever bothered to stop and listen to Gam's oh-so-wise advice, I'd never get myself into these situations. But what do I do? Forge ahead, ignoring that nagging voice in my head.
What I couldn't ignore now was the howl of the wind and the pounding in my forehead.
At 7,000 feet above sea level, where the air begins to thin, I couldn't seem to fill my chest. My breath came in shallow, wheezing spurts and felt as thick as the snow beneath my feet. My head throbbed from the lack of oxygen, and my fingers burned with cold. Seventeen inches of new snow had fallen since the blizzard hit yesterday, and it didn't look like Mother Nature intended to let up anytime soon.
For some strange reason I thought I could hear the faint sounds of Frank Sinatra's crooning voice. The lyric "Kiss the good life good-bye" hummed on the wind. Message received. If I didn't find my way back to the Silcox Hut—fast—I'd be kissing my life good-bye. I couldn't be hearing music up at this elevation, could I? Was I losing it? How long does hypothermia take to set in?
Pausing in the knee-deep snow, I searched the sky for any clue that might lead me in the direction of the Silcox Hut and safety. Nothing but blinding white greeted me. I couldn't tell how much snow was actually falling and how much was being hurled back up into the air by the deafening wind.
Yet there it was again. The swell of big band music teased my ears.
Guide me back, Frank, I thought as I used all the energy I could muster to free my tingling feet from the snow and trudge toward the sound of the music.
Thank God I'd worn my fur-lined Keen snow boots because even with two pairs of thick wool socks I was losing feeling in my toes. My fingers were another story. The supercute cashmere fingerless gloves seemed like an excellent fashion statement a couple days ago, but in terms of function, not so much.
I kicked my foot free from the powder and took a step forward. It was getting hard to stay upright. Icy flakes pelted my face. I sunk deeper in the snow.
At this rate you're going to end up a Popsicle, Meg, I thought just as I heard a bang.
At first I thought it must be a drum—the bang of the big band reaching its crescendo. A moment later I realized I was horribly mistaken.
Lurching forward through the heavy snow, I heard another bang. This time there was no mistaking the sound—it had to be a gunshot.
I had no one to blame but myself. The assignment at the Silcox Hut was my idea. Two days before, while on my way to Government Camp, Oregon, there was no sign of the storm that had been battering the mountain ever since.
When I packed my Subaru Outback, a graduation present my dad—"Pops"—gave me before his untimely death almost a year and a half ago, I never would have guessed that I'd be caught in a blizzard. The languid late November sun warmed the interior of the car as I stuffed the cargo area with ski boots, snowshoes, my winter parka and a suitcase before departing from Portland.
After my disastrous initial assignment last spring for Northwest Extreme, the award-winning adventure magazine where I'm currently a staff writer, I vowed to hone my almost non-existent outdoor skills. And hone I did. I spent the better chunk of my summer training with the Crag Rats, Oregon's oldest volunteer mountain rescue team.
Thanks to the Crag Rats' expert guidance and steadfast patience, I gained some street cred with the team at Northwest Extreme. Don't get me wrong. I'm not planning to bungee jump off a bridge or scale Everest anytime soon, but I can hold my own on a day hike now. Plus, the Crag Rats schooled me on all their lingo and gear. It was like a summerlong immersion camp with the Boy Scouts.
I emerged from my outdoor intensive training more confident and with the equivalent of a bachelor's degree in extreme adventure. Hopefully I'd be able to apply what I learned from the Crag Rats to my writing. I knew that Greg, my editor and distractingly gorgeous boss, was thrilled that I'd invested the time in training.
Fortunately my Crag Rat friends were generous in reporting my progress to Greg. I think I won them over with batches of my grandmother's—Gam's—orange dreamsicle cookies and my determination to ask unexpected questions. The Crag Rats convinced Greg that I could hold my own with any thrill seeker or professional athlete that he might task me with interviewing. Okay, so maybe that's a stretch of the truth, but I wasn't worried. I figured any future blemishes in my outdoor prowess could be glossed over by my ability to wield a paper and a pen. Or keyboard.
That's why I'm an idiot. I'm the one who approached Greg with writing a feature on a new high-altitude guiding team—the Ridge Rangers. In fairness, I didn't have an inkling of worry that things might not go according to plan.
"Got a minute?" I asked as I peered into Greg's office early one November morning. The rising sun cast a pinkish glow on the wall of windows behind his desk and illuminated the Willamette River outside that divided my hometown, Portland, in half. I like to arrive before the rest of the staff in the morning. It gives me time to pull together my thoughts before the office starts to buzz with people facing the frenzy of deadlines.
"Hey, Meg, you're here early." Greg waved me in. "Come on in. What's up?"
I thought I'd recovered from my crush on him. The distraction of the brawny Crag Rats over the summer almost did it. But at the sight of his scruffy stubble and tanned forearms, I had to stop myself from swooning. Having a crush on your boss is a bad idea. The man should model, not manage a magazine.
One glance around his office revealed that our photography department wasn't immune to Greg's natural good looks and charm either. Covers of Northwest Extreme were framed on the walls. Greg's mug graced the cover of at least five. His tall, sculpted body hung from the side of cliffs and posed on summits.
"Sorry to bug you," I said, rolling a swivel chair in front of his desk.
When Greg took over as editor in chief a few years before, he'd moved Northwest Extreme to a refurbished warehouse on the waterfront. Mere feet from his office windows sat a multi-use path where Portlanders ran, biked and walked in any kind of weather. We'd had a long stretch of Indian summer and the path was a mob scene of early-morning exercisers trying to burn calories and soak up some vitamin D before heading to work.
I adjusted the hemline of my 1950s pale pink cotton, pleated dress. Despite my burgeoning outdoor skills, I couldn't give up my love of vintage fashion.
"Nice dress." Greg winked. "Pink—I can always count on you for pink, Meg."
"Thanks." I held my hand on my forehead to block the glare from the water outside.
Greg glanced over his shoulder. "Is that too bright? I can close the shades." He grabbed a remote control from his desk and aimed it at the windows.
Gray shades began to lower automatically.
"No, wait. You don't have to do that. I love the sun. I just have to adjust my position. Keep them open."
"Okay, if you're sure." Greg clicked another button. The shades stopped and rose back to their original position.
"How's life, Meg? I've been gone so much lately, it seems like I haven't seen you for ages."
"I know. How was Africa?" I asked, trying to keep things social.
"South America?" He leaned forward on his elbows. Did he intentionally keep his face casually scruffy?
"Oh, right. I can't keep track of your travels. How was it? You climbed Aconcagua, right?" No wonder his skin looked as though it had been gently toasted and buttered.
"Yep. I'm working on a feature about the seven summits. I have three left. Not a bad gig." He laughed, cracked his knuckles and leaned even closer on his desk. "Now, what can I do for you?"
I could smell his aftershave and see the curve of his muscles in his forearms.
Stop it, Meg. I scooted back a little and crossed my legs.
Gathering my composure, I launched into my pitch. "Well, you know how the Crag Rats sort of took me under their wing this summer? They're the oldest volunteer mountain rescue group this side of the Rockies, right?"
"I learned from a couple of the guys that some of them are branching off and starting a new mountaineering guiding team made up primarily of competitive snowboarders—the Ridge Rangers. They're going to lead groups of climbers up the mountain, from novices to experts. Their goal is to make sure everyone who books a trip with them summits. I think it could make a really interesting story. Readers will really connect with their tricks, skills and rugged good looks." I winked.
"Oh, really? So what exactly were they training you on?" Greg raised his eyebrow. "You know there are a ton of women who board, right?"
Heat rose to my cheeks. "Yeah. I know. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that we might draw in some new female readership because most of the Ridge Rangers are men—that's all." Stop, Meg. "The team is having their first meeting up on Mount Hood later this month and I thought I could go and do a write-up about it."
Greg leaned back in his chair. "You're too easy, Meg. You know you can never play poker. One little joke and you turn as red as those Japanese maples outside."
The maple trees lining the pathway were ablaze with color. My cheeks felt equally hot.
Greg had an uncanny ability to unnerve me no matter what.
He grabbed a pencil from a coffee cup on his desk. The cup displayed our Northwest Extreme tagline—KEEPING THE WEST WILD. He made a note on a blank sheet of paper, stopped and looked at me. "Yeah, I love this idea. The Ridge Rangers, right? A cover story maybe? Oregon's wild guides on the slope. Let's do it."
"Sure. So what's this meeting they're holding?"
"Hang on one sec, okay?" I scooted the chair back and sprinted out of his office. The communal area was dark and empty. Most staffers arrive around 9:00, but everyone keeps their own schedule. Greg likes his staff to have autonomy and the flexibility to be out on assignment or out for a long run at a moment's notice. I appreciated his hands-off approach to management and hoped he didn't notice that I tended to pop out for a double mocha versus for a long run.
My desk sat in the middle of the exposed brick building below high-beamed ceilings. I fumbled through a stack of file folders and found one labeled "Ridge Rangers." I tucked it under my arm and returned to Greg's office.
"Here's everything I've gathered so far." My foot slipped out of my slide sandal and I stumbled onto his desk, spilling the file.
"You okay?" Greg smirked.
I gathered the papers together and reached down to grab my rose-colored sandal. Holding it in the air, I laughed. "Yep, just a slight wardrobe malfunction."
You're such a klutz, Meg, I thought as I slid my sandal back on and held my hand over my stomach.
I tucked my hair behind my ears. It's at a weird in-between stage. Usually I wear it short, but I decided I wanted to try something new going into the colder weather, so I've been growing it out. The result is a bunch of funky blond layers that tend to flip out in all the wrong places. I might have to give up on long locks and chop it off again.
Greg caught my eye and gave me an expectant look.
I turned on my most professional voice. "Right." I passed him the file. "The Ridge Rangers are hosting their inaugural training meeting before they start to take clients up the summit. They're taking over the Silcox Hut at Timberline for a long weekend of events—rescue training, boarding exhibitions, gear demos, team bonding—that sort of thing."
He thumbed through the notes I'd collected. "See, Meg, this is why I keep you around. Nice preliminary work. So when's the training?"
I grinned and relaxed my stomach muscles. "In three weeks. The weekend before Thanksgiving." Glancing out the window as a group of runners breezed past in shorts and T-shirts, I continued. "Although at this rate I'm guessing there won't be any snow on the mountain."
"Yeah, no kidding." Greg shook his head. "Such a bummer." He handed me back the folder. "The week before Thanksgiving?"
He paused and tapped his pencil again. "That might work out perfectly. My family has a place in Government Camp, near the lodge. I was planning to be up there that weekend anyway and I've been wanting to get the whole team together. Maybe we can do a staff meeting the day before, work on next year's editorial calendar and bond a bit. Will that work for you?"
"Great. Let me make a couple calls and see if I can reserve the lodge. Don't say anything to the rest of the staff yet."
"Of course not."
"If it works out we can knock out a team retreat and a cover story. Plus, this way I'll be around to help you with the feature. I wouldn't mind taking a couple runs with those guys anyway. What do you say, Meg? We'll throw in our skis and make a weekend out of it?"
So much for autonomy. I gulped. "Sure, that sounds great."
"You ski, right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I totally ski," I lied as I tucked the file under my arm and exited from his office.
What are you thinking, Meg? I thought as I made my way back to my desk. My last ski trip hadn't ended well. My bestie, Jill Pettygrove, was on the ski team when we were growing up. Her parents are avid skiers and Jill was shredding the slopes as soon as she took her first steps.
They invited me up to the mountain when we were in elementary school. Despite their expert training I spent most of the weekend on my derrière. On our way home I nursed a sprained ankle and a bruised bum and vowed I'd never ski again.
Yet somehow I managed not only to rope myself into a ski trip, but a ski trip with my boss. My only consolation was the brilliant November sun. Its rays had penetrated through the windows on the far side of the office and warmed the back of my chair. As I booted up my laptop to begin outlining my feature on the Ridge Rangers, I was confident there was no chance I'd have to break out skis soon.
There wasn't a cloud on the horizon and the forecast called for continuing sun. In fact, the local news stations had been warning of a potential drought for the past two months.
I didn't have anything to worry about. The mountain would be bare.
Was I ever wrong.CHAPTER 2
Three weeks later my red Subaru Outback wagon was bursting with gear and equipment.
"You're sure these will stay?" I asked Jill as I struggled to tighten a pair of her old skis to the top of the car.
Jill is a good five inches taller than me. Her thin, model-like arms easily reached the ski rack and cinched the straps tight. "They're good. They're not going anywhere. I just hope you don't have to use them. You know the forecast is calling for snow now, right?"
I looked up at the cloudless blue sky above us. A slight breeze released a single leaf from the white birch tree in front of my apartment. "I know," I said as I dug through my purse for my sunglasses. "That means there's no way it's actually going to snow. The forecasters are always wrong. I mean, look around. The only thing I see is the sun."
"Let's hope you're right." Jill looked doubtful. "You remember what happened the last time we went skiing?"
"Uh, yeah." I pushed up my purple Kate Spade sunglasses (a freebie from Northwest Extreme) on the bridge of my nose. "Don't worry. Even if it snows I'm not getting on those suckers." I pointed to the skis. "They're just for show."
The contents of my bulging trunk were evidence that if nothing else I was overprepared for this assignment. In addition to Jill's skis, I'd packed snow boots, a North Face hooded parka in a matching shade of plum, a knit pink and purple striped hat and my favorite find of the season—fingerless gloves made from recycled cashmere sweaters. They're hand-sewn by a local seamstress and friend of Gam's. Mine were a deep shade of eggplant and embellished with tiny pastel flowers on the tip of the hand. I was focused on looking the part of an extreme sports reporter. Plus, not only would I look stylish on the slopes this weekend, but my fingers would be free to take notes. Genius, if I did say so myself.
"Anything else you need before you hit the road?" Jill asked, twisting her silky shoulder-length hair into a ponytail.
She's Grace Kelly. I'm Doris Day. There's no escaping it. Jill exudes an easy elegance that I could never match. Not that it matters. No one our age could probably even name either icon. Lucky for me, Portland is a mecca for all things vintage. I'm sure my girlish style blends in with the hipsters who seek out antiques and purposely wear retro clothing. Little do they know I have a secret obsession with the 1950s. Gam says it's because I'm an old soul—much wiser than my twenty-three years. Mother says it's because high-waisted skirts flatter my figure. They're both right.
"I think I'm good," I said to Jill, reaching into the pocket of my jeans and handing her the key to my apartment. "Thanks again for letting me borrow your old skis. Here's the key. The common area is in the basement—no one ever uses it. You'll be totally alone down there, Picasso."
Excerpted from Slayed on the Slopes by Kate Dyer-Seeley. Copyright © 2015 Kate Dyer-Seeley. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Great Book! This is a great book; this is the second book in the Pacific Northwest series by Kate e. Dyer-Seeley. Meg is at Mount Hood’s remote Silcox Hut writing a story on the hardcore Ridge Rangers for Portland’s Northwest Extreme magazine. She is also ready to relax by the fireplace with a good cup of hot chocolate. During a blizzard, she hears gunshots but no one believes her when she tells them, that is until the body of Ranger Ben Rogers is found by the frozen pool. Meg is determined to find the killer with her sleuthing skills. This is an entertaining read with great characters. If you are looking for a great mystery, then you need to read this book. A Review copy was provided to me in exchange for a fair and honest review. The free book held no determination on my personal review.
Dollycas’s Thoughts I have been waiting for this book, thankfully we weren’t kept waiting a whole year! Meg is back and off on another adventure and again she is not prepared and I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT!! She thinks a little “training” she did over the summer will be able to make her look like she knows what she is doing and fool her boss. Well she is prepared for roughing in front of the fireplace but she can’t ski and her cute little gloves are not going to keep her warm as she observes the Ridge Rangers. She does know what gunshots sound like and she knows they mean trouble especially when the head Ridge Ranger is found dead! This girl she can get herself in the middle of things even when she is trying hard to avoid them. Her father was a journalist too and was killed. She hears his voice in her head throughout the entire story and there are several unanswered questions about his death. This was touched on in the first book and that subplot continues in this one. Again in addition to the great cast of characters the setting is a character too. The author describes everything so wonderfully, from the blizzard and piles of snow to the frigid temps. Burrrrrrr!!! Traveling up an down the mountain from the main lodge to the remote Silcox Hut, I could picture it so vividly. This was a fantastic story with a huge OMG moment! The main mystery was so good. I was suspecting everyone at one point or another. I had just one little issue with sometime Meg had a hard time with near the end of the story but I don’t want to spoil anything but those of you that know me will know exactly what I am talking about when you read the story. I am already waiting the next edition, these cliffhangers are killer, lol!!!
4 stars This is the second book of the series but the first one I have read. I like the characters. The drama, the setting, action and mystery. I was wrong on who I thought the murder was. It was a clean read too. Meg Reed is the main character. She is single a writer that works for Portland's Northwest Extreme magazine. She is not a athlete but is learning to be more outdoors to understand what she is writing about. She likes her boss. Meg is at Mount Hood's remote Silcox Hut to cover the new hardcore Ridge Rangers training session. They have a major snow storm come in and strand everyone up in the Silcox Hut. The person who is sponsoring the elite high-altitude rescue team Ben Rogers is murdered. Meg is one of the party that finds the body. Megs father was killed awhile back. He was a reporter too that was working on the drug scene in Portland. There is mystery with him but more was probably told in the first book. I liked the story and would read more about Meg Reed. I really want to find out more because of the file she read at the end. I was given this ebook to read from Net Galley and Kensington Publishing Corp.. In return I agreed to give a honest review of Slayed on the Slopes.
Book two was a great add on to the series. Cliffhanger at the end will make readers running to grab book 3!
As our adventure on the slopes begins, shades of The Shining rears it ugly head…the Timberline, snowcats…and I give Meg a lot of credit because she is terrified of most outdoor things, and Kate Dyer Seeley puts her in harms way to entertain us in this fun cozy mystery, with travel tips for your visit to Mt Hood, Oregon.
I loved reading about all of the snow and the blizzard in this story. Sometimes Meg annoyed me a bit but all in all the story was a fun read. I bought this book because of the snow's part in the story and it did not disappoint. (I miss snow!) I may have to reread this one when I am really missing snow.
Meg is back! How wonderful. Meg is probably the least outdoor-type person writing for Portland's Northwest Extreme magazine, and keeps getting assignments outside of her comfort zone. While she did train over the summer, she still is not ready for Mt. Hood in the winter, at the Silcox Hut. Meg is feisty, keeps trying, even though she would rather be curled up in front of the fireplace with a good cup of hot chocolate. She has personal issues she needs to solve, and there is a secondary mystery, making her a complex character. I love this series, as always Kate Dyer-Seeley has hit it out of the park. I love it too that it's set in the Pacific Northwest, we have so many outdoor activities and locations for Meg to learn her skills
Meg is back! This time she’s found herself in the midst of a white out on a treacherous mountain with a gang of high-testosterone professional rescuers and one very cold and dead body. What’s a gal to do? This book was every bit as fun to read as the first book. Meg and Matt just can’t seem to get their act together, and there ever seems to be time to delve into what really happened to Meg’s father. We meet a lot of diverse and curious characters, and of course, Gam is back with the Sheriff on her arm, dancing the night away. Again, Dyer-Seeley has left us hanging at the very last page, and leaving us eager to get started on book 3. While Slayed on the Slopes could easily be read as a standalone, if you read the series in order, you’ll understand so much better how all the puzzle pieces fit together. And trust me, this is a an intriguing puzzle.
How do you do an article on high level skiing when you don’t ski? Megs Reed once again puts herself in harm’s way for a story. Going to one of the largest ski mountains in America to write a story on rescue teams, but Meg doesn’t ski except on her butt. How is she going to pull this one off? Why do dead bodies seem to follow her? Will her body heal? Will she flush out a murderer before they flush her out? Will Gams find true happiness again? Will Jill; Meg’s best friend, wake up to good relationship? Better than even the first book in the series!
This book kept you guessing who murdered the victim. It was fun and relaxing
Murder in a Blizzard Outdoor settings don’t seem to be super popular themes for cozy mysteries. (I mean, if I gained or lost weight based on the books I’d read, I’d be in more trouble than I already am.) One of the few series trying to fill that void is the Pacific Northwest mysteries by Kate Dyer-Seeley. Slayed on the Slopes is the second book, but it has some problems. Meg Reed has been working hard to fit in at her new job for Northern Extreme magazine, even going so far as to sign up for survival classes from the Crag Rats, a group that specializes in search and rescue. The Crag Rats are planning to start an offshoot that would offer their services as guides to those who want to climb to the summit of Mount Hood, and Meg figures that their training would make for an interesting article, so she tags along on a weekend retreat at the Silcox Hut near the top of Mount Hood. However, when she arrives, Meg quickly finds that the group is filled with tension. Ben Rogers, who is financing the new group, has a huge ego, and none of the rest of the men like him. A blizzard hits, trapping them in the cabin, but when Meg takes a quick trip outside, she thinks she hears a gun shot. The next morning, she finds she is right when a dead body is found in the snow. Which of these outdoorsmen is a killer? The real problem with this book is the pacing. The book starts off very slowly with some extraneous scenes that could have easily been cut. Once we arrive at the cabin, the pace picks up, and I must say the climax had my palms sweaty. However, again, the pacing was off again at the end, and that is all I will say to avoid spoiling anything. Since the book takes place away from Portland, the author needed to work in Meg’s friends somehow, however, the way she did that felt a bit too forced. Their presence did provide for movement on a couple of threads that carried over from the first book, and they were certainly interesting. In fact, I am quite confused (in a good way) where one of these threads is going, and I really do want to know about that part of Meg’s recent past. Because here’s the thing that is a strength for the book – the characters. I like Meg. She reminds me a bit too much of me when it comes to outdoors stuff, so I can sympathize when she gets in over her head. Her friends are a great bunch as well so I was happy to see them pop up, and I love how they have her back. The suspects were appropriately mysterious and helped keep me confused about the outcome. The back of the book provides some survival tips as well as more detail about some of the places mentioned in the book. It’s fun to learn a bit more about this area of the country. It’s a shame the mystery in Slayed on the Slopes isn’t stronger because I really do want to love these books. I’m curious enough about Meg’s life to pick up the next in the series; hopefully, the mystery will be stronger.
Slayed on the Slopes by Kate Dyer-Seeley is the second book in the Pacific Northwest Mystery series. Meg (Mary Margaret) Reed wants to write a feature on the Ridge Rangers. It is a new group made up of primarily competitive snowboarders that will lead groups of climbers up the mountains (newbies and experts). Their goal is to make sure that each climber reaches the summit. Meg pitches her idea to Greg Dixon, her boss at Northwest Extreme magazine. Greg agrees to the idea and Meg outfits herself to spend time in the mountains (while hoping it does not snow). When Greg asked if Meg could ski, Meg, of course, answered in the affirmative! Meg sets off for her interview the weekend before Thanksgiving outfitted with all the necessities (even if she does not know how to use any of it). The Ridge Rangers are going to have rescue training, gear demonstrations, snowboarding exhibitions, and team bonding at Timberline Lodge. Ben Tyler is in charge of the Ridge Rangers. He is funding the company. Ben is young and obnoxious. Lola who is the host in their lodge has been fending off his advances since he arrived. Clint Shumway, the oldest member of the group, and Ben seem to have different ideas for the venture. Ben does not seem to be getting along with anyone at the lodge including Jackon (a doctor), his new fiancé, Malory, and Henry Groves (youngest member of the group). It is going to be a long weekend. A blizzard keeps all of them in the cabin overnight and the next morning they notice that Ben is missing. They divide up and set off to find Ben. Ben is found dead near the lodge. The Sheriff is called to investigate. Meg is again told to stay out of the investigation. However, Meg is nosy and sets out to find the killer. She ends up with a lump on her head and outside in the cold in her bathing suit. This does not stop Meg. Meg wants to find out what happened to Ben Tyler. Let us hope that she avoids any serious injuries and frostbite! Meg and her friend, Matt Parker (Matt would like to be more than a friend) are looking into Charlie Reed’s death (Meg’s father). They do not think his death was accidental. Charlie was meeting someone on the day he died and now that person is also dead. Matt is also worried that Meg’s boss, Greg is not being up front with her. How did Greg happen to run into Meg that day at the coffee shop? Slayed on the Slopes is a fun mystery that is easy to read with enjoyable and relatable characters. The murder of Ben Tyler, though, was child’s play. I like that there is a second mystery (Charlie’s death) that is still unsolved and we are just given a few clues at a time in each book. I give Slayed on the Slopes 4 out of 5 stars. I look forward to the next book in this series! I received a complimentary copy of this book from NetGalley (and Kensington) in exchange for an honest review.
A bit wordy and too detail but a good read Accessories Site good read