“Adrenaline-pumping . . . [A] polished action mystery . . . [with] dazzling Arctic sights.” —Marilyn Stasio, The New York Times Book Review Winner of the Macavity Award and the Anthony Award Murder on the Iditarod Trail is a gripping mystery set during Alaska’s world-famous Iditarod: a grueling eleven-hundred-mile dogsled race across hazardous Arctic terrain. It is an arduous sport, but not a deadly one. But suddenly the top Iditarod contestants are dying in bizarre ways: first a veteran musher smashes into a tree, then competitors begin turning up dead, with each murder more brutal than the last. State trooper Alex Jensen begins a homicide investigation, determined to track down the killer before more blood stains the pristine Alaskan snow. Meanwhile, Jessie Arnold, Alaska’s premier female musher, has a shot at winning for the first time. But as her position in the race improves, so do her chances of being the killer’s next target. As the mushers thread their way through the treacherous trails, Jessie and Jensen are drawn deep into the frozen heart of the perilous wild: where nature can kill as easily as a bullet and only the Arctic night can hear your final screams. “Engrossing . . . The howling winds, the snow, the ice, the dancing away from wolves, the crazing fatigue, the welcome heat and food, are almost palpable.” — Los Angeles Times Book Review “Excellent . . . well-paced, well-conceived, engrossing . . . moves along like a healthy, well-trained dog team.” — The Anchorage Times “A book that will give you a feel for how the Iditarod is . . . Sue Henry has a genius for characterization, plot, and setting.” — Mystery News Sue Henry’s award-winning Alaska mysteries have received the highest praise from readers and critics alike. She has lived in Alaska for almost thirty years, and brings history, Alaskan lore, and the majestic beauty of the vast landscape to her mysteries. Based in Anchorage, she is currently at work on the next book in this series. Murder on the Iditarod Trail An Alaska Mystery By Sue Henry Grove Atlantic, Inc Copyright © 1991 Sue Henry All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-8021-2339-8 CHAPTER 1 Date: Sunday, March 3 Race Day: Two Place: Between Skwentna and Finger Lake checkpoints (forty-five miles) Weather: Clear skies, light to no wind Temperature: High 8°F, low 4°F Time: Late afternoon The Iditarod Trail out of Skwentna, Alaska, ran easy and level, bending its way northwest for miles through snow-covered muskeg. Without strong winds to erase them, the tracks of sled runners were still visible in the late afternoon light. The musher watched them flow beneath his sled. A day and a half into the thousand-mile sled-dog race to Nome, he was among the leaders in a field of sixty-eight participants. His sixteen dogs were eager to run, well rested from a four-hour stop in Skwentna. But, riding the runners behind his sled, George Koptak fought fatigue. An hour of poor sleep at the last checkpoint had not been enough. His body demanded more. He'd spent thirty-one hours on the trail, most of it standing up, pushing the sled or pumping behind it. Checkpoints in a long-distance race offer little rest for competitors. Once fed, tired dogs almost immediately curl into tight tail-to-nose balls in the snow and sleep. The musher must haul water, cook another batch of dog food for a trail feeding, repack equipment, find something to eat (though his hunger often seems inconsequential compared to his need for rest), and, finally, lie down for a ragged hour's sleep. Excitement, anticipation, and nerves left over from yesterday's start had continued to feed a certain amount of adrenaline into Koptak's system, as had the knowledge that some of the most difficult challenges in the race must soon be met and overcome. Now the tired musher leaned forward over the handlebars of his sled, trying to find a semicomfortable way to rest on top of his sled bag. Although the trail was level, it was not smooth, and the bow caught him under the ribs, gouging with every bump. He straightened, stretched his shoulders to relieve the ache between them, pumped for a while with one foot, then the other, and talked to his dogs to keep awake. At the site of the old, abandoned Skwentna Roadhouse, the trail plunged down onto ice and followed the frozen river for a while before climbing the opposite bank to enter the spruce and alder forest surrounding Shell Lake. Though the sun had set, light lingered on the snow. Knowing it would soon be dark, he stopped his team on the riverbank before going onto the ice. He snacked his dogs, tossing them frozen whitefish. After munching a few handfuls of trail mix, heavy with nuts and chocolate, he drank half the hot coffee in his metal thermos, filled at the checkpoint. Locating his headlamp, he checked the batteries and fastened it in place. Twenty minutes later he was heading upriver. For half an hour, the coffee kept him awake. Then, as he came up off the ice and in