During the height of a harsh Vermont winter, the body of a woman is found hanging from the steel-mesh retaining net lining the cliffs along the interstate. She was brutally murdered, with the word "dyke" carved into her chest. She was also a state senator and best friend and ally of the current governor, Gail Zigman. At Zigman's personal request, Joe Gunther and his Vermont Bureau of Investigation team agree to help the Vermont State Police in their investigation before the victim's high profile and powerful friends create the inevitable publicity maelstrom. Raffner was indeed a lesbian, and the word carved into her chest might be evidence of a hate crime, or it might be a feint designed to confuse and mislead investigators. But the question remains-what was she involved with, who wanted her dead, and what company was she keeping? What Gunther and his team discover during their initial investigation isn't the stuff of a simple murder. Someone killed a prominent figure and fabricated an elaborate scene for a purpose. And this might only be the beginning...in Archer Mayor's The Company She Kept . "Mayor does a good job dramatizing the political and cultural conflicts, but it’s the special push-the-envelope talents of Gunther and his team that make this series so enjoyable." - Publishers Weekly ''Another fine entry in a series that has been engaging crime devotees for more than a quarter century.'' - Booklist "Mayor does for Vermont what Tony Hillerman does for Arizona, showing readers the mixed cultures of a remote place and how its harsh yet glorious environment influences their lives - and crimes." - New York Journal of Books ARCHER MAYOR, in addition to writing the New York Times bestselling Joe Gunther series, is a death investigator for the state medical examiner, and has twenty-five years of experience as a firefighter/EMT. He lives near Brattleboro, Vermont. The Company She Kept A Joe Gunther Novel By Archer Mayor St. Martin's Press Copyright © 2015 Archer Mayor All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-250-06467-7 CHAPTER 1 "Pull over, Doug. I want to get a shot of this." Uncomplaining, Doug Nielsen checked his mirrors, slowed down shy of the interstate crossover — marked EMERGENCY USE ONLY — and eased their rig across the empty northbound lane, to the scenic pull-off his wife had indicated. A cautious man, he was wary of any black ice that could launch them through the slender barricade and over the straight drop beyond it into Margie's planned panorama. He didn't fault her artist's eye. The view from this ledge was vast, inspiring, and beautiful. The Connecticut River, far below, lined by glimmering fresh snow, sparkled in the late afternoon sun, which itself was the only object visible in a stark, freezing, ice blue sky. A few farms stretched out to both sides of the winding river, empty of crops or livestock, until their fields bumped up against the opposing Vermont and New Hampshire foothills. Several homes sported thin plumes of woodsmoke from their chimneys, making Doug think of feather quills protruding from toy-sized inkwells. He thought it might have been the sheer antiquity of everything before him that stirred up such an old- fashioned image, since — barring a barely visible utility line and a narrow paved road far in the distance — he guessed that little before him had changed much in over two hundred years. He and Margie had been vacationing for the past week in the Green Mountain State, whose famous mantle had been deeply powdered by a recent spate of snowstorms. This had been good news for them, since they'd driven up from southern New Jersey to exercise the two snowmobiles they were now towing back home. There had been trips to New England in the past where the cover had been less than ideal for dedicated so-called sledders. But not this time. This visit had been perfect. Doug rolled to a stop and they both got out, the cold air tingling their nostrils and biting the backs of their throats. The lot was deserted, which suited him fine, considering the combined length of his car and trailer. He'd been able to ignore the row of parking spaces hashed into the cleared asphalt, and simply park alongside the barricade. "Isn't this incredible?" his wife asked, pulling out her smartphone. "Pretty nice," he answered briefly, no less impressed by the vista, but sensitive to the near-total stillness accompanying it. "Quiet, too," he added, encouraging his wife to take in more of what he was appreciating. But there, she had her own style. "I know," she said, ordering up the phone's photographic function. "Can you imagine how this would be next to the Jersey Pike? I'd have to hope the pictures wouldn't blur, for all the vibration from passing trucks." He nodded and began walking the length of the extended pull-off, putting some distance between them. "Don't go too far, Doug," she called out. "I want to take a selfie of us in front of the view." Refusing to break his inner code of silen