In the fifth novel in the Sean Stranahan mystery series, Montana's favorite fly fisherman-detective tackles a case of lost love, murder, and wildlife politics. Cold Hearted River , the sixth in the series, is now available. “Keith McCafferty is a top-notch, first-rate, can’t-miss novelist.” --C.J. Box, #1 New York Times bestselling author In the wake of Fourth of July fireworks in Montana’s Madison Valley, Hyalite County sheriff Martha Ettinger and Deputy Sheriff Harold Little Feather investigate a horrific scene at the Palisades cliffs, where a herd of bison have fallen to their deaths. Victims of blind panic caused by the pyrotechnics, or a ritualistic hunting practice dating back thousands of years? The person who would know is beyond asking, an Indian man found dead among the bison, his leg pierced by an arrow. Farther up the valley, fly fisherman, painter, and sometime private detective Sean Stranahan has been hired by the beautiful Ida Evening Star, a Chippewa Cree woman who moonlights as a mermaid at the Trout Tails Bar & Grill, to find her old flame, John Running Boy. The cases seem unrelated--until Sean’s search leads him right to the brink of the buffalo jump. With unforgettable characters and written with Spur Award Winner Keith McCafferty's signature grace and wry humor, Buffalo Jump Blues weaves a gripping tale of murder, wildlife politics, and lost love.

ldquo;McCafferty’s wryly bantering characters are irresistible, his humor tangy, and his lyricism potent as he matches escalating action with intriguing disquisition…A sharply ironic and suspenseful tale surreptitiously veined with profound insights into love, friendship, cultural collisions, and dire conflicts over wildlife and land, the sacred and the profitable.”—Booklist (starred)

“Absorbing…[An] entertaining tale.”*—Publisher’s Weekly

*“With wry humor, Montana PI Sean Stranahan negotiates the territory between tradition and public interest with native rights in a mystery filled with characters we city folks don’t meet often enough.”—Minneapolis Star-Tribune***
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*“Explosive, gripping and not to be missed.  Keith McCafferty gets the West just right with its cast of individualistic characters, stunning backdrops and a past that breaks through in violent and unexpected ways.  Buffalo Jump Blues is an impressive crime novel, and McCafferty is an impressive writer.”
*—Margaret Coel, New York Times bestselling author of The Man Who Fell From the Sky and Winter’s Child

“Gorgeous writing about Montana’s wilderness, and battles among the forces competing to claim it.”***Critical Mass**
 
“Keith McCafferty understands that there is much more to a riveting mystery than what is commonly found in the typical whodunit. He also knows that a rousing good tale can often shine a light on important matters that deserve our attention. In Buffalo Jump Blues, McCafferty does that and more as he takes us into the heart of Big Sky Country, a place he knows and loves, and treats us to a tightly crafted tale packed with quirky, captivating characters -- mostly good, some just plain mean, and several who are simply murderous – and weaves an adventure that leaves you wanting more. He writes with heart and command of the story that sparkles on every page.”
—Michael McGarrity, New York Times bestselling author of Backlands
 
“Buffalo Jump Blues is an evocative portrayal of the West, as rugged as it is fragile, and the centuries-old conflicts that still haunt the land and the people.  McCafferty nails the delicate balance between humor and heft in a genuine way as he skillfully weaves together history and a present day mystery through an eclectic, endearing cast of characters.  You will be thinking about this book long after you read the last page.”—P.J. Tracy, New York Times bestselling author of ***Off the Grid

“McCafferty has written one of the best books of the year. He’s a great plot spinner, a master of pacing, and has a wonderful ear for dialogue. A must read.”—Andrew Gulli, editor at ***The Strand Magazine*

“McCafferty has an ear and eye for character, language, history, politics and murder, all of which come together in this strikingly original novel, which plays the past and present conflicts of American Indian life with and against a very contemporary story of identity, corruption and murder that grabs the reader on the first page and never lets go.”*—Jonathan Santlofer, bestselling author of *The Death Artist ***

"Rich in history, local color, and unique characters."*—Kirkus Reviews*
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Autorentext

Keith McCafferty

Leseprobe
This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof

Copyright ©2016 Keith McCafferty

CHAPTER ONE

Kettle of Blood

“I suppose a gun would be too much to ask for.”

Harold Little Feather stared across the river. A small group of gawkers, two fishing guides and the couples who were their clients, gathered at his back. Moaning sounds emanating from the tree and willow tangle at the base of the cliffs were spaced farther apart now, just in the thirty minutes since he’d driven up from Ennis. He’d been sitting down to breakfast when he got the call. His day off, a date to meet Martha and cast a fly in the braids of the Madison, hence unarmed.

“I mean, this being Montana and all, land of free men and open carry, I’d think somebody would be packin’.”

If Martha was here she’d have her Ruger, day off or not. Strapping up was part of her a.m. ritual, like turning Goldie out for a run while she steeped her tea, running a ChapStick across her lips and looking at her face critically in the mirror before squaring her hat. On nights when Harold slept over he’d step up behind her, bring his big hands to her face, chestnut against white, lift the corners of her mouth so she saw herself smile.

“I got a two-two.”

Harold turned around. He’d heard the crunch of gravel a few minutes before as another truck pulled up. It was Peachy Morris hauling his ClackaCraft, the one with the pink ribbon on the hull to show his support for breast cancer research, though anyone who knew Peachy knew the only breast research he was interested in was the hands-on kind. The lanky fishing guide crinkled up his eyes, a What do we have here? look on his face. Harold’s glance took in Peachy’s clients, a tall, sandy-haired man he recognized as a member of the Madison River Liars and Fly Tiers Club, though he had forgotten the name, and a small girl who looked maybe seven.

“And what’s your name?” Harold asked the girl.

The girl hid her face behind a wing of straw-colored hair. It’s because I’m Indian, he thought. When she’d boldly pronounced her armament, he’d been facing away from her.

The sandy-haired man extended his hand. “Robin Hurt Cowdry. We’ve met.”

“Sure. You’re from Zimbabwe, you import the African artifacts.”

“Botswana,” the man corrected. “Mugabe redistributed my keister all the way to Botswana. This is Doris, my niece.” And to the girl, “Mind your manners.”

She shyly faced Harold. “You can have my two-two,” she said, “but it’s back at the house.”

“I might need something bigger than that,” Harold said. His eyes turned to the cliffs as the moaning picked up in volume.

“Sounds like a bloody pride of lions,” Cowdry said.

Harold’s nod wa…