The Aspen Avalanche (Detective Lauren Gabriel Mysteries Book 8)

The Aspen Avalanche

A glamorous film festival in Aspen turns deadly when four of entertainment’s biggest names disappear beneath the snow. Authorities are ready to call it a tragic avalanche, but Detective Lauren Gabriel is not convinced.

Called in to consult, Lauren begins to uncover troubling details that do not fit the official story. As she follows a trail of buried clues, hidden motives, and suspicious connections, it becomes clear that the avalanche may have offered the perfect cover for something far more calculated.

With another life at risk and time running out, Lauren must unravel the truth before the mountain claims one more victim.

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Excerpt from the book

“IT’S JUST LIKE SEBASTIAN to miss his own party,” two-time Oscar-winner Florence Fox whispered to her manager/husband, Edgar Bloomberg. The giant of a man, adorned in a classic Calvin Klein tuxedo, glanced down at his third spouse and subtly tapped the side of his nostril. Florence, whose sequin-covered ruby minidress rode up high enough to reveal a matching undergarment, swallowed her snicker, shook her head, and made an obscene gesture indicating Sebastian Vale’s absence from his film’s premiere at the prestigious Aspen Film Festival was more likely sexually related.

As the closing credits rolled for Ten Days in the Tundra, Aspen Film Festival Director Kat Spoone stood at the front of the Isis Theater, waiting for the standing ovation to subside.

“We’re so honored to have Ten Days in the Tundra kick off this year’s Film Festival,” Spoone began. “I want to bring up those responsible for this cinematic masterpiece. Director Franz Beethoven…” The packed auditorium once again stood and cheered in unison as the sixth great-grandson of the legendary composer hugged Kat Spoone. “Delores Fontaine!” The applause grew for the movie’s lead actress. “And, of course, Sebastian Vale!”

An ear-splitting assault of applause and whistles filled the theater, as heads began to turn toward the only empty seat—the one reserved for the acclaimed actor.

“Sebastian… not a good time for a potty break,” Kat Spoone joked.

A dapper-looking businessman entered from the wing and whispered something into Spoone’s ear.

“What’s Guggenheim doing on the stage?” Florence Fox rhetorically asked her husband, who could barely hear her over the ovation. “Shouldn’t he be with his wife?”

The cheering quickly turned to murmurs.

The murmurs turned to worry.

BY THE TIME the wind began to howl through the Elk Mountains, Sebastian Vale should have been seated in the front row of the Isis Theatre, basking in the adoration that followed him everywhere—well, almost everywhere. Instead, he stood near timberline at the Maroon Bells, his breath fogging in the frosty air, staring at the snow-drenched mountain peak above.

The storm had arrived early, and it was angry.

Snow fell sideways, thick and fast, erasing the narrow trail behind them almost as soon as they passed. This was not their world—bone-chilling cold at an elevation that zapped their oxygen. They would have preferred to be hob-knobbing, toasting, and bowing to the adulation of cinema aficionados.

The world shrank to ten feet of visibility, a cone of light in the distance, and the rhythmic crunch of boots fighting for traction on hardening powder.

“Tell me again why this couldn’t wait until morning,” Izaiah Korn muttered, his voice sharp, his lungs straining from the altitude and irritation.

Sebastian did not reply. He adjusted his gloves, checked his phone—no signal—and finally turned, his expression set in the familiar stoic gaze that had convinced decades of casting directors, lovers, and movie fans alike that he knew exactly what he was doing.