Manny Tanno's much needed vacation is abruptly ended when
he witnesses a murder during a reenactment at the Battle of
the Little Big Horn. The victim was set to auction off the
journal of Levi Star Dancer, a Crow scout for General
Custer that would expose the secrets of two of the most
influential Native American families in the area. Bodies
pile up as Manny struggles to find the secret worth killing
for, but digging into the past only creates more questions.
He must work fast to solve this case before those closest
to him are caught in the crosshairs.
DEATH ON THE GREASY GRASS by C.M. Wendelboe is the third
book featuring my favorite FBI agent Manny Tanno. Manny's
still driving badly, still battling his weight and
diabetes, and still struggling to accept that he sometimes
gets visions. Manny's struggle to mesh his modern-world
training as an FBI agent with his visions from Wakan Tanka
perfectly embodies the struggle to embrace the traditions
of culture in this modern world. This interweaving of past
and present is what really sets C.M. Wendelboe apart in the
mystery genre. History is vital and alive in his stories,
and it intertwines with the present to create one seamless
story of betrayal.
Family obligations and ties remain a central theme in DEATH
ON THE GREASY GRASS. I love how the complexity of family is
portrayed and explored. Family isn't always those you were
born with, but it can be those you find and keep. Manny and
his best friend Willie are family and with that connection
comes Willie's prickly fiancée Doreen who really doesn't
like Manny. These connections to the family you create are
echoed even in secondary character. The victim created his
own little family with a drunken vet and a meth addict.
It's these connections that wind the plot tighter and
tighter because everyone becomes a suspect as they try to
protect or hide from those closest to them.
DEATH ON THE GREASY GRASS is a perfectly balanced mystery
filled with twists and betrayal that will leave you ready
for more. I can't wait for the next Manny Tanno in the
Spirit Road Mystery series. This is quickly becoming
one of
my favorite series.
FBI agent Manny Tanno is taking some much needed R and R at
the site of the Battle of Little Big Horn. But when a death
on the reservation cuts his vacation short, he learns that
the secrets of the past have a way of stirring up trouble
in
the present.
As a scout for the legendary General Custer, Crow tribe
member Levi Star Dancer kept a journal chronicling his
exploits from the Battle of the Greasy Grass onward. Now,
the missing journal has been found and the descendents of
those mentioned in the account, including Levi’s own, want
to keep their family secrets hidden at all costs…
Manny’s trip to the Crow Agency Reservation turns out to be
ill timed when a reenactor of the Battle of Little Big Horn
is killed right in front of him. It turns out the victim
was
the one who found Levi Star Dancer’s famed diary and was
planning on selling it to the highest bidder. And while the
dead body is hard to miss, the coveted book is nowhere to
be
found. Now, Manny has to watch his back while searching for
a murderer and the missing journal, because this slippery
killer will do anything to make sure the past stays buried.
Excerpt
Many followed Lumpy into a great room lined with Navajo
rugs
and Hopi pottery displayed on oak stands. An Arapaho
cradleboard hung next to Kiowa moccasins, both beaded on
every inch of the deer hide. But it was the long glass
display case, suspended at eye level and running the length
of one wall, that caught Manny's interest. He stopped at
one
end of the case, his heart skipping a beat he was certain.
Since the Red Cloud homicide, where he had to rely on
Willie
and others for insight into Indian artifacts, Manny had
begun studying his heritage. He had taken two online
courses
in Indian artifacts from the University of Wyoming, and one
on relics at Rapid City Community College. He had begun
appreciating his roots. And he appreciated Wilson's
display.
Manny stood in front of a beaded pouch, the light blue
background a contrast with red and yellow hourglass
patterns
on the flap and pouch front. Sinew stitching had faded
through the years, and the elk skin was cracked. The pouch
may have hung from a hunter's saddle as he dressed a deer
he
had killed, his bloody hands brushing the side of the
leather, a fleshing knife displayed beside it.
An assortment of belts hung next to the pouch, lazy
stitched, others decorated with dyed porcupine quills,
authentic all and old. Manny felt compelled to reach out
and
touch the glass as he closed his eyes. An Oglala wife had
sat cross–legged around a tipi fire one wintery
night,
belt resting in her lap, porcupine quills soaking in her
mouth until they were pliable enough to flatten and sew
onto
the deerskin.
The image of the hunter that had killed the deer the
belt
was made of loomed large. Manny opened his eyes, rubbing
them, but the image persisted. The hunter stalked a
two–point buck, rifle at the ready, brass tacks
embedded in the stock reflecting the sun bouncing off the
snow he crept on.
Manny forced himself to turn from the glass, shaking his
head, clearing his mind of the scene. He had been witness
to
another scene from the past, and he'd talk with Reuben
about
it later.
He started walking away from the case when two scalp
locks, grisly, long, wrinkled, and dried, fluttered inside
the glass case. Manny struggled to turn away, but the need
to know the scalps' story grew too strong. He turned,
staring at them, his hand poised inches from the glass. Had
the scalps actually fluttered? Had they called to him, or
was that just another imagination like the woman sewing her
hunter–husband's belt?
Manny's pulse quickened. Images flashed in his mind. The
urge to run as strong as the need to stay. But his feet
remained solidly planted in front of the case like
cornstalks anchored into black soil. He reached out his
hand, drew it away, dropped it onto the glass. A shock rose
up his arm, through his body, the scalp locks talking to
him.
Manny shuddered as a Crow warrior faced a charge by two
Lakota overlooking the Battle of the Little Big Horn. The
two warriors shot the Crow, one dropping off his pony and
running to the corpse, knife in hand. The other Lakota,
still seated on his horse, raised his rifle. Manny tried to
scream a warning, his throat closed to any sounds, spitting
the taste of black powder from his mouth as a cloud settled
over the scene. When a breeze moved the powder cloud away,
the Crow warrior lay on his back beside the lifeless Lakota
his companion had shot, accusing eyes fixed on his killer.
Manny swayed, his knees buckling, weakening, and he
leaned against the display case.
"That glass might break!"
Manny shook his head, the image gone, his balance
returning.
Wilson hooked his arm through Manny's and steadied him.
"Hate to have you fall through and cut yourself up. You
okay?"
Manny looked back to the scalps lock sitting silent and
immobile behind the glass. "Blood sugar spike. Damned
diabetes."
© 2003-2024 off-the-edge.net
all rights reserved Privacy Policy