I originally read this chapter to a Zoom audience at a reading sponsored by BookShop Santa Cruz on July 3, with several other members of our local writers group, Santa Cruz Women of Mystery.

“I’m Mary Feliz, and I will be reading today from Snowed Under the sixth book in the Maggie McDonald Mystery series.

It’s a cozy mystery, which means I bring you all of the suspense of a traditional murder mystery with none of the gore.

I’ll be starting you off right at the beginning where it’s my job to grab you without letting go. I’ll leave it up to you to decide how well I do that.

Away we go:

Snowed Under, Chapter One

The scene was like every description of a near-death experience I’d ever heard.

I drove through the darkness toward a white light on California’s Interstate 80, east over the Donner Pass toward Lake Tahoe.

Banks of plowed snow towered above the freeway, obliterating what would have been gorgeous mountain vistas if there had been any visibility. What the newscasters had calmly predicted as “winter storm conditions” howled around us, buffeting the car and overpowering my headlights, defroster, and windshield wipers.

Snow obscured =exit signs and wind erased tire tracks. My golden retriever, Belle, huffed warm wet breath in my ear. Her pal Mozart panted beside her. My friend Tess Olmos dozed in the passenger seat.

I didn’t dare pull over, in case what I took for a safe shoulder turned into a thousand-foot descent into oblivion. In weather like this, we’d plummet to the ground and wouldn’t be found until spring.

“Turn here,” Tess said.

Biting my lip, I pulled the car slowly to the right, squinting to distinguish something— anything—that would tell me we’d reached the turnoff for Highway 89 in Truckee, the gateway to North Lake Tahoe’s world-class ski resorts. The swirling whiteness took on a salmon-colored tinge as I drove beneath sodium vapor lights marking the main road that led toward Tess’s ski cabin.

The rhythmic thump of my tire chains slowed as I crept forward.

“You’re doing great.” Tess’s voice sounded strained, as though she spoke through clenched teeth.

What should have been a four-hour drive from the San Francisco Bay Area had taken nearly twice that long thanks to heavy rain and a mountain blizzard that had blown through hours earlier than anyone expected.

We weren’t stupid, Tess and I. We’d left early to beat the weather. The storm had other plans.

My eyes burned and my knotted shoulders felt like hardened concrete. I took a deep breath and tried to relax. It was only Tess’s familiarity with the route that kept my tires on the pavement instead of spinning off the road. I inched from one reflective snow stake to the next.

“Okay, there on the left,” Tess said. “Leave the car in front of the garage.”

I looked out at a blank canvas. “I’d be happy to do that if I could see the garage.”

“It’s right there.” Tess pointed into the nothingness. “Wait.” She scrambled in her purse, pulled out a garage door opener, and pointed it past me. I flinched as I heard a muffled grinding right beyond my front bumper.

“Rats,” Tess said. “The door is caked with ice.” She pushed the button on the clicker again. The grinding stopped. I backed out of the short driveway and snugged the car to the edge of the road.

“Ready?” Tess asked, opening her door. Mozart and Belle bounded after her.

If the day had gone according to my plan, we’d already be several hours into our project for the week, clearing out the Olmos family’s ski cabin, preparing it for a quick sale that would help finance a career change for Tess and college tuition for her son Teddy.

With my initial timetable long abandoned and a complete inability to spot a single landmark in the storm, I heaped my trust on Mozart and Tess. Two steps toward the house, one ungainly wobble, and a slip back down the hill. Wash, rinse, repeat.

When we reached our destination, we banged on the door to break up ice that had frozen in the jambs and sealed it shut. In the end, it took the weight of both of us to free it.

My teeth chattered. I was frozen clear through to my bones.

 “Food, fire, a little booze.” Tess said. “I’ll make you Patrick’s grandmother’s hot toddy recipe. Lemon, honey, and a bit of ginger. Cures colds, warms a chill, and is good for what ails you, even if nothing ails you.”

I fed the dogs and filled their water dish.

Crossing to the fireplace, I opened the flue and lit an already-laid fire. Meager flames struggled to gain strength against the cold.

Torn between planting my backside against the fire screen and being swallowed by a voluminous sectional, I chose the couch. The homey sound of a boiling kettle sang out. Tess joined me soon afterwards, handing me a fragrant steaming mug.

“I don’t want to move from this spot,” I told her, grasping the mug in both hands and letting the steam waft over my face and warm my nose.

“But—” Tess began.

 “No. Just no. Tell me there’s no but. But can’t be good. I don’t want to know.”

Tess ignored my protests. “But in weather like this, chances are the electricity will go out. We’ll need to stoke the fire through the night to keep the pipes from freezing.”

The room went dark as if Tess’s warning of an outage had made it so.

We sat in the eerie glow of the fire, listening to the gusts outside. In the absence of refrigerator, furnace, and other modern sounds, the wind noise grew more threatening.

The night ahead loomed long, cold, and dark.

That’s the end of the first chapter and my hope is that you’re now well and truly hooked. And not too cold. A number of reviewers said they put on thick socks and extra sweaters while reading the book, even in the middle of a heat wave.