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    Cold Blue Eternity
    Cold Blue Eternity
    Cold Blue Eternity
    Ebook34 pages26 minutes

    Cold Blue Eternity

    By R.W. Wallace

    ()

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    About this ebook

    In a tiny village perched at the foot of a great glacier in the French Alps, a specific brand of crazy haunts its inhabitants. 

     
    An old lady bakes poisoned cookies. A man robs the bank every time he sets foot inside the doors. A woman tries to murder her husband whenever he cooks. 

     
    All manageable. 

     
    Until now.

     
    Old legends. Repeating crimes. A melting glacier. Cold Blue Eternity takes the search for answers right into the belly of the beast.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherVarden Publishing
    Release dateNov 26, 2020
    ISBN9791095707493
    Cold Blue Eternity
    Author

    R.W. Wallace

    R.W. Wallace writes in most genres, though she tends to end up in mystery more often than not. Dead bodies keep popping up all over the place whenever she sits down in front of her keyboard. The stories mostly take place in Norway or France; the country she was born in and the one that has been her home for two decades. Don't ask her why she writes in English - she won't have a sensible answer for you. Her Ghost Detective short story series appears in Pulphouse Magazine, starting in issue #9. You can find all her books, long and short, on rwwallace.com.

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      Book preview

      Cold Blue Eternity - R.W. Wallace

      Cold Blue Eternity

      A Mystery Short Story

      R.W. Wallace

      image-placeholder

      Varden Publishing

      Contents

      One

      Two

      Three

      Four

      Five

      Six

      Seven

      About the Author

      Also By R.W. Wallace

      Copyright

      One

      The entire village is going crazy.

      It might not seem all that surprising at first glance. Our tiny village is perched on the mountainside of one of the higher Alps, in a valley so tight and closed-in we only get direct sunlight for a few hours in winter and very little cool air in summer, despite the altitude. The tree line snakes past less than one hundred meters below the first houses, giving us a couple of hundred meters of barren ground for us to latch onto, before the glacier eats up the rest of the valley.

      The tourists are always in awe of the glacier looming above us at all times. Us locals don’t really see it anymore. It’s just there. A constant cold and blue presence creeping down the valley, lying in wait for the unwary.

      The gray stone village buildings stand neatly aligned in five almost parallel horizontal lines, following the main—and only—road as it slings its way back and forth up the steep mountain. There are, of course, nothing but hairpin bends on our road, but one of them is the hairpin bend; the one in the middle, the one going the farthest out, the biggest one. The one where the tourists get nervous in their buses as the front of the vehicle hangs over nothing but empty space in order to be able to make the turn.

      This is where the crazy hits a new high.

      The change has been subtle, creeping up on us over the span of several summers, swelling in time with the waves of heat creeping up the valley, apparently coming all the way from Africa, full of desert sand.

      It’s not exactly like a wave, though—the crazy never goes back out. Every time the temperature spikes, the crazy increases. When the temperature goes down to a somewhat normal level, the crazy stabilizes.

      It doesn’t decrease.

      Our community is a small one. The village has more hotels and rental apartments than

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