The Iceman's Curse - Release date 10/11/22
|
When a 1,200-year-old corpse called the Iceman is discovered in the Alps, a Swiss professor, to avoid regulations, smuggles the samples into the United States. When a blizzard diverts the professor's flight to Chicago, Customs is hectic, and the professor mistakenly swaps his suitcase with Frank, a drug mule. A snow storm forces the professor to stop l in the hamlet of Kirby, Wisconsin. He has no idea that he's carrying drugs and that his life is in jeopardy.
Between dangerous drug mules and infected tissue samples, many lives in the snow-bound village are in jeopardy. ISBN 978-1-952782-78-7 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-952782-79-4 (eBook) Medical Thriller Publication date: October 11, 2022 Information coming soon.
|
|
|
|
The Writing of The Iceman's Curse
I started the action in The Iceman’s Curse at the U. of MN College of Veterinary Medicine Pathobiology building based on my memories from when I was a graduate student (1988-1993). In the novel, my protagonist, Grant, is ordered by his advisor to go to Kirby, WI to help a stranded microbiologist.
Grant would have driven east of St. Paul through suburbs and farmland for 20 miles on I-94. There, the highway drops into the beautiful St. Croix valley and crosses the broad and deep St. Croix River into Hudson, WI. At one time the old Hudson House Inn sat on a hill above the river.
There is a new Hudson House now, farther away from the river, but it is the old one I remember. I dined there 52 years ago. It was the first time I’d had a meal with several courses and different wines with each. Grant wouldn’t have been able to afford the fare, and neither could I. Dr. Al Carns, my boss at the time, hosted an office Christmas party there.
From Hudson, Grant would have continued east, skirted Menomonie, followed I-94 as it turned south-east at Eau Claire, and passed Black River Falls on his way to Kirby, Fort McCoy, and Tomah. The area around Kirby was an area of small farms, cranberry bogs, and forests. I was raised on a farm only about 30 miles from Fort McCoy and showed cattle once in Black River Falls (more about that, later.)
My sons’ Boy Scout troop spent a night at Fort McCoy in 1987. I tagged along and spent the night with them in one of the old barracks. A January cold wave came through overnight. It was 20 below zero the next morning. I asked the troop leaders about a boy in the group who was only wearing a light nylon windbreaker. The leader raised his eyebrows, shook his head, and said, “He’s a hockey player. I think he wants to show everybody how tough he is.”
I had to hand it to the kid. He didn’t complain about the weather as much as I did. An army platoon just arrived from South Carolina was getting out of a bus. They stomped their feet and swung their arms to get warm. They took one look at the kid, turned blue, and started shivering so violently it was visible from 50 feet away.
On the northeast corner of the McCoy military preserve is the village of Kirby, according to old plat books. That was Grant’s destination. On a trip home, I took a detour looking for Kirby. Where the village was supposed to be on Highway 21 was a modern church set in farmland and backed by forest, but no village.
I drove past farms and woodlands until I came to an old tavern tucked in a clearing at the edge of a forest. I stopped, had a beer, and asked about Kirby. The bartender snorted derisively and told me that the last building in Kirby had burned down in 1953. A guy nursing a beer at the bar disagreed. He was sure the fire was in 1951. He asked what I was looking for, and I explained about the book. The three of us had a pleasant conversation about Kirby and The Iceman’s Curse, and I think we probably had more beer.
Grant would have driven east of St. Paul through suburbs and farmland for 20 miles on I-94. There, the highway drops into the beautiful St. Croix valley and crosses the broad and deep St. Croix River into Hudson, WI. At one time the old Hudson House Inn sat on a hill above the river.
There is a new Hudson House now, farther away from the river, but it is the old one I remember. I dined there 52 years ago. It was the first time I’d had a meal with several courses and different wines with each. Grant wouldn’t have been able to afford the fare, and neither could I. Dr. Al Carns, my boss at the time, hosted an office Christmas party there.
From Hudson, Grant would have continued east, skirted Menomonie, followed I-94 as it turned south-east at Eau Claire, and passed Black River Falls on his way to Kirby, Fort McCoy, and Tomah. The area around Kirby was an area of small farms, cranberry bogs, and forests. I was raised on a farm only about 30 miles from Fort McCoy and showed cattle once in Black River Falls (more about that, later.)
My sons’ Boy Scout troop spent a night at Fort McCoy in 1987. I tagged along and spent the night with them in one of the old barracks. A January cold wave came through overnight. It was 20 below zero the next morning. I asked the troop leaders about a boy in the group who was only wearing a light nylon windbreaker. The leader raised his eyebrows, shook his head, and said, “He’s a hockey player. I think he wants to show everybody how tough he is.”
I had to hand it to the kid. He didn’t complain about the weather as much as I did. An army platoon just arrived from South Carolina was getting out of a bus. They stomped their feet and swung their arms to get warm. They took one look at the kid, turned blue, and started shivering so violently it was visible from 50 feet away.
On the northeast corner of the McCoy military preserve is the village of Kirby, according to old plat books. That was Grant’s destination. On a trip home, I took a detour looking for Kirby. Where the village was supposed to be on Highway 21 was a modern church set in farmland and backed by forest, but no village.
I drove past farms and woodlands until I came to an old tavern tucked in a clearing at the edge of a forest. I stopped, had a beer, and asked about Kirby. The bartender snorted derisively and told me that the last building in Kirby had burned down in 1953. A guy nursing a beer at the bar disagreed. He was sure the fire was in 1951. He asked what I was looking for, and I explained about the book. The three of us had a pleasant conversation about Kirby and The Iceman’s Curse, and I think we probably had more beer.
