By Yrsa Sigurdardóttir

"I can see why such a lot of individuals are keen about Yrsa's paintings. It's very attractive, clean, and exciting." -- James Patterson

"Iceland's crime queen." --The Scotsman

One of the best Nordic crime writers operating this day, Yrsa Sigurdardóttir has been released to rave stories around the globe. Now, with Ashes to dirt, she offers a dynamite and well timed mystery set on the website of a volcano.  

In 1973, a volcanic eruption buried a complete Icelandic village in lava and ash. Now, hoping to make a few money, a group is assembled to excavate the positioning and switch it right into a vacationer vacation spot. Markús, who used to be while the volcano erupted, enlists assistance from lawyer Thóra Gudmundsdóttir to aim to avoid the excavation from going ahead.

When the digging maintains and 3 clean our bodies (and a spare head) take place within the basement of Markús’ youth domestic, Thóra starts to query Markús’ explanations for eager to cease the excavation. His reason behind the our bodies is complex, and the locals appear oddly reluctant to again him up. As Markús’ tale starts to solve, Thóra reveals herself with an most unlikely activity, protecting Markús whereas attempting to remedy a quadruple homicide which may rather well implicate her patron.

With unforgettable characters, unforeseen twists, and impressive mental suspense, Ashes to Dust is a riveting mystery from a brand new overseas celebrity.

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Additional info for Ashes to Dust: A Thriller (Thóra Gudmundsdóttir, Book 3)

Sample text

Trying to keep the edge from his voice, he said, “I lived in Lexington until a few months ago and took some time away from my job. Since Gran left me the house, I decided to come here. ” “That’s what I’m here to figure out,” he said softly. There was something in his voice, Lena thought. She didn’t know him well enough to entirely put her finger on it, but she could hear the strain. And sitting next to him, she had felt the way he’d gone rigid even though he’d forced himself to relax almost immediately.

The shorts he’d worn the day before were draped over the footboard and he grabbed them. After dragging them on over naked hips, he headed downstairs. The muscles in his right leg knotted in warning. Almost in afterthought, he detoured by the bathroom and grabbed the bottle of Vicodin just in case. That ache could go from mild to holy shit in no time flat. He crashed on the couch. The plan was to watch some TV, veg out. He might not sleep, but he could shut his brain down. Avoid thinking about Mac.

Absently she reached up, rubbing at her eyes under her tinted lenses. “Dad was always pushing me to do whatever I wanted, whatever I could. Mom was more hesitant, but Dad encouraged her to let me try. After he died, well … she reacted by hovering. Clutching me too close. Those overprotective moms you hear about on TV sometimes? ” She turned her face toward his and grimaced. ” He bumped his shoulder against hers and said, “I’m enjoying the conversation. ” The somber expression on her face slowly faded, replaced by a smile.

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