Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

college student she remembered, the reckless young man who’d scaled rooftops and donned ninja outfits. She felt young again, too. Daring and fearless and ready for that adventure.
    “I guarantee,” he said. “We are going to have a great time.”
    D URING THE NIGHT, it had started to snow, and by the time they loaded their luggage into the back of the Suburban, three inches of white fluff coated the cars in the parking lot, a pristine cloak that made the San Diego contingent ooh and ahh at the beauty of it. Doug and Arlo insisted on taking photos of the three ladies posed in front of the hotel entrance, everyone smiling and rosy-cheeked in their ski clothes. Snow was nothing new for Maura, but she saw it now the way these Californians did, with a sense of wonder at how clean and white it was, how softly it settled on her eyelashes, how silently it swirled from the sky. During Boston’s long winters, snow meant tiresome shoveling and wet boots and slushy streets. It was merely a fact of life that had to be dealt with until spring. But this snow seemed different; it was vacation snow, and she smiled at the sky, feeling as giddy as her companions, enchanted by a world that suddenly looked new and bright.
    “Folks, we are going to have an
amazing
time!” Doug declared as he fastened the rented cross-country skis onto the roof of the Suburban. “Fresh powder. Charming company. Dinner by a roaring fire.” He gave the roof straps one last tug. “Okay, team. Let’s go.”
    Grace climbed into the front passenger seat.
    “Hey sweetheart,” said Doug. “How about letting Maura sit next to me?”
    “But this is always my seat.”
    “She’s our guest. Give her the chance to ride shotgun.”
    “Doug, let her stay there,” said Maura. “I’m perfectly fine sitting in back.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Absolutely.” Maura climbed into a seat at the back of the Suburban. “I’m good right here.”
    “Okay. But maybe you two can switch later.” Doug shot his daughter a disapproving glance, but Grace had already inserted her iPod ear buds and was staring out the window, ignoring him.
    In fact, Maura didn’t at all mind sitting alone in the third row, right behind Arlo and Elaine, where she had a view of Arlo’s bald spot and Elaine’s stylishly clipped dark hair. She was the last-minute add-on to the quartet, unfamiliar with their stories and their inside jokes, and she was content to merely be an observer as they headed out of Teton Village and drove south, into the ever-thickening snowfall. The windshield wipers swung back and forth, a metronome sweeping away showers of snowflakes. Maura leaned back and watched the scenery go by. She looked forward to lunch by the lodge fire, and then to an afternoon of skiing. Cross-country, not downhill, so no need to feel the least bit anxious, no fears of broken legs or fractured skulls or spectacularly embarrassing falls. Just a quiet glide through silent woods, the swoosh of her skis sliding across the powder, the pleasant burn of cold air in her lungs. During the pathology conference, she’d seen far too many images of damaged bodies. She was glad to be on a journey that had nothing to do with death.
    “Snow’s coming down pretty fast,” said Arlo.
    “We’ve got good tires on this baby,” said Doug. “Hertz clerk said they can handle the weather.”
    “Speaking of the weather, did you check the forecast?”
    “Yeah, snow. What a surprise.”
    “Just tell me we’re gonna make it to the lodge in time for lunch.”
    “Lola says we’ll arrive at eleven thirty-two. And Lola’s never wrong.”
    Maura called out: “Who’s Lola?”
    Doug pointed to the portable GPS, which he’d mounted on the dashboard. “That’s Lola.”
    “Why are GPSs always referred to as females?” asked Elaine.
    Arlo laughed. “Because women are always telling us men where to go. Since Lola says we’ll be there before noon, we can have an early lunch.”
    Elaine sighed. “Do you ever stop thinking about eating?”
    “The word is
dining
. In one lifetime, you can eat only so many meals, so you might as well—”
    “—make each and every one worth it,” Elaine finished for him. “Yes, Arlo, we know your philosophy of life.”
    Arlo turned in his seat to look at Maura. “My mom was a great cook. She taught me never to waste my appetite on mediocre food.”
    “That must be why you’re so thin,” said Elaine.
    “Ouch,” Arlo said. “You’re in a weird mood today. I