Reviews for Death without Company (Walt Longmire Series #2)

The average rating for Death without Company (Walt Longmire Series #2) based on 2 reviews is 5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2013-08-16 00:00:00 Mary Rafe "A life without friends means death without company. (Adiskidegabeco bizita, auzogabeko heriotza.)"--Basque Proverb. One thing that Walt Longmire will never be short of are friends. He also will never have to look far to find an enemy either, but when your bestfriend is a Cheyenne warrior named Henry Standing Bear, tested in the killing fields of Vietnam, you are never in more trouble than the two of you can't climb out of. "It was three against two, but I had the Indian and that always evened things out." When a Basque woman named Mari Baroja is found dead at the local assisted living home Walt has no idea how complicated his life is about to become. His friend and mentor Lucian, former sheriff of Absaroka County, and current resident of the same home insists what looks like a natural death is murder. Now Walt has known Lucian for most of his life and he thought he knew everything there was about him. He was wrong. It turns out that Lucian has a relationship with Mari dating back more than fifty years and he still bears a visible dent in his head compliments of her four brothers. These revelations raise more questions especially regarding the disappearance of Mari's abusive husband Charlie Nurburn. Mari, because she outlived her four brothers, inherited a significant amount of land rich in natural resources. It is starting to get complicated and now Walt has found a motive for murder. The murder weapon of choice is straight out of an Agatha Christie novel. The misidentity aspects of the plot also had me thinking of Dame Christie. As bodies start to pile up I was starting to think a drawing room would be showing up for the final reveal. Walt is soon looking for a 6'5" methamphetamine addict for answers. Hard to hide even in Wyoming when you are even taller than the local sheriff. People remember seeing you. The problem with a man that big, wired on meth, is he can get you killed. Walt has a near death experience trapped under the ice of a river trying to bring this man in for questioning. "They say that your life passes before your eyes, but that's not what happens. What happens is that you think of all the things you didn't get done, big things, small things, all the things that are left." Remember that Indian, well as long as Henry is breathing Walt will always have a more than even chance of surviving anything. Their relationship is closer than brothers and when you see one the other isn't far behind. If you mess with one you have to calculate the odds of messing with both of them. My advice don't mess with them. Wyoming weather will kill you even if you just slip up a little. Walt has woman problems make that women problems. His wife died a few years ago and her presence is a shadow over every woman he looks at with any degree of interest. He is looking at Maggie, a friend, for a moment with wise eyes. "When I looked she was looking at me with the sea blue at full tide. She smiled just a little and then turned back to Henry. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to chase a ghost through someone else's body, to try and capture a part of someone who was lost by taking someone who was found." Walt also offers some great advice for women. "I looked over at her; if women knew how good they looked in the dash light of oversized pickup trucks, they'd never get out of them." It's true, so true. People talk about bar lighting, but dash board lights have that smoky atmosphere beat hands down. I bet it doesn't hurt the way men look either. Now Walt's problems with Maggie are minor leagues compared to his issues with his deputy out of Pennsylvania Vic Moretti. "In the dim glow of the stained glass of the billiard's light and the Rainier beer advertisements, my chief deputy looked like some courtly renaissance woman, the kind that would poison your wine." Run you are thinking, run like your boots are on fire and the stream is a mile away. There are reasons why women like Anne Boleyn can tear a king and a kingdom apart. They can change history with...just...one...kiss. "I started to step around Vic but, when I did, she turned and slipped my left hand into a reverse wristlock that suddenly brought my head down to her level. I could smell the alcohol on her breath. The big, tarnished gold eyes blinked as she reached out and nibbled my lower lip, gently sliding into a long, slow vacuum. She kissed like she was pulling venom. Her hand glided down the back of my neck, the nails leaving scorched earth as they went. She pulled her face back, and I wasn't sure if I could stand. She studied me for the effect, lessening the pressure on my left hand as I rose away from her, willing my injured leg to stop trembling." To hell with the Catholic church. Oh...wait...wrong century. The evocative scenery of Wyoming and the fickleness of the weather and the cast of characters that Craig Johnson moves around with such deftness and assuredness is not like reading a mystery. It is like drinking a cold beer with your skin stained with work sweat. It is like driving an old pickup that smells of grease and rust. It is like catching lightning in a bottle. A cup of coffee and a Longmire will work fine until you need something stronger to drink. There is humor in the books that for some reason isn't translating as well to the TV series. It is deadpan and will catch you so unawares that you will laugh out loud. You will become so enmeshed in these characters that when someone does something nice for Walt you will feel like they just did it for you. When they feel pain you will feel a twinge in the same place. Highly recommended for those who like books about the American West or for those who just like great writing. For those who may have missed it here is the link to my review of The Cold Dish

Review # 2 was written on 2013-08-09 00:00:00 Joann Betts I was overjoyed with this introduction to the mystery series featuring Sheriff Walt Longmire in northern Wyoming (I couldn't nab the first, "Cold Dish"). Johnson played all my emotions like a talented pianist, from heartbreak to hilarity. Wrung me of awe and concern for a hero of mythic stature, but one who comes off humble and sincere like the dad you wish you had. And evoked so well the setting and human values of rural life in the high plains near the Bighorn Mountains, where the dangers of weather and isolation makes a sense of community especially important. The case in this one starts with the ex-sheriff and former mentor, Lucian, asking that the seemingly natural death of his fellow resident at an assisted living center be checked out suspicious causes. When the lady, Mari Baroja, turns out to have been murdered, Walt has to press Lucian hard to learn anything about why he suspected foul play. Step by step Walt works out secrets that involve Lucian and Mari dating back to 1950. She was a member of the close-knit Basque community of sheepherders who immigrated to the region. The investigation has a tough time resolving whether the crime was driven by personal or by financial motivations. Mari had a surprising source of wealth, but someone in her life was responsible for torture and abuse readable from extensive scarring on her body. As Walt makes progress on the case, other murders and attempted murders leave a confusing pattern, but one thing is clear: someone very dangerous is creating a trail of mayhem, and Walt keeps getting in harm's way. Even more satisfying than the compelling complexity of the mystery was my experience of Walt in his community, his circle of friends, and trusty dog (named Dog). His Cheyenne Indian friend from childhood, Henry Standing Bear, provides an ongoing sounding board at the helm of his restaurant/bar in the tiny fictional town of Durant. He also keeps him grounded with humor, spiritual wisdom, and help with processing Walt's case-related dreams and the visions of Plains Indians' ghosts he is subject to. For example, Henry reminds Walt that people don't own land--the land owns them ("You don't own your own mother, do you"). At the scene of a traffic accident in a snow storm, a big truck almost slides into him and has the illusion that ghost Indians helped allay his death like stopping a buffalo: I looked north and west toward the Little Big Horn and Northern Cheyenne Reservation. It was comforting to think they were still here, stewards of a mother they did not own. The stinging wind made my eyes tear, at least I think that's what it was, so I laughed and lifted my hand, tipping my hat just to let them know I knew where they were and to say thanks. Another larger-than-life friend is his female deputy, Vic Moretti, a tough, foul-mouthed Italian from Philadelphia who always has his back in a scrap. Because your heart goes out to Walt over his loneliness from the past losses of a wife and recent lover, you can't blame Walt for his hidden affections for Vic, but his integrity keeps his lusts at bay: I looked at my recently divorced deputy, a beautiful, intelligent woman with a body like Salome and a mouth like a saltwater crocodile. … I started to wonder why she hadn't ever invited me over to dinner when it came to me that I had never invited her out to my place either. I guess it had never really occurred to me, even though I continually swam against the undertow of my attraction toward her. The thought of myself involved with a woman who was about the same age as Cady was an image so pathetic that I erased it in wide sweeps on a regular basis. Walt is well grounded and relatively free of demons that afflict so many other fictional detectives. For example, while he has the same mental attunement for the poetry in nature and spirit visions as James Lee Burke's Louisiania detective Dave Robicheaux, Walt does not suffer his war-inspired PTSD, alcoholism, and hidden addiction to violence. Longmire's humanity shines through with his empathy and affinity for imagining the lives of the victims in a personal way. Here he tunes into dead Mari through a dream about her younger self: I felt the breath catch in my throat at the wonder of her and knew that everything I had heard was true. After a moment, she rolled over and looked at me with those dark eyes, a plucked piece of grass between her teeth. She smiled and reached a hand across to touch my shoulder. Her fingers were light, and a shiver went through me; the coolness of her spread like a welcome cloud on an overly sunny day. She looked toward the mountains, as if she were trying to think of how to say what she wanted to say. …She had trouble supporting herself, and it was only then I noticed she was very pregnant. Her hand came out again, slowly, as if she didn't want to frighten me. The slim fingers wrapped around mine and lifted my hand toward her. A few clouds appeared like solemn voices and broken hearts. The key lessons Walt learns through his travails of this tough case are that "hatred has a poor shelf life but that love and hope can limp along forever" and "a professional is the one who always has his gun". In an with the Mystery People blog, Johnson confessed to what he was after with the series, and I think he succeeded admirably in his goals: Walt is a very iconoclastic figure, I guess, but I've attempted to humanize him by searching for the complexities within. He's very much a Western style hero but in a modern world-he has to match up with that diversity and nuance that hopefully takes the books to another level. I think the environs allow for that, that and the other characters. Henry Standing Bear is not your average, stereotypical Indian, so Walt can't be the stereotypical cowboy. One of the joys of writing contemporary western/mysteries is that it affords me the opportunity to take on the baggage of those genre clichés and turn them on their ear; I think that's one of the reasons the books are as popular as they are. Heartfelt thanks to GR friend Harry Roolaart, Robert Downs, and Algernon for great reviews that made me a permanent fan for this series.