Dead Men Don't Ski

> What could be more pleasant, or indeed more healthy, than a skiing vacation high in the Alps at a delightfully secluded and quiet resort: or so thought Chief Inspector Tibbett and his wife, Emmy. Because one really didn't need to ski all that much--a token effort on the nursery slopes and then one could sit back and relax in the sun with a long drink and an exhausted air. >Not so. >Not when that exclusive little resort so neatly and conveniently set on a border may in fact be cover for the nefarious smuggling of who knows what kind of contraband--a delightful way-station for, say, drugs on their way to market via the innocuous bags and pocket books of innocent holiday-makers. >Or are they innocent? >One of them at least is not. For one of them is willing to kill. >And suddenly the sunny, snowy slopes, the high crevasses and hidden falls become ominous. Even the staid and safe-seeming chair lift is monstrously threatening, dangerous beyond the wildest nightmares of a timid skier. >For death is much longer lasting than a broken leg.