Gret description of orcas eating seals and people hunting deer. Straley loves Alaska--its cold, wetness, and distances. He isn't so hot about big energy, air travel and drop-in environmentalists. He doesn't mind the thrown-together feel of the cities. The book digs in on you as you read. And you shiver a little wondering why are some people so bad and others so good. But if you made everyone middling muddlers what kind of mystery would you have? ( )

Creek Street is a collection of buildings built on pilings along the creek. A hundred years ago it was the red-light district of Ketchikan, AK. As Cecil Younger stands there today, the police are pulling the body of a young woman, Louise Root, from the waters. Her throat has been slit. She was Younger’s client. She had hired him to the expose corporate cover-up of the rape she had suffered at a nearby gold mine. Also watching is Hannah, Louise’s friend and Younger’s former lover.

Younger feels he needs to finish the job. The police want him to stay out of it. The mining corporation wants to pay him money for information on an environmentalist. And Younger is fighting his own demon, his desire for a drink.

I’ve seen Southeastern Alaska. It’s beautiful. It’s gray. It’s damp. It’s chilly. And it is obvious that the author knows it much better than I do. This was the second in a series. I'm glad there are more. ( )

John Straley's details put you in the scene. You can hear the sound of the floatplane's engine change, feel the lift as it pops through the pass. His images of people are as specific, and as spare. His Alaska is bitter, not idealized. And his Alaskans have warts, but you are glad to have met them. ( )