Title:
In the Crosshairs: the Body on Leffis Key
Author:
M. S. Spencer
Genre:
Cozy mystery/Romantic suspense
Book Blurb:
Palmer Lind, recovering from the sudden death of her husband, embarks on a bird-watching trek to the Gulf Coast of Florida. One hot day on Leffis Key she comes upon—not the life bird she was hoping for—but a floating corpse. The handsome beach bum who appears on the scene at the same time seems to have even more secrets than the dead man.
His story begins to unravel as the pair search for answers to a growing pile of dead bodies. Spies, radical environmentalists, and wealthy businessmen circle around each other in a complex dance. Which one is lying? What do a seemingly random group of individuals have in common, other than being targeted by a crossbow?
Excerpt: Ruminations on a Crossbow
“Again, Captain Thrasher, Miss Lind and I only met this morning. We happened on the dead man at the same time. She by land and me by sea.”
The police detective kept the suspicious look on his face, somewhat obscured by the thick, black-framed glasses he wore. “Did you touch the corpse?”
“I gave it a slight poke, yes.” Hooper’s face turned slightly green. “That was enough. You are aware it was ripe enough to entice hungry vultures, right?”
Thrasher nodded. He skimmed a form on his desk. “ME says it took a while to sift through the damage to find the cause of death.”
“Drowning?” Palmer’s tone was hopeful.
“No. He’d been stabbed in the heart.” He ran his pencil down the page. “He was also missing the index finger on his left hand.” He shot Palmer a look from under his brows. “You didn’t happen to come across it, did you?”
She recalled a whitish object in a bird’s talon. “I…er…believe one of the vultures may have bitten it off.”
“Ah.” He studied the autopsy report. “Dr. Conure collected splinters of wood lodged in the skin, and also minute bronze filings inside the wound. He’s pretty sure the latter came from an arrow.”
“An arrow?”
Hooper echoed Palmer’s question, a catch in his voice. “A bronze arrow?”
“Yes. A specific type of arrow. The kind they use in crossbows. He says the splinters came from the bow, and the filings from the arrow.”
“Crossbow you say?”
“Yeah. Weird, huh. Don’t see too much crossbow hunting around here.”
Palmer, who had been watching Hooper, nudged him. “You have something to add?”
Hooper made a gurgling sound in his throat. “Um, yeah. Modern crossbows are made of steel, not wood. The projectiles are called bolts, which are aluminum, not bronze.”
“Well, well. How come you know so much?”
“I, uh, was thinking of taking up archery. Been reading up on it.”
“Really?” Thrasher was unimpressed. “Lemme take a wild guess. You’ve done a bit more than read up on it. Wanna come clean?” When Hooper didn’t answer immediately, he added, “This is something we can easily ascertain.”
Hooper’s shoulders sagged. “All right. I have dabbled in archery. I have used a crossbow.”
The detective closed the report. “You say crossbows are made of metal? So where do you think the bits of wood came from?”
“I’ve no idea. Look, can we go now?”
“Will you be at your house? He checked his clipboard again. “In the Village?”
“You mean, do I plan to skip town while the gumshoes are breathing down my neck? No, I don’t. Plan to.”
“Okay.” The detective’s dark brows beetled. “I think…I know…we’ll have more questions for you.”
Hooper and Palmer parted at the Gulf of Mexico Drive, the highway that spanned the length of the island. “How will you get home?”
“My boat’s tied up behind the station. How about you?”
“I left my car at my place and walked. The Palapa Inn is only half a mile away.” She pointed up the road. “I rented a suite there.”
“Oh, okay. Then I guess I’ll see you around. Um…bye.”
The Palapa Inn was a small, cozy resort, its cheerful yellow walls reflecting the Florida sunshine. Palmer had the second floor of the building to herself, presenting an apartment-wide view of the Gulf. Though tempted to drop onto the bed and sleep away the late unpleasantness, she decided to hike the beach. I need to clear my head.
The shimmering heat waves floated parallel to the waves on the water. It was siesta time, and most people were indoors. They would trickle back out to watch the sunset before worming their way into the bumper-to-bumper traffic heading to an “Early Bird” supper. Palmer was alone except for the occasional skimmer gliding along the ebbing tide and a herd or two of sanderlings skittering along the water line.[…]
Once back at home, she took a shower and changed her clothes. As the sun dipped below the sea, it lobbed flaming gouts of yellow and crimson and salmon into the clouds. She sat on her balcony, a vodka gimlet at her elbow, and contemplated the day.
She went over the discovery of the body and the bizarre cause of death. She dwelt rather longer on Hooper’s face. Perhaps it won’t be the last time I see him, since this thing is far from over. On the other hand, I’m only here for a week or two. The detective had seemed—what’s the word I’m looking for?—distrustful of Hooper, but she herself didn’t have much more to offer the police. So they might not contact me again. In which case, Sonny Hooper—or whatever his name is—will become an interesting memory.
His true identity… He never did reveal it, did he? What could he be hiding? He had recoiled at his first sight of the dead man’s face. Was it merely shock at seeing a corpse, or did he recognize him? He was so—how to describe it?—self-assured. Competent. Could he be a contract killer? She mustered up his image. Chiseled jaw. Firm chin. Manly chest…but she was getting off track. The murder is top priority, Palmer, not the color of his eyes. If not a professional assassin, then what? A jealous husband? He wouldn’t have been startled to see the victim then. And anyway, he said he wasn’t married. Palmer quickly stifled the ping of pleasure that fact gave her.
She finished her drink. Perhaps they were business partners and had a falling out. No—the victim wore thrift-store hand-me-downs. Of course, Hooper’s attire was hardly Fifth Avenue.
At any rate, until he explained himself, she had to treat him as a potential suspect. Who knows? Maybe the next time she confronted him she’d be in the witness stand facing the defendant, Mr. X, alias Sonny Hooper. So maybe I don’t want to see him again.
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub):
Books2Read: https://books2read.com/IntheCrosshairs
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/in-the-crosshairs-m-s-spencer/1145026462?ean=2940185979617
Google https://play.google.com/store/books/details?_bbid=212779482&_bbreg=us&_bbtype=blog&id=6VsIEQAAQBAJ
What makes your featured book a must-read?
If you want a taste of pre-hurricane Florida Gulf Coast, pick up In the Crosshairs. If you want a murder mystery that’s received a prestigious literary award, pick up In the Crosshairs. If you love political thrillers and Inside-the-Beltway intrigue, pick up In the Crosshairs. If uncommon, exotic methods of homicide are your bag, pick up In the Crosshairs. If you want a witty, engaging romance…well, you know the drill.
Giveaway –
Enter to win a $25 Amazon gift card:
Open Internationally.
Runs December 16 – December 31, 2024.
Winner will be drawn on January 2, 2025.
Author Biography:
Librarian, anthropologist, research assistant, Congressional aide, speechwriter, nonprofit director—M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five of the seven continents and holds degrees in Anthropology, Middle East Studies, and Library Science. She has published seventeen mystery or romantic suspense novels and has one more due out in 2025. She has two children, an exuberant granddaughter, and currently divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.
Social Media Links:
Shepherd: https://shepherd.com/search/author/21204
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B002ZOEUC8