Rumpled 1950’s sleuth, Axel Hatchett, is summoned to the Flinders Manor to prevent the crime of a millionaire’s murder. After a fierce blizzard knocks out the power and closes the roads, Hatchett is trapped in the cozy but deadly candle-lit mansion with an eccentric and sometimes comic array of terrified guests and servants. Axe is determined to solve the mystery, but his only clue is a sinister gray toupee. After spending a couple of nights dodging arrows, finding threatening notes delivered by dagger-point, and hearing disembodied banshee screams, he decides he’s up against a well-armed lunatic, or two in this humorous noir novel. __________ Rumpled 1950’s shamus Axel Hatchett still gets nightmares over his case of the Slayer In A Gray Toupee, the third novel in his Axel Hatchett Mystery series. Here’s what he says about it. I’ve been afraid of bald guys and snowstorms ever since I worked this case. Think of it, I was trapped in an old mansion in the middle of a storm that knocked out the electricity and froze the water pipes. My fellow inmates were a bunch of scared servants and eccentric guests, one of whom I had reason to believe was set on murder. The only clue to the impending crime I feared would take place was a cheap toupee sent with a threatening note sent to the Flinders Manor’s owner. Even though the old cook working in Flinders Mansion was as good as they get-she had a cozy little kitchen about twice the size of the former motel cottage I live in–being trapped in the dark with a crazed killer kind of took away my appetite. Good thing I still liked my cigars. My host kept his humidor stocked with swell Cubans. They burned like a dream and helped light my way. After passing a couple of nights dodging arrows, finding death notes with daggers stuck to them, and listening to disembodied banshee screams, my naturally sweet nature began to fray at the edges. I needed to find whoever it was who was wanting to kill my host before the murder could occur. And I was beginning to worry about my own neck. I had plenty of suspects, including a smooth-talking butler, an ex-cop who’d been thrown off the force, and a none-too-humorous guy who went around dressed in a court jester’s costume. Talk about creepy company! I was able to track down my client’s would-be assassin, but not before somebody else became a corpse. Boy was I glad when the snowstorm ended and I could go home. Keep warm, Axe, and keep the lights on.
