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Killing Monarchs

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Two dead bodies and too many coincidences to ignore--in this outdoors mystery, special agent Sam Rivers must stop a murderous conspiracy.

As a special agent for the US Fish & Wildlife Service, Sam Rivers has researched and studied a variety of animals. He's visiting sixth graders at Hopkins Elementary to share photographs of the Monarch butterfly--and he's brought along his drug-sniffing wolfdog, Gray, to give students a demonstration of his partner's remarkable skills.

Gray finds a sample drug packet, hidden by Sam, but that's not all. The wolfdog keeps following his nose, leading Sam to a utility room where they discover the school's janitor, dead. Local police write it off as a drug overdose, but Sam is no stranger to crime scenes. He suspects foul play.

When Sam and Gray come upon a second victim, the coincidences are too great to ignore. Sam starts turning over rocks--and what slithers out is more insidious than anyone could have foretold. Sam's instincts tell him there'll be more deaths, but those instincts put him at odds with conventional law enforcement. Armed with his knowledge of the natural world and his wolfdog companion, Sam must uncover answers to questions that few others believe exist.

The Denver Post calls Sam Rivers the "predator's predator." In Killing Monarchs, natural history writer Cary J. Griffith brings back Sam for his third mystery--a thrilling novel filled with action and suspense.


ISBN-13: 9781647551759

Media Type: Paperback

Publisher: Adventure Publications - Incorporated

Publication Date: 06-13-2023

Pages: 424

Product Dimensions: 5.50(w) x 8.20(h) x 1.00(d)

Series: A Sam Rivers Mystery - #3

Award-winning author Cary J. Griffith grew up among the woods, fields, and emerald waters of eastern Iowa. His childhood fostered a lifelong love of wild places. He earned a B.A. in English from the Universityof Iowa and an M.A. in library science from the Universityof Minnesota. Griffith’s books explore the natural world. In nonfiction, he covers the borderlands between civilization and wild places. In fiction, he focuses on the ways some people use flora and fauna to commit crimes, while others with more reverence and understanding of the natural world leverage their knowledge to bring criminals to justice. In both genres, readers are likely to learn something about our relationship to the natural world and the creatures who inhabit it. “I was 14 the first time I visited the lakes and boreal forests of northeastern Minnesota,” says Griffith, “and its beauty struck me.” Griffith is also the author of Wolf Kill, Cougar Claw, Gunflint Burning, Lost in the Wild, and Opening Goliath. He lives with his family in a suburb of Minnesota’s Twin Cities.

Read an Excerpt

Dr. Rodriguez came close and spoke softly to Gray. Sam was about to tell her she still needed to be introduced, but whatever she said made his tail wag faster. It was unusual behavior for the wolfdog. Gray had strong pack-animal instincts, and Sam was his pack, at least for now. Anyone outside the pack was regarded with suspicion.

“Agent Sam Rivers,” she said, turning to him.

She had green eyes. Sam remembered them because they were uncommon, and when she worked on Gray, they focused with startling intensity.

“Doctor,” he replied, taking her hand.

“Carmel,” she said. “Carmel Rodriguez. I told you that magnificent animal was going to fill out.”

Last fall, after she’d finished doctoring Gray, she’d weighed him and predicted he was going to add another 30 pounds to his frame. At the time, Gray had been a year old and Sam doubted her opinion. But in the intervening months, Gray had gained 27 more pounds, not an ounce of it fat.

Sam also remembered something else. “I thought your name was Susan.”

“I used to go by my middle name,” she said.

Gray’s attention returned to the fridge.

Amber, who had been trying to call Jerry, said, “He’s not answering. He should be down in his office. If you want that key, we’ll have to go get it. Or you and Mac will. I have to stay in the classroom.”

“We can get it,” Sam said.

“Gray doesn’t look like he wants to leave that fridge,” Carmel said.

“Wonder what’s up his nose?”

“Maybe deception,” Mac said, “Given your recent little stunt.”

“Deception is odorless,” Sam said. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if Gray could pick it up.”

Sam put Gray in a heel and had to leash him to pull his attention from the fridge. “Where can we find him?” Sam asked.

Amber considered how best to explain the route to Jerry’s utility room.

“Is that the dungeon?” Carmel said. “Jenny’s told me about it. The kids tease each other about the place. Never been there, but Jenny told me where it is.”

“Nobody ever goes down there, so the kids try and scare each other about it,” said Amber. “It’s at the end of the other wing. Can you show them?”

The elementary school had two single-story wings and one set of stairs that went down to the dungeon.

Once in the corridor, the wolfdog seemed to take on a new interest and began following, then leading Sam, pulling him in front of Carmel and Mac.

“Looks like Gray knows the way,” Carmel said.

“Not sure what he’s doing,” Sam said.

“Hybrids can be unpredictable,” Carmel said. “Personally and professionally, I don’t recommend them. But sometimes they surprise you. And, as I recall, this one was a rescue animal?”

“That’s right.”

“From the hell kennels of Angus Moon,” Mac said.

Mac had been part of the cleanup crew at Angus Moon’s backwoods kennel. There was a broken-down trailer at the end of a twisted drive and narrow cages with dirt floors where Moon had bred wolves with the largest dogs he could find. Moon was one of the most diabolical men Mac and Sam had ever encountered. He murdered without conscience and took pleasure in treating his animals with a brutal hand.

“He seems pretty well socialized for being born into a hell kennel,” Carmel said.

“We’ve spent a lot of time together, and I’ve worked him pretty hard,” Sam said. “We’re learning as we go. But a lot of it is just character. He was born this way. From the moment I first met him, I knew he was special.”

Gray led them around a corner and started toward a distant stairwell.

“This is how he acts when he’s following a scent,” Sam said.

“He’s definitely on the trail of something,” Carmel said.

Gray led them to the top of the stairs, and they descended two flights into the poorly lit cellar, stepping in front of a door marked “Utilities.” There was a narrow slice of light beneath the door’s threshold.

Sam knocked. “Jerry?”

Gray remained focused on the door.

They waited a few moments, listening. Then Sam tried the knob, found it unlocked, and pushed it open.

A man sat at a table, his head sagging on his chest. A syringe was stuck in his left forearm. His face—what they could see of it—was as pale as the underbelly of a bottom-feeding fish. Jerry Trailor, if that’s who it was. There was an eerie stillness in his body and the room. Death. Sam recognized it. So did Carmel.