The debut novel of a MN author. Sam Rivers is so estranged from his shyster father Winthrop that he's changed his name and moved to Colorado. Now, in the dead of winter, his father has apparently accidentally blown his own head off with his custom ten-gauge shotgun while hunting. Hunting what? There's no game season in January, other than Manitou and Sasquatch. It turns out that Winthrop was about to be indicted for a big-dollar scam against elderly clients, so his death might be a suicide. Or not; he's written a new will leaving his fortune to his drinking buddies. While this is obviously suspicious, his buddies include the police chief, who declines to investigate, the insurance agent who wrote the policy, and a couple of other local bigshots who 'identify' the unrecognizable body. Of course it's all a scam, and that's the flaw with this book: every dramatic step is a little too obvious, a little too unlikely, and a little too reliant on everybody ignoring the signs. Winthrop has murdered an indigent traveler who matches his size and age and substituted the body. This puts the will in probate and passes the fortune to his drinking buddies. Presumably, Winthrop will want some of it back. He also has a big life-insurance policy, payable to the buddies. How nice of him. Having fooled the authorities, he decides to hang around this small, northern-Minnesota town where everybody knows him and stage a fake wolf-kill of three feeder calves in a barn, the apparent point being that the State will compensate him ($2,000? $3,000?) Also, it will further the cause of wolf haters, though not by much since the scenario isn't realistic. Much of the book is about investigating the apparent wolf kill, since Sam Rivers, Winthrop's estranged son, is a wolf expert. More unbelievable coincidence. Eventually Sam plods into the solution and the bad guys are exposed. This is a weak, weak mystery, but at least the portrayal of Minnesota winter at its worst is vivid and visceral.