THE DEAD OF WINTER by David A. Crossman, Down East Books, Camden, Maine, 1999; 349 pages, hardback, $22.95.

In the winter of 1970, the most abundant liquid at Penobscot Island, besides seawater, is tea. Winston Crisp, the main character in “The Dead of Winter,” is in his 80s and has just awakened from a months-long coma precipitated by the horrifying events of a previous investigation on the island.

An insistent but kindly woman named Matty, herself in her 70s, looks after Crisp by furnishing him, and his guests, with cup after cup of tea. And cookies.

While Crisp is convalescing, a man is found dead on the other side of the island. With snow and ice complicating the evidence, the principal facts are peculiar: The body is sitting in a chair with tears in the eyes, bruises on the knees, one shoe off and one shoe on.

The head-scratching island constabulary is not sure what to make of this, and so they seek Crisp’s help. The former National Security Agency operative and code breaker, with his shadowy past, quickly proves himself quicker than his neighbors, even though his limbs barely operate and his brain is fuzzy from his extended brush with death.

Other puzzling events transpire. The University of Maine’s ambitious chancellor pays a quick, surreptitious visit to the island. A lone, unidentified woman pulls another body from Penobscot Bay. A diplomat’s wife, among the wealthy out-of-staters, becomes inexplicably distraught the day after the murder.

What’s happening on this tiny island off Rockland? Who killed the professor found in the chair, whose German family had lived a rocky life on Penobscot Island during World War I? And why?

Crisp, of course, is the brains behind finding out. People shuffle in and out of his house under the watchful eye of Matty, who bakes more cookies and steeps more tea in one December week than most people do in a year.

“The Dead of Winter” introduces us early to a lot of characters — some who quickly drop from sight, and others, such as the folks at the local store and beauty parlor, who sift evidence and good-natured gossip for us as the story unfolds. But once the story finds its focus in Crisp and several recognizable stock personnel — the not quite competent island constable and scrupulously indefatigable doctor — it builds momentum steadily toward a pleasingly complex climax.

It also builds a thick down-home atmosphere. The author, with an ear for how coastal Mainers speak, dots the dialogue with authentic Maine-isms: “`Nope,’ Matty replied sadly, adding a quick `nope’ on the inhale.” And the murders’ gruesome details notwithstanding, the tea-and-cookies atmosphere never abates. For most of the book it feels like Angela Lansbury will appear at any moment. One character’s life is actually saved by chicken soup. This fantastic coziness is part of the attraction of the genre.

David Crossman, a Vinalhaven native now living in Friendship, clearly mastered the crafting of page-turning stories as a TV writer and producer. His skills are evident in this book, the second with Crisp as protagonist.

“The Dead of Winter” does exactly what it sets out to do. If you like murder mysteries, pick up a copy and make yourself a cup of tea. You’ll be warmed for a few pleasant hours.