The Dog Park Detectives
Murder is never just a walk in the park . . .
(Sprache: Englisch)
The Dog Park Detectives is a joyous and fur-ociously entertaining murder mystery for fans of dogs and cosy crime, and the first in a pawfully exciting new series that is perfect for fans of Richard Osman and Robert Thorogood.
Erscheint am 06.06.2024
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The Dog Park Detectives is a joyous and fur-ociously entertaining murder mystery for fans of dogs and cosy crime, and the first in a pawfully exciting new series that is perfect for fans of Richard Osman and Robert Thorogood.
Klappentext zu „The Dog Park Detectives “
The Dog Park Detectives is a joyous and fur-ociously entertaining murder mystery for fans of dogs and cosy crime, and the first in a pawfully exciting new series that is perfect for fans of Richard Osman and Robert Thorogood.
Lese-Probe zu „The Dog Park Detectives “
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.Chapter 1
LOUISE
Partridge Bark group chat
Fiona (Nala's Mum): Anyone want to bet who was sick first after Girls' Night last night: Tank or Claire?
Yaz (Hercules's Mum): A French bulldog who has a tendency to barf, or a journalist who was drinking @Irina's cocktails? Tough one, but my money's on Claire.
Claire (Tank's Mum): Yeah. Yeah, it was me. I'm not going to make the recovery walk this morning. Soz.
Early morning sunlight stabbed my eyes. I adjusted my sunglasses and tightened my grip on Klaus's lead. Took a deep steadying breath; Claire wasn't the only one hungover.
'You look like something Hamish might have dug up,' Irina Ivanova called from across the street, gesturing at the black Scottish terrier at her side. With her fair hair hanging lank around her round, pale face, in sharp contrast to her designer leggings, top and trainers, Irina looked like a well-dressed zombie.
I knew I didn't look much better, but there wasn't much point in getting dressed up for an early dog walk in Partridge Park. Particularly not after our monthly ladies' night. I pushed my sunglasses further up the bridge of my nose and ushered my dachshund, Klaus, across the street. 'Who else are we waiting for?'
'No one. Although I'm not sure why you're all blaming me, I didn't force you to drink anything,' Irina said, her voice sounding like Eastern European gravel.
As sharp as her words were, there was no malice behind the usual refrain. She smiled as Hamish bypassed Klaus to greet me. Today he wore a blue bandana that read I'm not an effin' schnauzer. It was a sore point with Irina, although I suspected that as far as Hamish was concerned, as long as you were a dog or a human, you were cool. Squirrels, geese and cats were a different story.
'To be fair, from a distance . . .'
'Don't start,' Irina grunted.
I fought off a wave of nausea as I leaned down too
... mehr
fast to greet Hamish. 'Good morning, sweetheart,' I said, ruffling his ears. Once my world stopped spinning, I straightened and accepted a travel mug of coffee from Irina. 'Do I need to worry about any "hair of the non-schnauzer dog" in there?'
'Only if Hamish snuck something in, and Scotties don't shed.'
I took a healthy gulp of coffee and winced. If Hamish had snuck something in there, it might have tasted better. I blew on the lid, pretending that the coffee was just hot, instead of hot tar. 'Jesus.'
'You know what to take for the hangover,' she said.
'Yes. A couple of paracetamols, washed down with a Berocca.' I raised the mug in a mock salute. 'Or rocket fuel.'
She shrugged. 'So make your own coffee next time, I was just trying to help.'
Hamish squatted and Irina handed me her mug, pulling a green poo bag from her pocket. 'Enterosgel is the best thing for getting toxins safely out of your body.' She carefully got down on one knee to clean up after her dog. 'Don't make that face, it doesn't taste that bad. But if you want to keep your toxins, fine with me.' While Irina had been raised in Moscow (something she rarely admitted to), she'd spent a few years in the Czech Republic, with a dog that won awards for scavenging. Since then, Enterosgel had become her go-to for anything gastrointestinal, either for dogs or humans.
'I don't dispute how effective it is, just how it tastes. Kind of like the love child of chalk and charcoal.'
Irina smiled and lobbed the bag into a dog waste bin. On the front was a decal with the label 'Poo-Tin' below a picture of Vladimir Putin. The image was faded, but she still gave Mad Vlad a two-fingered salute as the bin clanged shut.
Our dog park pack - 'the Pack' - gave it equal odds that Irina was the one who put the decal t
'Only if Hamish snuck something in, and Scotties don't shed.'
I took a healthy gulp of coffee and winced. If Hamish had snuck something in there, it might have tasted better. I blew on the lid, pretending that the coffee was just hot, instead of hot tar. 'Jesus.'
'You know what to take for the hangover,' she said.
'Yes. A couple of paracetamols, washed down with a Berocca.' I raised the mug in a mock salute. 'Or rocket fuel.'
She shrugged. 'So make your own coffee next time, I was just trying to help.'
Hamish squatted and Irina handed me her mug, pulling a green poo bag from her pocket. 'Enterosgel is the best thing for getting toxins safely out of your body.' She carefully got down on one knee to clean up after her dog. 'Don't make that face, it doesn't taste that bad. But if you want to keep your toxins, fine with me.' While Irina had been raised in Moscow (something she rarely admitted to), she'd spent a few years in the Czech Republic, with a dog that won awards for scavenging. Since then, Enterosgel had become her go-to for anything gastrointestinal, either for dogs or humans.
'I don't dispute how effective it is, just how it tastes. Kind of like the love child of chalk and charcoal.'
Irina smiled and lobbed the bag into a dog waste bin. On the front was a decal with the label 'Poo-Tin' below a picture of Vladimir Putin. The image was faded, but she still gave Mad Vlad a two-fingered salute as the bin clanged shut.
Our dog park pack - 'the Pack' - gave it equal odds that Irina was the one who put the decal t
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Blake Mara
Blake Mara is a pseudonym of Mara Timon, author of Second World War thrillers City of Spies and Resistance. A native New Yorker who moved to the UK about twenty years ago, when Covid hit, she went cliché and got a pandemic puppy - a miniature dachshund with a massive personality. This opened her eyes to the canine-loving community that blossomed around the local dog park, and who became the inspiration for the Dog Park Detectives. But while her dog park pack have tackled some local crimes, they haven't found a dead body in the park . . . yet. For more information, follow her on Twitter (@TheBlakeMara), Facebook (BlakeMaraAuthor), Instagram (@Mara.Timon) or on her website, blakemara.com.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Blake Mara
- 2024, 448 Seiten, Maße: 13 x 19,8 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Simon & Schuster UK
- ISBN-10: 1398524239
- ISBN-13: 9781398524231
- Erscheinungsdatum: 06.06.2024
Sprache:
Englisch
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