For anyone who loves a good mystery, TO FETCH A THIEF
really delivers. In the best tradition of first-person
mysteries from the point of view of the animal, Spencer
Quinn's Chet and Bernie mysteries provide excellent
mysteries as well as great insight into potential workings
of the canine mind. Particularly amusing are Chet's ideas
of what is going on, particularly based on facial
expressions, sounds, and -of course- smells.
In this case,
an elephant and handler have gone missing from the Drummond
Family Traveling Circus. It seems that everyone is a
suspect except Chet and Bernie themselves! Obviously,
readers should immediately read the prior two works in the
series, but TO FETCH A THIEF does not make such familiarity
necessary. Funny, quick-witted, and heart-warming, the
series encourages one to sit with one's favorite canine
companion for an evening of mystery.
In the third book in the brilliant New York Times
bestselling series featuring a lovable and wise dog
narrator, Chet and Bernie go under the big top to solve the
most unlikely missing persons (and animals!) case ever. We
were outnumbered, some big number against two. When it comes
to numbers, two is as far as I go, but it’s enough, in my
opinion. . . . “Sit,” Bernie said. I sat. Bernie would
think of something—he always did. That was one of the things
that made the Little Detective Agency such a success, except
for the finances part . . . Chet has smelled a lot of
unusual things in his years as trusted companion and partner
to P.I. Bernie Little, but nothing has prepared him for the
exotic scents he encounters when an old-fashioned traveling
circus comes to town. Bernie scores tickets to this
less-than-greatest- show-on-earth because his son Charlie is
crazy about elephants. The only problem is that Peanut, the
headlining pachyderm of this particular one-ring circus, has
gone missing—along with her trainer, Uri DeLeath. Stranger
still, no one saw them leave. How does an elephant vanish
without a trace? At first there’s nothing Bernie and Chet
can do— it’s a police matter and they have no standing in
the case. But then they’re hired by Popo the Clown, who has
his own reasons for wanting to find out what has become of
the mysteriously missing duo. After Chet takes a few sniffs
in Peanut’s trailer and picks up her one-of-a-kind scent, he
and Bernie are in hot pursuit, heading far away from the
bright lights of the traveling show and into the dark desert
night. Some very dangerous people would prefer that Chet and
Bernie disappear for good and will go to any lengths to make
that happen. Across the border in Mexico and separated from
Bernie, Chet must use all his natural strength and doggy
smarts to try to save himself—not to mention Bernie and a
decidedly uncooperative Peanut, too. To Fetch a Thief shows
why readers everywhere have fallen head-over-paws in love
with the Chet and Bernie mystery series. Top-notch suspense,
humor, and insight into the ways our canine companions think
and behave make this the most entertaining and irresistible
book in the series yet.
Excerpt
"I smell trouble," Bernie said.
Better stop right there. Not that I doubt Bernie.
The truth is I believe everything he says. And he has a
nice big nose for a human. But what’s that saying? Not
much.
It’s a fact that trouble has a smell - human trouble
especially, sour and penetrating – but Bernie had never
smelled trouble before, or if so he hadn’t mentioned it,
and Bernie mentioned all kinds of things to me. We’re
partners in the Little Detective Agency, me and Bernie,
Bernie’s last name being Little. I’m Chet, pure and simple.
I took a quick sniff, smelled no trouble whatsoever,
just as I’d expected, but did smell lots of other stuff,
including burgers cooking on a grill. I looked around: no
grill in sight, and this wasn’t the time to go searching,
although all at once I was a bit hungry, maybe even more
than a bit. We were on the job, trailing some woman whose
name I’d forgotten. She’d led us out of the Valley to a
motel in a flea-bitten desert town. That was what Bernie
called it – flea-bitten – but I felt no fleas at all,
hadn’t been bothered by them in ages, not since I started
on the drops. But the funny thing was, even though I didn’t
have fleas, just the thought of them suddenly made me
itchy. I started scratching, first behind my ear, soon
along my side, then both at once, really digging in with my
claws, faster and –
"Chet, for God’s sake."
I went still, one of my back paws frozen in mid-air.
Bernie gave me a close look. "Don’t tell me I forgot
the drops?" I gave him a close look right back. Bernie
has these faint lines on his forehead. When he worries,
they get deeper, like now. I don’t like it when Bernie
worries. I pushed all thoughts about scratching clear out
of my mind and sat straight up in the shotgun seat - my
very favorite spot – alert and flealess.
We were in the Porsche. There are fancy Porsches out
there – we see them on the freeways; we’ve got freeways out
the yingyang in the Valley - but ours isn’t one of them.
It’s very old, brown with yellow doors, and there’s a
bullet hole in the back license plate. How that happened is
a story for another time.
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