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 itβs enough, in my
opinion. . . . βSit,β Bernie said. Β I sat. Bernie would
think of somethingβhe 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 missingβalong with her trainer, Uri DeLeath. Stranger
still, no one saw them leave. How does an elephant vanish
without a trace? At first thereβs nothing Bernie and Chet
can doβ itβs a police matter and they have no standing in
the case. But then theyβre 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 Peanutβs 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 himselfβnot 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 whatβs that saying? Not much.
Itβs a fact that trouble has a smell - human trouble especially, sour and penetrating β but Bernie had never smelled trouble before, or if so he hadnβt mentioned it, and Bernie mentioned all kinds of things to me. Weβre partners in the Little Detective Agency, me and Bernie, Bernieβs last name being Little. Iβm Chet, pure and simple.
I took a quick sniff, smelled no trouble whatsoever, just as Iβd expected, but did smell lots of other stuff, including burgers cooking on a grill. I looked around: no grill in sight, and this wasnβt 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 Iβd forgotten. Sheβd led us out of the Valley to a motel in a flea-bitten desert town. That was what Bernie called it β flea-bitten β but I felt no fleas at all, hadnβt been bothered by them in ages, not since I started on the drops. But the funny thing was, even though I didnβt 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 β
"Chet, for Godβs sake."
I went still, one of my back paws frozen in mid-air. Bernie gave me a close look. "Donβt 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 donβt 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 β alert and flealess.
We were in the Porsche. There are fancy Porsches out there β we see them on the freeways; weβve got freeways out the yingyang in the Valley - but ours isnβt one of them. Itβs very old, brown with yellow doors, and thereβs a bullet hole in the back license plate. How that happened is a story for another time.
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