Oliver The Dancing Detective: The Case Of The Golden Biscuit

By Robert J Parera and Diana M Whitman

The " Case Of The Golden Biscuit" is the first book in the " Oliver The Dancing Detective " children's series about the exploits of an energetic, computer savvy, supercar driving, country-line dancing canine private detective. Robert J. Parera was born in NYC. Producer of a wide range of screenplays from crime-thrillers t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert J.Parera
• Release date: Apr 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781087878744

Book preview

The Burgled Biscuit

If there was such a thing as a perfect evening, then tonight in Chappaqua, New Yorkie, was it. The sun, having done its job to warm the evening air, now dipped behind the horizon, leaving behind splendid orange-blue streaks in the sky. The fireflies blinked on and off in applause.

The sun's fading light also lit up the yellow farmhouse of Mayor Murphy and his family. It was a cozy home, not too big or small, and tastefully appointed as befits a Shar-Pei of his standing in the community. The Murphy household was always filled with joy and activity thanks to the Mayor's daughter, Maggie, and her various doings. But tonight, Maggie had set the house especially abuzz. She had won the most coveted award a young dog-utante could win: The Golden Biscuit!

Murphy made his way through the pack of partygoers as they chatted and danced and ate.

Mind the couch, he admonished. And the rug. And the credenza.

Just then, his wife, Daisy, sidled up and nuzzled him gently. Now Dear, they're just having fun. Would it be so hard to let your hair down this one time?

Murphy was trying, but he could only let his hair down so far. After all, Shar-Peis are short haired.

Though he was often vexed by his daughter's frivolous antics and capricious attitude, Murphy was truly proud of his daughter. Winning the Golden Biscuit was no small feat. It showed character, maturity, discipline, and talent.

Isn't it beautiful, Daddy? crowed Maggie, still in her show gown.

Murphy took the prize and made a show of inspecting it. This biscuit looks good enough to eat! he teased.

Oh, Daddy, she replied.

In fact, a prize this fine deserves a special place of honor. And with that, he walked over to the fireplace in the great room and placed the shimmering award on the mantel, just below the Murphy family portrait. That's more like it.

Maggie whimpered with delight as the other partygoers cheered. It was the best night ever.

But the next morning the world was cast in a whole new light. For, when Maggie woke up to admire her Golden Biscuit, it was gone!

She howled inconsolably.

Don't fret, Dear, Daisy whispered as she held her sobbing pup tight. We'll find it. You'll see.

Maggie sniffed. She wanted to believe her mom, but all she saw was the empty space on the mantel where her Golden Biscuit had been the night before.

Murphy entered the room. I searched the house, the barn, and walked the entire fence line, he said. His brow wrinkled (even more than usual). Not a scent or a print anywhere. It's a real mystery.

Maggie howled again. He trotted over and gave her a gentle lick on the forehead. Don't you worry, Maggie. We'll find it.

You think so?

Of course, Murphy said with his best brave face. I am the Mayor, after all. I'll put the best dog-tective on this case. Then, as if on cue, the phone rang and Murphy excused himself to his office.

The voice on the other end of the line had an unmistakable, reassuring southern drawl. Mistah Mayah.

Please, call me Murph, Duke.

Fair 'nuff. How about we do this chinwag over video, Mr.—er, Murph?

A press of a button brought up the striking image of a strong muzzle, broad withers, and good teeth chewing on a hay straw—it was none other than one of the world's greatest dog-tectives, Duke Akita.

Duke eased his cowboy hat back as he spoke. So, the Golden Biscuit, eh? That is a darn shame.

You can say that again, said Murph.

Nah, I don't have the time. I'm on a case down here in Alabama.

Alabama? When will you be back?

Hard to say, the Akita replied earnestly. This is a hairy one.

But what will I tell Maggie?

Listen here, Pardner, you tell Maggie that y'all have a top-notch dog-tective working this case. His name is Oliver, out of Thornville, round your parts. He'll fetch yer biscuit.

Murphy wasn't sure about trusting someone else with the case, especially someone he didn't know. Then again, he did trust Duke and if he said Oliver was the dog for the case, then that was good enough for him. He took down Oliver's number from Duke, thanked him, then dialed the dog-tective from Thornville.

Oliver On The Case

Atop a sloping hill in Thornville, New Yorkie, sat a majestic colonial with a wooden cocker spaniel mailbox out front. Inside, a real cocker spaniel, Oliver, was napping on a dog bed at the foot of his masters' bed. He had several beds arranged throughout the expansive house, but this one was his favorite.

Downstairs, Deb, one of his owners, pulled a pan of roast chicken from the oven. Tom, her husband and Oliver's other owner, summoned by the aroma, came in and sat himself at the kitchen island. He watched her expertly