The Tinder Detective Agency: Murder in Very Poor Taste

By Raoul Hawkins

Until the brutal murder of a local store owner, Tinderbox was a quiet town. The police sergeant needs help to solve the crime and a detective inspector is sent from Melbourne to oversee the investigation. But it is his children who run the Tinder Detective Agency from their cubby house and who expose the awful truth behind the murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398432338

Raoul Hawkins

Raoul Hawkins BA. Dip. ED., was schooled in London, New Jersey and finally Australia. He resides in Sydney with his two children who were the inspiration for the characters in this his fourth novel.

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About the Author

Raoul Hawkins BA. Dip. ED., was schooled in London, New Jersey and finally Australia. He resides in Sydney with his two children who were the inspiration for the characters in this his fourth novel.

Dedication

Dedicated to Enid Hawkins

Copyright Information ©

Raoul Hawkins 2023

The right of Raoul Hawkins to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398427433 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398432338 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Chapter 1

Tinderbox

Tucked away in the hills, Tinderbox was as cosy as a rustic country village could be, especially in winter when the cold southern winds blew in off the coast and the town was covered with a soft blanket of smoke from the wood-fired stoves burning off scraps from the lumberyard. Cut in half by the main road that wound its way through the hills, the town hugged one side of the highway, while the other was dotted with bungalows for the local lumberjacks. There was a post office-cum-general store, a milk bar that had evolved into a country café, and three hotels. It had two garages, a Chinese restaurant, and even a community hall. A young couple with a baby and pet goat occupied the old church.

As modest a town as it was, it was still the regional hub in a remote area. It even boasted a police station, with not two, but three officers. Though responsible for the entire shire, their duties were light. It was such a quiet rural hideaway; they were rarely stretched, until Tom Doherty’s head was found impaled on Geraldine Miller’s letterbox.

A cantankerous individual, I was always a little scared of Mr Doherty. He had emigrated as a young man, drifted into woodcutting and eventually set up a hardware store. Everybody knew him, even though he kept to himself. It was shocking enough to have a murder committed but the gruesome nature, discovered by a local on his morning walk, was especially alarming.

I was too young to appreciate what was happening at the time, but the advantage of being so young is I remember it so well. Innocent though I was, my mind was fresh and agile, unsullied by subsequent years of alcohol abuse, of smoking and late nights, of all the activities with which we muddy our lives. Back then the world was young, because I was. I could taste every breath. Smell the season in the air. I could feel the earth beneath my bare feet, the dirt between my toes. Every day was the dawn of a new era, pregnant with possibility.

I would have been twelve the day they found Mr Doherty’s head. We were convening a meeting in the office. The office was my tree house, which was the ramshackle shed at the back of the yard with a tree in it. The tree was a sapling in a pot that my father intended to plant. It’s probably still there.

My best friend, Gary Hinsbey and I ran the Tinder Detective Agency. We had a number of successful cases behind us by then. There was the case of Mrs Kelly’s missing garbage bin, which we found while scavenging at the tip. The garbos had thrown away the whole beaten up old bin. Our greatest coup was the case of the missing school cat. The body was in the car park.

Gary was about to brief me on a new job when Samantha barged into the shed.

Samantha was my know-all little sister, with the cheeks and mousey brown locks. She stood defiantly, a silhouette against the rays of sunlight pouring through the open doorway.

You started without me, she said crossly.

You’re meant to give the secret knock, Gary chided her. You know, one short, two quick?

Oh, hello Gary, she said in a gentler tone. I think Samantha had a crush on Gary, though I don’t know why. He was an ungainly lad with a sandy crop of hair, a freckled complexion and a slightly crooked nose that I presume contributed to his nasal twang. His manner was laconic. I was convinced the only reason Samantha wanted to be part of the detective agency was to be with Gary. When a policeman gets his man, it’s meant to be the bad guy, not the other policeman.

Girls can’t be detectives anyway, I told her.

Can too, she shouted, her face flushing.

Is dad a girl? I hurled back, silencing her with a masterstroke of reasoning. Our father was the town’s police sergeant.

Dad isn’t a detective, he’s a policeman, she responded, her face falling into a pout.

Pulling up an empty fruit crate, she took a seat as Gary dusted down the blackboard for his presentation.

Now, you know we’ve been sending signals into outer space to make contact with other worlds? he said earnestly, drawing a small circle in the lower corner of the blackboard with some squiggly lines radiating from it.

Samantha and I blinked vacuously at each other.

Well, Gary continued, They’ve answered. In fact they’ve landed and they’re living in Eric Stuart’s roof.

Well obviously we were impressed. It was widely known, at least it was at school, that space aliens bent on wiping out the planet visited the Earth constantly. Eric wanted the Tinder Detective Agency to detect his new houseguests. Finally we had a serious case to work on.

We’ll need a camera, Gary said.

I told him I had one.

And maybe a net. he added, as I disappeared out the door.

I searched the house but my camera had vanished. The only trace was a puddle of slime where I thought it had been. Gary was sure the space aliens had taken it.

They know we’re on to them, he told me.

Our meeting was terminated when Mum wanted me to set the table for dinner. It didn’t matter to her that the Earth was about to be invaded by space monsters and that the Tinder Detective Agency was the only hope of saving it from calamity. No, I had to set the table.

Our house had a large country kitchen with room for a breakfast table, but we ate in the adjacent dinning room. I could hear my mother talking to her friend Brittany as I laid out the cutlery. That’s how I learned about Mr Doherty. If Brittany knew, I imagined the whole town did too.

Mum changed the subject as soon as I re-entered the kitchen. I don’t have to cook, Brittany’s brought over one of her shepherd’s pies.

I groaned. This was the third shepherd’s pie in as many weeks, and I wasn’t too keen on it the first time. My mother gave me a disapproving look. I could hear her soft grunt of disapproval.

I think I’ve got the recipe right this time, Brittany assured us, oblivious to my misgivings. I’ve spiced it up a bit.

I continued expressing my displeasure as discreetly as I could, but my mother ignored me. Brittany had lived in town for well over a decade and was part of the community. Originally from Yorkshire, she had found herself in Tinderbox where she took to cutting timber. Now she just seemed to bake pies.

Dad was running late, and we were already sitting at the dinner table when he arrived home. Taking off his coat and hat, he slipped into his chair at the head of the table. Tallish, with a generous girth, he looked like a policeman, His black hair, what was left of it