Hunt's First Three Cases: Huntingdon Hart Investigates, #1

By Kate Darroch

The first three Huntingdon Hart Investigates cases, collected in one volume.
The Case of the Missing Peke
The Case of the Manic Magpie
The Case of the Clever Cat

 

plus Sneak Peek of #4, The Case of the Dazzling Duck

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ad Astra Press
• Release date: Apr 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781944690212

Kate Darroch

Enjoying a placid life in coastal Devon, Kate brings her love of reading Cozy Sleuths, her 30 years writing experience, and her knowledge of foreign climes, to writing her quirky Travel Cozies. Kate hopes her readers will find as much joy in Màiri Maguire Cozies as she finds in reading Sherlock Holmes, Father Brown, Ellery Queen Magazine, and Steve Higgs’ Patricia Fisher. The colossal sense of community in the hamlets of Devon took Kate back in spirit to the Glasgow of her childhood, and that's how Màiri was born. Màiri is a Scots Irish teacher whose hometown is Glasgow as it was in the 1970s, an era Kate fondly remembers. In Britain, the Seventies ushered in a time of huge ideological change. The world opened up and class barriers were vanishing. It was an exciting time to be a woman. Kate hopes to bring a sense of that excitement to you now, with a soupcon of women's lives during that epoch of upheaval, together with a little of the culture of Europe; all wrapped up in fun, frothy, fast paced Cozy Mysteries, with just enough clues and twists to keep you guessing until the end.  Kate believes that Reading should be a pleasure available to all, and so she is passionate about Accessibility. All her fiction is published in Large Print and Dyslexia Friendly editions, standard print, eBooks and audiobooks.

Book preview

Darroch, Kate, author

Title: Hunt’s First Three Cases

Description: First edition | Astra Cozies | Ad Astra Press Inc

Series: Huntingdon Hart Investigates CaseBook; 1

eBook ISBN: 978-1-944690-21-2

Library of Congress Control Number:

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Subjects: GSAFD: Mystery Fiction

Copyright © Darroch Family Trust 2023

All Rights Reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead; business establishments; events; or locales is entirely coincidental.

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https://AdAstraPress.co.uk

https://KateDarroch.com

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CONTENTS

HUNT’S FIRST THREE CASES

The Case of the Missing Peke

The Case of the Manic Magpie

The Case of the Clever Cat

Bonus:

Sneak Peek of Case #4

The Case of the Dazzling Duck

The Case of the Missing Peke

The First Case brought to Hunt at the Bird in Nest

CHAPTER 1 

In The Bird’s Nest

I’M NOT GOING TO TELL you that I’m a genius, because you probably wouldn’t believe me. Of course, a lot of other people will tell you that I’m the reincarnation of Mycroft Holmes, but you probably won’t believe them either - which is wise of you, because I’m not.

I’m plain old Huntingdon Hart (call me Hunt) of the beautiful English village of Upper Shrewsbury, where you see me now, whiling away a wet Wednesday at the bar of my local, The Bird in Nest.

What’s that you say? You want to call me by my proper name? Well, hard cheddar, my old son. I am not going to tell you my real name. Not because then I’d have to kill you, ha, ha. Because some tiresome old bores might be interested to hear that I’m still alive. And it’s likely that they’d do their level best to change that unwelcome (to them) state of affairs. . .

Yes, it’s true that I learnt a few tricks during my sojourn at MI5, and it’s true that I still have access to the ministry’s IT team, and if you ask me whether I still do a little work for them on the side, then I’m not going to tell you. King and country, and all that. 

And may I say how happy I am to be living in the reign of King Charles the Third, let’s drink a toast to that. Good old G&T, staple of the British Empire since Queen Victoria’s day. . .

Oh, you don’t care to drink spirits so early in the day, eh? Well, just as you like.

Hold on, some non-local is coming through the door, and heading over to me.

A gentleman just can’t get a quiet drink these days. . .

Speak up a little, old chum, I couldn’t quite catch what you said just then?

What do you mean, I drink too much? A gentleman cannot drink too much. Peter Piper picked a pail of pickled peppers, eh what? All right, a peck of peppers, have it your own way. . .

Tell you what, why don’t you go and join whoever your chums here are, and let me drink in peace, hmm?

I’m the chum you came to see? Don’t be ridiculous, old man. We haven’t even met. . .

Oh, you remember me from our schooldays, do you? I rather think not. My time at the old alma mater wasn’t that long ago. I’m barely 35 now, and I certainly don't remember you, old boy. What makes you think that you know me from our schooldays, eh?  

You feel it was a mistake for me to wear an old Rugby tie, do you? I don’t think so. Haven’t you ever heard of rotten bounders wearing the tie of a school they’ve never been to, old chap? What makes you think I’m not one of those blighters, the ministry’s full of them. . .

So now you’re claiming that you remember my wavy black hair and electric blue eyes, athletic build, and devilish charm, are you? Haven’t you ever heard of contact lenses, my dear fellow? And I wouldn’t say that our conversation has been laden with charm, would you?

OH, ALL RIGHT, BLAISE! You win, alright? Of course, I remember your fat grinning face.

What do you want?

AND THAT’S HOW IT ALL began, that’s how my happy mayfly existence got turned upside down and I became a sober citizen (in both senses of the word, unfortunately). 

Not that I would have it any other way. I’m a lucky man, and I know it.

HOW BLAISE HEEDLEY-Smythe recognised me is a mystery, because I was wearing coloured contact lenses (my eyes are naturally brown) and the genesis of my wavy black hair is a secret between me and my barber (like many Englishmen, I have fair hair). I didn’t go to Rugby, I went to Winchester. Heedley-Smythe and I were never schoolmates, either. 

I suppose it must have been my devilish charm which gave me away. . .  it couldn’t have been my heavily muscled six foot six bod, because although I was always tall, until that interlude three years ago in the Lebanon, I had been rather slightly built. A little incident out there changed my mind about the value of going to the gym.

Anyway, that stinker Smythe sussed me out somehow, and it seems all he wants me to