Mutt Mysteries

The Mutt Mysteries Authors want to meet you, their faithful readers! Please join us from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. on August 28, 2021 at The Attic at East Beach, 9555 Shore Drive, Norfolk, VA 23518. Food, giveaways and opportunity to win a gift basket. TO FETCH books available for purchase and signing. 

  We're hitting the cyber road for a blog tour thanks to the Great Escapes Virtual Book Tours. Please click a link to see the reviews, the spotlights, the interviews, and the insights via author and character blog posts! August 18 – Novels Alive   August 18 – My Journey Back the Journey Back   August 19 – Ascroft, eh?   August 19 – Maureen's Musings   August 20 – Brooke Blogs   August 21 – My Reading Journeys   August 21 – MJB Reviewers   August 22 – Sneaky the Library Cat's Blog   August 22 – FUONLYKNEW   August 23 – Author Elena Taylor's Blog   August 24 – Christy's Cozy Corners   August 24 – Sapphyria's Book Reviews   August 25 – Reading Is My SuperPower   August 25 – Cassidy's Bookshelves   August 26 – Literary Gold   August 26 – I Read What You Write   August 27 – Diane Reviews Books   August 27 – Celticlady's Reviews   August 28 – Laura's Interests   August 28 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book   August 29 – BookishKelly2020  

C HAPTER O NE G et out of my kitchen!” I yelled at Tater, the one-hundred and thirty-pound Newfoundland dog who had burst into my workspace and taken an interest in the crown roast of pork sitting on the counter. “Molly, put the knife down before you hurt someone!” Becca Kilpatrick yelled to me as she burst through the kitchen door in Tater’s wake. I hadn’t realized I’d been brandishing my Wustof’s classic chef’s knife, my pride and joy. I slipped it onto the counter before any blood was shed, especially mine. It was that sharp. But something needed to be done about that mongrel. Ten movers-and-shakers from our small seaside town of Sea Haven were expected for Mrs. Wade’s dinner party, and she would not be a happy camper if the main course was in the dog’s belly. “I’ll get him.” Becca dropped her purse on the slate floor. She was my best friend and server for this evening’s event and had just arrived to help with set-up. The dog must have barreled through the door when she’d open

  C HAPTER O NE A tat-tat-tat echoed through the quiet office. Before Cassidy Green, owner of the Amelia Speedway, could answer it, another staccato round of tapping sounded. Her Rottweiler raised his head and looked toward the source of the noise. Cassidy pulled open the wooden door. A woman in a magenta track suit hovered over the threshold, her hand in the air, mid-knock. “Uh, hi,” the woman said. “I’m Marti Davis, and your gal at the check-in table sent me over to see Mr. Oliver.” Cassidy looked over her shoulder at her Rottweiler, lounging in his bed. “I’m Cassidy Green. That’s Mr. Oliver.” Cassidy suppressed a smile. Her staff always sent the problem cases to him. “She sent me to talk to the dog?” the woman sputtered. “Is she nuts?” “How can I help you?” Cassidy asked. Marti made a harrumphing noise and planted one hand on her hip. “I paid for a stall for your Junk in the Trunk rummage sale, and the idiot next to me has taken up three spots. How am I supposed to do my

  C HAPTER O NE H ere you go, dear sister.” Emma Ramsey pushed her foot against the screen door while balancing a large sheet cake in her hands. Catt Ramsey, owner of the Woof-Pack Dog Walkers, looked up from her computer screen and swiveled her desk chair toward the door. “Let me take that.” She walked toward Em and grabbed the cake. While setting it on the newly built front check-in counter, Catt read the writing on the cake. “Woof-Pack Dog Walkers Grand Re-Opening.” Darcey and Stacey Moretti, twin sisters and recently retired massage therapists and Catt’s newest dog walkers, gathered around the front of the counter. Lexi Stallings the new dog groomer stood at the opposite end with Catt’s Yorkshire Terriers, Cagney and Lacey close by. “Love the doggie paw images on the cake,” Darcey said. “How many people are coming to the opening this afternoon?” Stacey asked. “Around fifty,” Catt said. “When customers arrive, you two can hand out the doggie bags on the front counter as

  C HAPTER O NE T he beach rental house called the Osprey’s Nest was full of summer guests and should have been full of laughter and music but it wasn’t. It was dead quiet. In fact, it looked a bit like Gettysburg the day after the battle. In the big central living room people lay on the floor, sprawled across sofas, slouched in leather recliners, and slumped over laptop computers with hands hovering over keyboards. Crumpled paper dotted the floor. Glasses of iced tea and bottles of beer sat forgotten on tables. Flip-flops were scattered randomly around the room, but the people weren’t dead. They were writers. They called themselves the Sand Fiddlers Writers Group and this was the week of their annual retreat. Sophie Perone, author of the popular Mysterious Gourmet books, had volunteered to do all the cooking and on this morning, Sophie had arranged her special cheese straws in tall glass tumblers and placed them all around the room so the writers could snack on them while they we