Stilton Slaughter
July 17th, 2020. Filed under: This & That.
When retired cop, Albert, arrives in Stilton for a festival, he has cheese on his mind, but that’s not what he gets …
… arriving the morning after the factory and warehouse have been raided, all the stilton is gone, and the security guard, Dave, who bravely fought to stop the thieves, needs someone’s help to save the day.
With sidekick Rex Harrison, the failed police dog, at his side, our aging but sprightly hero will put his ear to the ground and his mind to work as he unravels the clues to this mystery.
Rex and Albert will be tested like never before in this quiet English town as they catch the first glimpse of a criminal mastermind at work.
Can they find the cheese in time to save the festival? Will Rex be able to smell the answer with all the stinky cheese around? It’s a race against time to solve this crime but is there something bigger going on? Can this really just be about some mouldy cheese?
ISLAND BREEZES
Doesn’t that title sound as if you’re going to find a bunch of hacked up cheese all over the place?
In fact, it was just the opposite. How can you have a cheese festival without cheese?
It takes a retired Detective Superintendent on holiday mentoring Constable Shaw to get to the bottom of the cheese caper. Don’t forget Rex Harrison. He, too, played a part.
As Constable Shaw becomes more confident he is able to finally make his first arrest. He also made waves.
***Book provided by the author without charge.***
When Steve Higgs wrote his debut novel, Paranormal Nonsense, he was a Captain in the British Army. He would love to pretend that he had one of those careers that has to be redacted and in general denied by the government and that he has had to change his name and continually move about because he is still on the watch list in several countries. In truth though, he started out as a mechanic, no not like Jason Statham, sneaking about as a contract killer, more like one of those greasy gits that charge you a fortune and keep your car for a week when all you went in for was a squeaky door hinge.
At school, he was mostly disinterested in every subject except creative writing, for which, at age ten, he won his first award. However, calling it his first award suggests that there have been more, which there have not. Accolades may come but, in the meantime, he is having a ball writing mystery stories and crime thrillers and claims to have more than a hundred books forming an unruly queue in his head as they clamor to get out.
Now retired from the military, he lives in the south-east corner of England with a trio of lazy sausage dogs. Surrounded by rolling hills, brooding castles and vineyards, he doubts he will ever leave, the beer is just too good.