Blog Tour: Read an extract from Antiques and Alibis by @WendyHJones @Lovebooksgroup


Cass Claymore, a red headed, motorbike riding, ex-ballerina inherits a Detective Agency, and accidentally employs an ex-con dwarf and an octogenarian. Hired by a client who should know better, Cass has no leads, no clue and a complete inability to solve a case. Still a girl needs to eat and her highbred client’s offering good money. Join her as, with bungling incompetence, she follows a trail littered with missing antique teddies, hapless crooks, a misplaced Lord of the Realm and dead bodies. Will Cass, and Scotland, survive? 


Antiques and Alibis

Chapter 1

I’m Cass Claymore, redhead, biker chick, ex ballerina and Private Investigator. 

Oh, did I mention the dead body at my feet? The worst part, I’m not sure if I killed him or someone else performed the dirty deed. My days are not usually cluttered up with the recently deceased. So, a difficult call for me. 

Aged about thirtyish, clean-shaven, and wearing designer brogues. Not your average lowlife who’d end up dead. Unless the shoes were nicked, of course. The way my week was panning out, I’d probably bumped off some visiting Laird. Might he have died of natural causes? Bending over, I peered at him. He didn’t have the look of someone who’d shuffled off this mortal coil voluntarily. 
What had I got myself into? A queasy feeling started in the pit of my stomach. Turning away from the corpse I became reacquainted with the hummus sandwich I’d had for my lunch. 

I pulled out my phone and pressed the first 9.

Chapter 2

Two weeks earlier

It's been said that alcohol is the curse of man. 

I'll see that and raise you boredom. Boredom wins hands down. How much tidying and rearranging can one woman take? I mean, what's the point of owning a Detective Agency if you've nothing to detect? I stabbed my pencil into the pad. Several times. Did I feel better? Not in the slightest. 

I inherited the Claymore Detective Agency from my recently deceased uncle. Unfortunately, I didn't inherit his customers, all of whom deserted to a more testosterone-fuelled environment. 

This left me alone, with money dwindling away at the speed of water from a cracked dam. Mostly because the office had been smartened up. Out went the dark panels and in came yellow painted walls and bright prints. It looked lovely. My bank manager thought differently. He had this strange idea I should deposit money in my account. I should be kicking the heck out of bad guys. Instead, I'm sharpening pencils. 

I was in the kitchen grinding some Arabica coffee beans. The beans may be considered extravagant given my state of penury. Brewing coffee always manages to convince me otherwise. The early warning creak of the office door sent a frisson of danger zinging along my nerve ends. Goodness knows why as I’d had no enquires for my services so far.

I wiped my hands, on a fuschia pink tea towel, hurled it at the sink, and darted into the office. As I arrived a volcano erupted from behind the desk. A lava burst of fur and bone sprang at the elegant figure standing in my doorway. 
“Eagal, no!”
The booming sound of his own barking shattered the walls and rendered the stupid mutt deaf. 
“Eagal.” I launched myself after him.
The woman went flying. The hound launched a full-frontal attack of tongue and drool. If he had been a fluffy wee terrier there wouldn't have been much of a problem. We’re talking Bernese Mountain Dog, standing two feet at the shoulder and weighing a hundred and ten pounds. True to his breed he drooled for Scotland. 

I grabbed his collar and yanked it hard. Twice. This resulted in him shaking himself and me executing a flawless pirouette. I charged back into the fray pulling a couple of biscuits from my pocket. The treat had him bouncing in my direction and once more behind the desk. 

The woman, a dazed expression on her face, struggled to her feet. A blob of makeup-tinged drool trickled down her face. I watched in horror as it dripped to the floor. “What was...” A moment’s pause and the only word she came up with, “...that?”

About the Author:

Award Winning Author Wendy H. Jones lives in Scotland, and her police procedural series featuring Detective Inspector Shona McKenzie, is set in the beautiful city of Dundee, Scotland. Wendy has led a varied and adventurous life. Her love for adventure led to her joining the Royal Navy to undertake nurse training. After six years in the Navy she joined the Army where she served as an Officer for a further 17 years. This took her all over the world including Europe, the Middle East and the Far East. Much of her spare time is now spent travelling around the UK, and lands much further afield. As well as nursing Wendy also worked for many years in Academia. This led to publication in academic textbooks and journals. Killer's Countdown is her first novel and the first book in the Shona McKenzie Mystery series. Killer's Crew won the Books Go Social Book of the Year 2107. There are now six books in this series with Killer's Crypt being released in August, 2017. The Dagger's Curse is the first book in The Fergus and Flora Mysteries for Young Adults. This book is currently shortlisted for the Woman Alive Magazine Readers Choice Award Book of the Year. She is also a highly successful marketer and she shares her methods in the book, Power Packed Book Marketing.

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