Chasing Summer
A Summer O’Dare Mystery
Nicola Claire
Copyright © 2018, Nicola Claire
All Rights Reserved
© 2018 Cover Art by Cora Graphics
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
ISBN: 978-0-473-46427-1
Created with Vellum
Contents
About the Author
Free Download
Also By Nicola Claire
Message From The Author
Description
1. The Duck Did It
2. There Was A Spider
3. Not Even A Mouse
4. That Would Be Rude To Dogs Everywhere
5. Like A Monkey Who Had Performed An Impressive Trick
6. The Scent Of Fish And Salty Sea Greeted Me
7. To See A Man About A Dog
8. And Not So Much Like A Beached Whale Who’d Guzzled Several Glasses Of Beer Over The Course Of An Evening
9. I Felt Like A Deer Caught In The Sights Of A Hunter
10. Murder Was Another Kettle Of Fish
11. Is It A Plethora Of Girlfriends Or A Gaggle, Like Geese?
12. A Sneaky, Suspicious, Skimpily-Clad Spider
13. The Monkey Made Me Do It!
14. A Dog Barked Excitedly At A Seagull
15. Coupled With Her Soft, Sweet Voice, She Could Have Been Mistaken For A Wind-Up Mouse
16. A Hot Fox
17. She Was Mousey But Cute
18. Curiosity Killed The Cat, But Who Cares About That?
19. If You Didn’t Count The Spiders
20. I Froze Like A Meerkat
21. Easy, Tiger
22. What The Devil Have Sheep Got To Do With It?
23. Maisey Was Sitting Behind Her Desk With Eyes Like An Owl’s
24. Seagulls Swooped And Dogs Barked
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About the Author
Nicola Claire lives in beautiful Taupo, New Zealand with her husband and two young boys.
She's tried her hand at being a paramedic, bank teller and medical sales representative, (not all necessarily in that order), but her love of writing keeps calling her back.
She has a passion for all things suspenseful, spiced up with a good dollop of romance, as long as they include strong characters - alpha males and capable females - and worlds which although make-believe are really quite believable in the end.
There's nothing better than getting caught up in a compelling, intriguing and romantic book.
When she's not writing or reading, she's out on her family boat at Lake Taupo, teaching her young boys to fish, showing them the beauty that surrounds them in nature and catching some delicious trout for dinner.
Creating rich worlds with dynamic characters and unexpected twists that shock and awe has been pure bliss for this author. And just as well, because there's a lot more story yet to tell...
For more information:
www.nicolaclairebooks.com
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Also By Nicola Claire
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Blood Enchanted Series
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Southern Storm
Southern Strike (Coming Soon)
Lost Time Series
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Making Time
Stitching Time (Coming Soon)
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Apparent Brightness
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The Summer O’Dare Mysteries
Chasing Summer
Sizzling Summer (Coming Soon)
Message From The Author
Kia ora from Taupō!
This cozy mystery is set in Northland, New Zealand; my childhood playground. The Winterless North. I might have moved south, but my heart will always belong to Northland. And I couldn’t think of a better setting for this book.
Summer is a Doubtless Bay Daughter, born and bred. And like any decent Doubtless Bay (or kiwi) kid, she uses a few Māori words in her vocabulary.
Nothing to get worried about; you won’t need to rush out and purchase a Māori/English dictionary anytime soon. And they appear sparingly in the narrative, so please don’t panic. But in case you get stumped, or just have to know what that strange word in the middle of a perfectly good sentence means, here’s a rundown on Summer’s (and my) Te Reo usage.
Kia ora - hi; good health
Te Reo - the Māori language
Kia kaha - bye; be strong
Kaumatua - Māori elder
Mokopuna - grandchild
Tangata whenua - the people of the land
Whanau - extended family
Moko - traditional facial tattoo
There, see? Not too many to worry about, and the first three only appear on this page in the book. But they are common words and used commonly by all New Zealanders. And I thought you might just like to know a bit about them.
Māori is an official language of New Zealand, and we’re all taught it to some degree in school. It seems so natural to incorporate it into my daily conversations, and likewise into a story about a Doubtless Bay Daughter living in Northland, New Zealand.
I hope you enjoy Summer’s adventures and fall a little in l
ove with my homeland and its unique culture. And if you ever find yourself over this way, and get greeted by a local in Mangonui, you now know what to say.
Kia kaha,
Nicola
Description
When Big Wig moves to the beach, Big Trouble comes with him.
Doubtless Bay’s resident private investigator has a dilemma on her hands. With the arrival of a new detective in her small, beachside town, Summer O’Dare has a decision to make: Let him think she’s merely a little kooky or open up the doors to her skeleton-harbouring closet and invite him in.
Trust, though, has to be earned. And Detective Douche is walking on the wrong side of that equation. Three days in and he’s already dating the realtor next door; Summer’s high school nemesis.
Add in a missing biker, a murdered man, stolen intellectual property, and the surfer staying in her spare bedroom, and Summer’s summer looks like it might heat up to scorching.
Just as well she’s got a few tricks up her sleeve. And a penchant for donuts. But will the detective welcome them? The tricks, not the donuts. Or will he think Summer strange like everyone else does?
A fast-paced cozy mystery set in Northland, New Zealand from Amazon Bestselling Author Nicola Claire.
For:
My mother.
Whose roots are firmly planted in Northland, New Zealand,
And who likes a little less dirty and a lot more clean
in her romance stories.
(Hard to believe she’s my mother, really.)
Love you, Mummy.
Chapter 1
The Duck Did It
It was the duck that stole the Lawrence’s Christmas wreath. Everyone thought it had to have been one of the kids staying at the holiday park in Hihi. But when I felt tiny feathers tickle the back of my neck that first night, I knew the culprit was more likely avian than Homo sapien in species.
It took me a whole week longer to prove that.
We occasionally got ducks at Coopers Beach. Not as many as seagulls, but despite salt water being more prevalent than fresh around these parts, ducks did swing by on occasion. Mrs Sargasso had a pond up the back of her ten-acre farmlet. The ducks liked to while away the hours up there. But every now and then, one would wander down the hill and scare the kindergarteners at Mamaru Road Preschool.
I had to stake the place out to spot it. But at O’Dare & Sons Investigations, we take stolen Christmas wreaths seriously. Especially when they’re family heirlooms.
I parked my crappy ten-year-old Nissan Micra outside the Lawrence’s and stared at the foul looking wreath. I managed a wrinkled nose and a snort-come-snicker at the same time. Sometimes my skills astounded me.
Picking up the precious decoration between my thumb and forefinger, I climbed out of my car and strode up the path to the Lawrence’s front door. The smell of duck faeces accompanied me.
Eau de avian. Wasn’t there a perfume called that? No, I was thinking of bottled water.
I lifted a hand to bang the knocker, where the wreath was meant to be, but the door swung open before I managed to connect. I righted myself, before I became a clumsy crime fighting cliché, and smiled at Tom Lawrence.
I’d had a crush on Tom in high school. It turned out, he’d had a crush on Suzy Kidd. His poor taste in women aside - she wasn’t called Floozy Suzy for nothing - he was still kinda hot. Just woken sexy, smouldering eyes, ruffled to perfection bed messy, dark hair, and lips that knew how to kiss a woman.
Those lips had been all over Suzy once upon a time.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Well, if it isn’t Summer O’Dare,” he said. “Hello, Summer.” The last was said in a deep and husky voice, and with not just a little nostalgia.
Everyone called me Hello Summer at school. And often with a bedroom voice like Tom just did.
“Hey, Tom,” I said, deciding I could be the better person on this one and only occasion. “Is your mum in?”
He lifted his way-too-chiselled-to-be-ignored arms above his head and hung off the door jam.
“What if I said it’s just me at home, would you still come inside and arrest me?”
He lowered his arms and held them out to me, wrists crossed over each other expectantly.
“Did you hire the duck?” I asked.
“What duck?”
“The prime suspect.”
“What are you talking about?” He scowled at me. “You’re strange.”
Story of my life.
“Your mum?” I reminded him.
“In the kitchen,” he offered, pushing past me to walk down the path.
So much for the flirting. I shrugged and stepped into the house, ignoring the strange looks Tom was giving my car. As much as I loved Mini Coopers and would one day own one or so help me, when you stake out a duck pond, someone’s gonna notice the pinstripes and Union Jack wing mirrors. My Nissan might be ugly, but ugly is good in the private investigation business.
“Hello?” I called out. “Mrs Lawrence?”
“In here,” came a muffled reply.
I followed the humming and banging and, alarmingly, salsa music, and found Mrs Lawrence in the butler’s pantry. With a rolling pin.
“Mrs Peacock in the kitchen with the rolling pin!” I shouted.
Mrs Lawrence screamed. I winced. Who knew it echoed in here?
“Sorry,” I said. “You got me all excited for murder night at the vicarage.”
“You’re going?” she asked. She cocked her blonde bobbed head of hair to the side and studied me. “It’s just that it didn’t go too well for you last time.”
I decided a change of topic was in order. No one needed to be reminded of last Christmas’ murder mystery night at St Andrew’s.
“I have found your wreath,” I announced, and placed the duck poop covered festive decoration down on the bench beside Mrs Lawrence.
Perhaps I should have predicted the next scream. I had just placed bird doo-doos right on top of tonight’s dinner.
“Nice quiche,” I said, nodding towards the pastry.
“Get that thing out of here!” Mrs Lawrence shouted. “What have you done to it? Is that...is that bird poop? On my grandmother’s Christmas wreath? Summer Lacey O’Dare! What have you done now?”
Along with Hello Summer, that last refrain was often thrown my way as a child too. Entirely unjustified, of course. But strange things did tend to happen wherever I happened to be. But duck poop? Really?
“The duck did it,” I told her. “Tricky little blighter. It took three donuts and a bottle of Coke to catch him. And I refuse to talk about the bushes.” No one, and I mean no one, should have to relieve themselves in Mrs Sargasso’s pond bushes. Reeds poke in the most undignified of places. “That’ll be one hundred and eighty dollars,” I added, handing her my bill.
She didn’t take it; just stared at me as if I were mad. Or strange.
“You signed a contract, Mrs Lawrence,” I reminded her.
“Bird poop,” she said.
“Just be thankful cows don’t nest.”
She studied the wreath, then slowly reached forward and pushed her quiche across the bench, well out of the danger zone. But I was sure glad I wasn’t staying for dinner.
“I’ll write you a cheque,” she said waspishly.
“Great!” I offered my patented Summer O’Dare smile. She glared at me.
Five minutes later, cheque in hand, I decided a celebratory stop at the Coffee Cube was in order. I was conveniently forgetting the three stakeout donuts. Stakeout donuts never counted.
It took me four minutes and fourteen seconds to reach my favourite hangout. And that was with holiday traffic.
World, I give you Doubtless Bay. Population diddly-squat. Off season. But it was Christmas now, and I had summer traffic to contend with. Despite the snarl on State Highway 10, I made good time though, parking the Micra between an oversized SUV - which I’d bet my one hundred and eighty dollar paycheque was from Remuera in Auckland - and a sports car.
The Mighty Micra fitted right in. Not.
I slammed my door and strolled across the grass to the best little donut hut in the country. I could practically taste the glazed chocolate from here.
“We’re out,” Tia Maria told me. That wasn’t her real name. I just called her that. Suzy was the Floozy, and Tia was the, well, Tia Maria. I gave all the best nicknames to my besties.
“Surely you jest!” I exclaimed, hand on heart, scowl in place.
She winked at me and pulled a Tupperware container out from under the bench. “Saved you one.”
She handed the precious jewel over to me as a chorus of angels sang Hallelujah!