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The fourth entry in the irresistible New York Times bestselling mystery series featuring canine narrator Chet and his human companion Bernie Little—“the coolest human/pooch duo this side of Wallace and Gromit” (Kirkus Reviews)
Humor and intrigue combine for a “thoroughly entertaining comic mystery” (Booklist) as Spencer Quinn’s engaging and unlikely team of crime solvers takes on the case of a boy gone missing from a wilderness camp.
The kid’s mother thinks her ex-husband snatched their son, but Chet’s always reliable nose leads Bernie in a new and dangerous direction. Meanwhile, matters at home get complicated when a stray puppy that looks suspiciously like Chet shows up. Affairs of the heart collide with a job that’s never been tougher, requiring our intrepid sleuths to trust each other even when circumstances—and a rival P.I.—conspire to keep them far apart.
In Spencer Quinn's Chet and Bernie mysteries, of which this is the fourth, canine Chet isn't just man's best friend; he is also a topflight narrator and crime-sniffer. In this entertaining episode, Bernie, the human member of the duo, needs his dog's help to solve the case of a missing child while closer to home, a stray puppy arouses affection—and suspicion. A pooch-perfect mystery.
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Human cunning and canine smarts triumph once again.”
—Kirkus Reviews
"A charming tale."
—People Magazine
“A thoroughly entertaining comic mystery. A must-read, of course, for everyone who likes a canine presence in their crime novels.”
—Booklist
“How could you not enjoy a doggone good tale like this?”
—Bookfairie
Backcountry hiking turns out to be no walk in the park for the indomitable Chet and his human partner Bernie.
Because he's chronically short of cash, there aren't too many gigs Bernie Little (To Fetch a Thief, 2010, etc.) won't take a shot at. But giving the keynote at the Great Western Private Eye Convention turns out to be a bad deal, since the offer is only a pretext for its president, Georgie Malhouf, to make a bid for Chet. No sale, says Bernie. Instead, he takes what looks like a real stinker of a case: pretending to be Anya Vereen's new guy so that her old guy, Guy Wenders, won't make a play for reconciliation during Parents Weekend at Big Bear Wilderness Camp. Chet loves this trip; after all, the mountains are filled with wonderful, strange smells. Bernie, not so much, especially after he learns that Anya's son Devin went missing on his cabin's overnight. When Bernie takes Chet and wilderness guide Turk Rendell back where the boy was last seen, Chet follows Devin's scent into an abandoned mine, raising the searchers' hopes. But then Turk gets killed, and Bernie runs afoul of Big Bear's so-called law-enforcement community, most of whom share the name Laidlaw. Once Bernie gets arrested for Turk's murder, Chet is on his own. Chet knows plenty, but how can he share his wisdom with reporter Suzie Sanchez, who's almost as smart as Bernie, not to mention smelling almost as good and being a really great patter?
Human cunning and canine smarts triumph once again.
Spencer Quinn lives on Cape Cod with his dog, Audrey. He is currently working on the next Chet and Bernie novel. Visit him online at ChetTheDog.com.
"The best thing I've done in my life is raise four happy kids."
"My first job was as a spearfisherman in the Bahamas. This is done free-diving (no scuba). We would often work depths in excess of 70 feet. Sometimes we disputed the catch with sharks. I much prefer dogs to sharks."
"My favorite way to unwind is playing tennis. I love the game even though I consider myself a hacker. My forehand was always decent but it took years for my backhand to get where it is now—still nothing to write home about. So humbling to be such a slow learner at something, and so good for me. I love the competition, too, and the camaraderie. A lot of the guys have no clear idea about what I actually do for a living and aren't interested. I love that, too."
"It turns out to be true that writing novels is a lonely occupation. It changes you. I was very gregarious when I was younger (way too much, I'm sure people who knew me then would say). Now I'm much less so."
ONE
Was I proud of Bernie or what?
True, he’d been pretty nervous going into this gig. I can always tell when Bernie’s nervous—which hardly ever happens, and never when we’re in action—because his smell sharpens a bit, although it’s still the best human smell there is: apples, bourbon, salt and pepper. But now, up on the stage, he was doing great.
“Which, um,” he was saying, “reminds me of a joke. “Sort of. Maybe not a joke,” he went on, turning a page, “more like a—” and at that moment the whole wad of papers somehow jumped out of his hands, all the pages gliding down in different directions. He bent and started gathering them up. That gave me a chance, sitting a few rows back, to recoy or recon—or something like that—the joint, always important in our line of work, as Bernie often said.
We were in a conference room at a hotel near the airport, and everyone in the audience—maybe not quite as big as it had been at the beginning, when Bernie had tapped the microphone, a painful sound for me, pounding like drums right next to my ears, although no one else seemed to mind, cleared his throat, and said, “Can, uh, you hear me all right?” a terrific start, in my opinion— was a private eye, on account of this was the Great Western Private Eye Convention. We’re partners in the Little Detective Agency, me and Bernie, Bernie’s last name being Little. I’m Chet, pure and simple, and we’d been in business for almost as long as I could remember, although we’d never been to a convention before. “Not our thing,” Bernie said, so that was that, until Georgie Malhouf, president of the Great Western Private Eye Association, offered Bernie five hundred bucks to give a speech.
“A speech?” Bernie had said.
“Twenty minutes, tops,” Georgie Malhouf told him. “Plus questions.”
“I’ve never given a speech in my life.”
“So what?” said Georgie Malhouf. “There was also a time in your life when you hadn’t had sex. Did that stop you?”
That one zipped right by me, but the point was: five hundred bucks. Our finances were a mess. We hadn’t worked an actual case—not even divorce, which we hated—in I didn’t know how long, plus there was the hit we’d taken from the tin futures thing, and don’t get me started on the stacks and stacks of Hawaiian pants, locked away at our self-storage in Pedroia; we hadn’t sold a single pair. Why they hadn’t caught on was a mystery to me: didn’t everybody love Hawaiian shirts? Bernie had lots of them, was wearing one of my favorites right now up on that stage, the blue number with the gold trumpets.
He picked up the pages, or most of them, and tried to get them back into some kind of order. Meanwhile, I heard feet shuffling out of the room behind me, and across the aisle I was sitting in both Mirabelli brothers seemed to be asleep, their mouths hanging open. On my other side sat Georgie Malhouf, a real skinny guy with sunken cheeks and a thick black mustache. There’s something about mustaches that makes it hard for me to look away, so I didn’t. After some time, I noticed that Georgie was looking at me, too.
“On the ball, aren’t you?” he said. “Just like they say.”
Ball? I’m just about always in the mood to play ball. A very faint thought arose in my mind, something about this maybe not being a good time for playing ball; but it sank quickly away, and I kept my eyes on Georgie Malhouf, waiting for him to produce a ball from somewhere. No ball appeared. Georgie Malhouf was keeping his eyes, small and dark, on me.
“Ten grand sound about right?” he said.
Numbers aren’t my best thing—I stop at two, a perfect number in my opinion—but when it came to money anything with grand in it got us excited, me and Bernie. He was bumping us up to ten grand? Bernie’s speech was going even better than I’d thought.
BAM BAM BAM. Bernie was tapping the microphone again. “Hear me all right?” He glanced up at the audience, from which came no response, and then quickly down to the papers in his hand. For some reason, he was holding them kind of close to his face, and they weren’t quite steady.
“This, uh, joke—maybe more like a …” He lapsed into silence, a silence that seemed rather long—although the room was getting noisier, with more movement toward the doors behind me—then cleared his throat again, so forcefully it had to hurt, and said very loudly, almost a shout: “Riddle!” He toned it down a bit. “Riddle. That’s it. Here comes the riddle: What did the duck say to the horse?” He glanced up in an abrupt sort of way and scanned the audience, what was left of it.
What did the duck say to the horse? Was that what Bernie had just said?
“Anybody?” Bernie said. “Duck? Horse?”
No response. I knew horses, of course, prima donnas each and every one. I’d also had an encounter with a duck, in the middle of a lake in the border country on our way back from a case we’d been working down Mexico way. Nipped me right on the nose, which came as a big surprise. But horses and ducks together? I had nothing to offer.
Up on stage, Bernie opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “‘Why the long face?’” he said.
Silence.
Bernie reached out, maybe thinking of tapping the microphone again, but did not. “Duck?” he said. “Noting the horse’s different physiognomy, which was the topic of my speech, facial classifications? A funny little approach to the subject at hand?”
More silence.
Bernie shuffled through the papers. “And I guess that more or less … brings us to the end of the prepared remarks.” What was the word for when humans talk but you can’t understand a thing? Muttering? Yeah. Bernie was muttering now. “Happy to take any questions,” he went on, or something like that.
There were no questions.
“Well, then, it’s time to, uh … thanks. Yeah. Thanks. You’ve been a great, um.” Bernie raised his hand in a funny sort of wave, a page or two flying free, and started walking off the stage. Then came the applause. I heard it for sure, but my sense of hearing’s probably better than yours, no offense.
“Fantastic, Bernie,” Georgie Malhouf was saying. We were at a corner table in the bar of the airport hotel, and by now Bernie had stopped sweating. “You’re a natural-born public speaker.”
“I am?”
“Never seen anything like it.” A fresh round of drinks came, beer for Bernie and Georgie Malhouf, water in a nice big soup bowl for me. Georgie clinked Bernie’s glass. “Why the long face,” he said. “Priceless. When did you make that one up?”
“Make it up?” said Bernie. “Can’t really say I—”
“Not just a natural-born public speaker,” Georgie said, “but a natural-born communicator in general.” He handed Bernie a check. “Here you go, pal. Earned every penny.”
I watched carefully till Bernie folded the check and put it in his pocket, not his shirt pocket, where we’d run into problems before, or his back pants pocket, also unreliable once or twice in the past, but the front pants pocket, safe and sound with the car keys.
“Bourbon still your drink, Bernie?” Georgie said. “How about a shot of something to go along with that beer?”
“A little early for—”
“Miss!”
Two shots of bourbon arrived. Glasses got clinked again.
“Communicators aren’t exactly thick on the ground in this business,” Georgie said. I could make out a stretch of ground through the window, saw nothing but a parking lot with a red car pulling in. “So why don’t I cut to the chase?”
That was the kind of thing I liked to hear. I got my back paws up under me, ready to move.
Bernie lowered his glass, tilted his head slightly to one side. That was a sign of his brain clicking into gear, and Bernie’s brain was one of the best things we had going for us at the Little Detective Agency. His brain and my nose: plenty of perps now wearing orange jump suits can tell you about that combo.
“Life’s not fair,” Georgie went on, losing me right away. “Man of your ability.” He shook his head.
“No complaints,” Bernie said.
“See, right there—the quality factor,” said Georgie. He took out a pack of cigarettes, offered one to Bernie. Bernie had quit smoking lots of times, but right now we were in the middle of one of his best efforts.
“Don’t think there’s smoking in here,” Bernie said.
“Hotel’s a client,” said Georgie. “Live a little.”
They lit up. Bernie took a deep drag, let the smoke out with a sigh. Poor Bernie. Smoke drifted over toward me. I was smelling how pleasant it smelled when I noticed the red car parking right beside our ride. Our ride’s a Porsche, but not the new fancy kind. It’s brown with yellow doors, very old, and the top went missing back when we were working the Hobbs case, a story for another time. A woman sat behind the wheel of the red car; she didn’t seem in a hurry to get out.
Georgie sipped his drink. “Like this bourbon?” he said.
“Very nice,” Bernie said.
“Tell you the truth, Bern,” Georgie began, and I missed some of what came next, on account of: Bern. Bernie hated that! In fact, the last guy who’d tried it, a carjacker from the East Valley, name escaping me at the moment, was now breaking rocks in the hot sun. Were we about to take down Georgie Malhouf? His mustache was really starting to bother me.
“… whole chain’s a client,” Georgie was saying, “including the Arbuckle Palace in LA. Check out the world around us. Security—my kind—is only going to get bigger.”
“What’s the other kind?” Bernie said.
Georgie made a motion with his hand, like he was waving away flying insects, although there were none around. I always know when insects are around: they’re very noisy. Birds are much quieter when they fly, kind of crazy.
“The other kind,” Georgie said, “is the lone wolf.” He leaned forward, wagged his finger at Bernie. “Headed for rapid extinction, Bern.” Sometimes things go by so fast you can’t keep up. For example, Georgie’s wagging finger had curly black hair on the back, always interesting, but there was no time to dwell on it, not if wolves were suddenly in the picture. I knew wolves, but only from Animal Planet. I glanced around the bar: no wolves, no creatures of any kind, except humans and me. But the fur on my neck was up and stiff.
“I’m offering you a job,” Georgie said. He looked over at me. “You and Chet, of course.”
“You mean you want to subcontract a case out to us?” Bernie said.
“Nope,” said Georgie. “I’m talking about a real permanent-type job, assistant VP Operations, Malhouf International Investigations, eighty-five K to start, plus benefits and two weeks’ paid vacation.”
Bernie shook his head, a very quick side-to-side. Charlie— that’s Bernie’s kid, who we don’t see nearly enough since the divorce—has the exact same headshake. All of a sudden Bernie looked younger.
Georgie sat back in his chair. His eyes, dark to begin with, darkened some more. “Not even going to think about it?” he said.
“I appreciate the offer,” Bernie said. “But it wouldn’t be a good fit.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Georgie said.
“See?” said Bernie, and he laughed.
Bernie has a great laugh, so much fun to listen to—the way it comes from deep down—but Georgie didn’t seem to be enjoying it. “Always considered you a serious individual, Bern,” he said. “Must be some reason you’re not taking me seriously.”
Bernie shrugged.
Georgie leaned forward. “I do my research. That means I know what you’ve been making. Or not making, to put it more accurately. Christ, I know about the tin futures. And even the goddamn pants. What else? You’re late on your kid’s tuition and you’re upside down on your house.”
Upside down on our house? I gave up on understanding Georgie. But whatever he was talking about seemed to have gotten to Bernie. When Bernie’s angry, a little jaw muscle starts clenching, and it was clenching now. He put down his drink and started to rise. “Thanks for the drink,” he said. “The answer’s no.”
Georgie shrugged; I always watch for that one. “Gotta do what you gotta do,” he said, rising too. He took something from his pocket, something that looked like another check, and held it out to Bernie.
“What’s this?” Bernie said, not taking it.
“Ten grand,” Georgie said.
“What the hell?”
“Not for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s for Chet.”
“I don’t understand,” Bernie said. Ten grand! Maybe it was a prize or something. I’d once won a whole box of Slim Jims at an agility contest, but no time to go into that now. All I thought was: take the money!
“I want to buy Chet,” Georgie said. “Have him come work for us.”
What was this? Something without Bernie?
“Chet’s not for sale,” Bernie said. His face had gone pale, practically white. “Not now, not ever.”
“Fifteen grand,” Georgie said. “Final offer.”
Bernie didn’t touch the ten-grand check. And as for the five-hundred-dollar check—this was getting pretty complicated, with two checks in play—Bernie dug it out of his pocket and dropped it on the table. I was sorry to see it go, but only a bit. We walked out of the bar, me and Bernie. Was I proud of him or what?
© 2011 Spencer Quinn
Wookie
Posted September 26, 2011
With each new book in the Chet & Bernie series, Spencer Quinn just keeps getting better and better at capturing the world from a canine perspective. The interplay between Chet and Bernie, co-partners in the Little Detective Agency, transcends all the great buddy pairings in detective fiction, whether on the big screen, television or print. What you have is an incredibly readable tale with all the elements one could possibly desire in mystery fiction - great prose mixed with fast-paced action and an element of suspense, counterbalanced with a touch of humor and an endearing affection for the nation within a nation, as Chet's kind are referred to throughout. Readers are torn between a desire of tearing through the book as quickly as possible and of going slow so as to savor every word and nuance. Whichever course the reader chooses, one is left feeling just tip-top at the end of the journey, as Chet would say, while anxiously awaiting the arrival of the next book in the series. Who could ask for more than this?
6 out of 7 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.bookmon1
Posted September 11, 2011
The past couple years August has brought added anticipation. I am more than ready for my beach vacation to relax with a pile of books. Also, there has been a new Chet and Bernie mystery to read and review. I was excited to recently receive the fourth installment of Chet's adventures a few days ago. THE DOG WHO KNEW TOO MUCH by Spencer Quinn went to the top of my mountainous reading pile. I would have gulped the novel down in one day, but a silly thing known as my day job at a public library got in the way. For readers who have not had the pleasure of reading Spencer Quinn's charming tales, Chet is a dog and the narrator. Bernie is a private investigator who always seems to fall for get rich quick schemes that even Chet knows are doomed to failure. Chet keen senses and skills do help track down the bad guys. Bernie has his own intuitive skills and bravery to overcome obstacles and save the day. With THE DOG WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, Bernie turns down an offer to sell Chet, but hires on as a bodyguard. The action quickly changes gears as the focus of Chet and Bernie's case becomes a young boy who goes missing at a camp. Is the boy a victim of bullies or is his father hatching a nefarious plan in a custody battle? As Chet and Bernie pursue the clues, they realize they could become crime victims themselves. As a dog, Chet takes all conversations literally, which provides comic relief and heartwarming charm. I am not usually a "dog person", but I could not help loving Chet from the start. The author adds some background to help those who have not read the earlier novels in the series, but you will not get the full effect unless you start with DOG ON IT. You won't want to miss the humor, suspense and pure fun. Spencer Quinn is the pseudonym for writer Peter Abrahams. I am sorry to say I have not read any books by Mr. Abrahams, but I will have to add them to my to be read pile very soon. You can be sure I will read the next Chet and Bernie story as soon as it is available.
3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Anonymous
Posted May 2, 2013
How could anyone write a complicated mystery/crime story using first person narrative by a dog? Mr. Quinn has done it...it's BELIEVABLE! Amazing...body-language, dog-senses (I never get tired of Chet catching himself already in-the-act before he finishes his thoughts. Some of the time, before he begins to think), communicating with us humans and just simply SO VERY MUCH FUN!
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Posted February 2, 2013
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seems the author is in touch with how dogs think... Highly recommend for those who like mysteries, and love dogs!
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Rexdog
Posted December 28, 2012
Chet and Bernie are up to their usual tricks in muddling through a pretty complicated number of plot twists (espessialy when your number skills only go to two). Finishing one of Spencer Quinn's stories always leaves me anxious to get to the next one.
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Posted December 14, 2012
All of the Chet and Bernie series are entertaining. I've read all five and eagerly await the 6th as soon as Spencer Quinn gets busy and publishes it. Enjoy.
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Posted October 12, 2012
While the premise is cute to have a dog be the narrator (what is better than a clever dog), the story and writing was not well done. I guess I expected more from this story than it offered. I won't be reading any more of this author.
0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.MagWard
Posted September 5, 2012
The fourth in a series told in the first per.....well, K9, actually. Chet and Bernie are an unbeatable team when it comes to solving twisted crimes. But it is their relationship which one remembers best. All of the books in this series are delightful reads. I read them all in three days and couldn't put them down. So, "Warning: Can be addictive." And don't forget the bit about the cat involved!
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged. Chet and Bernie of the Little Detective Agency are on the case again,
this time in search of a little boy who has gone missing from a
wilderness camp up in the mountains. The boy’s mom, Anya, had hired
Bernie as a bodyguard because she thought her ex might snatch the child
but it doesn’t take the detective duo long to discover that something
much more sinister is going on. There’s no doubt that Devin is missing
but evidence of bullying leads to questions of camp management. Chet and
Bernie set out with the trail guide to find Devin but Bernie then begins
to see signs that the camp’s director and the trail guide are not being
entirely forthcoming and perhaps criminal activity is afoot. Chet is
the next to disappear and Bernie is arrested and charged with murder
after a body is found in an abandoned mine. It’s up to Chet to escape
his kidnappers—which he does in typically clever Chet fashion—and find a
way to rescue Bernie with a little help from Bernie’s almost-girlfriend,
Suzie. The Dog Who Knew Too Much is the fourth in the series and the
first to have a real, nail-biter mystery—the first three were
wonderful, eminently readable books but a bit lightweight in the
suspense arena.The charm of a Chet and Bernie mystery, though, lies
largely in Chet’s interpretations of the world around him and that’s no
less the case in this installment: when Anya says she used to wish time
would stop and the only thing left of the sandwiches she, Bernie and
Chet have been eating is the crusts of one egg salad sandwich, Chet pegs
her as a risk taker. And just who is that puppy who looks suspiciously
like Chet?
Anonymous
Posted July 29, 2012
Even if u dont like dogs these books will entrance u!
0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted July 8, 2012
I'm never disappointed in one of the Chet and Bernie mysteries! This was no different. Chet is one of the best narrators because he sees things from a different perspective. It was fast paced, packed with action and tense at times. So sorry about the Porsche. I highly recommend these books for an enjoyable read.
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Posted May 23, 2012
I've raised and trained German shepherds for most of my adult life, and there have been many times that I've wished I could know what they were thinking.
Now thanks to Spencer Quinn and his wonderful K-9 narrator Chet, I do. This is a mystery series that only a cat could hate.
Anonymous
Posted May 19, 2012
Nothing real cerebrial here. Just a fun read with enjoyable characters. All four books in the series are worth the short time it takes to read them.
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Posted April 10, 2012
Another great addition to the Chet and Bernie series
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.ElizabethNY
Posted February 10, 2012
I Also Recommend:
I love reading about Chet and Bernie's adventures. This was another great one.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.jam526
Posted December 27, 2011
I love that he has the ability to capture Chet's doggie view and make it believable and hilarious. What a nice read, I will continue to buy this series.
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Posted December 19, 2011
This was the last of the series and it was just as enjoyable as the first 3 books were. Looking forward to more from Spencer Quinn. Hopefully he will have Chet and Bernie doing some more dective work.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Bernie Little and Chet the wonder dog are back to solve another mystery in The Dog Who Knew Too Much, an addictive, fun, humorous and yes, suspenseful crime caper. In this fourth book to feature the human/canine crime-solving duo, Bernie is hired by Anya Vereen, an attractive woman who just happens to be nervous around dogs, even lovable Chet. Anya wants to hire Bernie to be her ¿pretend friend¿ when she goes to visit her son Devin during parents¿ weekend at the camp he¿s attending. While the visit should be pleasant, Anya is afraid that her ex-husband Guy, who is also planning a visit, might be a bit disagreeable. Because Guy has some questionable friends, and didn¿t take the divorce too well, Anya doesn¿t want to be around the man. Guy has hinted at getting back together with Anya and she hopes that if Bernie tags along, Guy will get the hint and go away. Bernie reluctantly agrees and he, Chet, and Anya pack into Bernie¿s car and off they go into the mountains. When they arrive at camp, Anya is relieved to learn that Guy hasn¿t arrived yet. Maybe he won¿t come¿. Anya is hopeful for a pleasant weekend with her son until the campers return to base with everybody but Devin. The guide, Turk Rendell, doesn¿t seem nearly as upset as he should be and Bernie quickly begins to suspect there¿s more to the story than the guide is admitting. It isn¿t long before Bernie, Chet and Turk hit the trail to pick up the search for Devin. As in the other books in the series, this story is narrated by Chet, the dog. While his nose picks up scents quite well and helps solve cases, it¿s his observations about humans that are the true winners in this story. At times funny ¿ when ordered to stay by Anya, he observes, ¿Did I stay for every Tom, Dick and Harry? I knew plenty of Toms, Dicks, and Harrys, and stayed for none of them. I stayed for Bernie,¿ and at other times insightful, - ¿There¿s a silence when nothing¿s going on, and then there¿s a silence when someone¿s having thoughts, very different, almost not a silence at all,¿ - these comments really move the story along. Bernie is nice but how can you not love Chet? Quill says: Love mysteries? Love dogs? Then you¿re sure to enjoy the newest book in the Bernie and Chet crime solving duo mystery series!
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Posted November 9, 2011
This fourth in a series didn't disappoint. I love reading these - I always end up laughing out loud, and love being reminded of those "be here in the moment now" images that Chet is so good at. Who thought dogs could be so zen? If you could ever say someone is great at writing dogs, Spencer Quinn is it. I loved having Bernie out in the woods, and I hope Mr. Quinn is working on another episode! Elephants, mineshafts, exploding cars, hippies in the desert...what's next for Chet and Bernie??
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Overview
The fourth entry in the irresistible New York Times bestselling mystery series featuring canine narrator Chet and his human companion Bernie Little—“the coolest human/pooch duo this side of Wallace and Gromit” (Kirkus Reviews)
Humor and intrigue combine for a “thoroughly entertaining comic mystery” (Booklist) as Spencer Quinn’s engaging and unlikely team of crime solvers takes on the case of a boy gone missing from a wilderness camp.
The kid’s ...