The EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURES of Alice Tonks

by EMILY KENNY;  

                                 

                                                       

An Adventure Book Review by Erin the Literary Cat©, International Book Reviewer.

Hello, and welcome to my weekend Book Review featuring Adventures in Middle-Grade Fiction.

We dive straight in to this week's review, as Mrs H has been suffering from not one but TWO bouts of mild concussion. Sadly it hasn't stopped her keeping tabs on how much food and the number of treats she's given me. I wonder if it will be a case of third time lucky . . . .

Anyways, as she's had a sore head, theres no news from Upper Much-Mousing, save to say, if theres no news, likely as not the villagers are up to no good. So watch this space!

Let the show commence!

 

AUTHOR: Emily Kenny

Cover art by: Flavia Sorrentino

Published by: One World Publications

Publication date for Paperback: Out NOW!

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-86154-205-5

Cover price for Paperback: £7.99

Pages:335

Target age range: 8 to 11

Any furry companions? Yes; a cat, dogs, and many others, too.



SPOILER ALERT

Some as to plot direction and characters.

Thank you to... 

I am exceedingly grateful to Mrs H for getting this book for me to Read & Review. It has been on my PERSONAL MUST READ list since I heard about it.

As ever, our views are our own, and we only share reviews of books we have bought, been given as gifts, or received in exchange for an impartial review. 

First and foremost, the books we review are those we like and feel our global readers deserve to know about and that we hope they and their children and friends and students will enjoy.

The plot

11-year-old Alice is having the worst day EVER. She's tried to be 'Nice Alice'. To smile. To be nice to her Gran, who packed her trunk so full of uniforms that there was no room for her favourite animal encyclopedias. To be nice Alice on the packed train, her head squished against a window that was home to at least 3 dead flies. Even when she'd to shake the sweaty hand of the teacher at the train station. 

 

It was her Gran's idea to go to Pebblewood boarding school (Pebbles to the students) in the seaside town of Pebblehampton. It would be a nice new start for Alice, Gran had said. She didn't want to let her down, but things were stacking up, and Alice was struggling to stay calm. School and beaches are NOT Alice's thing, especially together. Arriving at the Welcome Day in a tight old, bobbly swimsuit to find the other kids and families poshly dressed was terrible enough. New people to sit amidst and hot sand was really too much. The last straw was the seaweed, its horribly stinky, gloopy green and length clinging to her foot. Alice's throat tickled, her fingers twitched, and the octopus that had been squirming in her tummy was rearing up angrily, tentacles waving. Alice's genuine anxiety POPPED, and she screamed at Gran. All went silent on the beach, and everyone stared at Alice, doing nothing to help her stress.

 

Alice had to get away. Gran's apologies and Alice's realisation of what she had said came to her, and she had to find somewhere to calm down, relax, and destress. She wished she hadn't come. Nobody would be her friend, especially not now. They'd all think she was weird, even the teachers. Sometimes being Alice Tonks really sucked!

 

Finding a spot to calm down, a friendly face in the guise of Timothy Crossley-Herbert the Third, Tim for short, comes with the gift of an ice cream to cheer her up. Dressed in a very smart and wholly inappropriate for the hot beach school uniform, he is as uncomfortable at being there as she is and as friendless.

 

Anyway, whilst Alice is alone in her spot, a gull lands. Having finished her ice but knowing how gulls love hot chips, she apologises and says she has none. Having furtively looked each way. "It's not your chips I'm after, Alice Tonks," the seagull said sternly. "We've got a job for you."

The next day finds Alice actually starting school. Having made amends with Gran, she is determined to give Pebbles a go. The speaking gull was very real, or so it seemed. But she decides not to tell anyone just the same. 

 

As she gets the first-day tour of the school, Alice, out of the corner of one eye, spots an image of a gull in the school's stained glass window waving at her! As Tim, who was with her, didn't, and not wishing to seem weirder, Alice let it slip.

Alice gets to share her room with Ottie, a confident, pleasant scholastic girl who is at her third boarding school. She soon helps Alice settle in. And despite Ottie wanting to put fairy lights around her bed and play music, all seems good. Alice is certainly not going to tell Ottie she's autistic. When a few minutes later, a gull starts tapping at the dorm window, Alice knows there is something she needs to do. Find the gull and see what it wants!

 

Sneaking out of school and back along a path to the beach, Alice soon meets the gull. To Alice's surprise, it does speak. It says in a somewhat put-out fashion that, of course it can! Humans aren't the only ones that can talk! More importantly, it came to tell her something. But these are perilous times, it says, and it is not safe to talk on the beach. The peril is that wild animals and pets in the area are being taken. Vanishing without a trace! And the animals want to know why and have formed the LSPDA (the Loyal Society for the Prevention of Danger to Animals), and Alice can help them. And most importantly, to trust nobody! But before Alice can glean more, Agent T – the gull, departs and tells Alice to await his messenger.

 

The following day, Ottie persuades Alice to go to a secret den beneath an old oak tree on the cliff top, somewhere they can call their own special place. Tim comes along too. The threesome makes a good group, though given Agent T's warning, she will not tell Tim or Ottie about the missing animals or talking gulls. While heading back to school in the dying light, they see and hear some men doing something in the cove and then heading out to sea. Could they be smugglers?

Now, of all the teachers, only one seems chilled out and warm to Alice. And that is Miss Jessops, the librarian. It certainly isn't Mr Marlowe, the Head Master who has different meals and wears an air of self-importance, a disdain for children who don't excel in his biology class, the other staff and animals. And certainly not the severe, high-heeled Mrs Salter, the housemistress, who finds sugar disagrees with her. 

 

But suddenly, shortly after being summoned out of class by Mr Marlowe, Ottie turns her back on Alice and becomes friends with two rather nasty girls. When her now sole friend, Tim, has to go to band practice, Alice ends up alone in the library. That is when she meets Constance, an educated, silver-grey tabby cat with an aloof manner. She is also a member of the LSPDA, and eventually takes Alice to a secret meeting with the animals.

 

With the stage set, the book really takes off. From here on in, Alice's course leads her to discover that she is a 'switcher', someone who can talk to animals. 

 

She and Tim start to gather evidence. While ostensively on the smugglers in the cove, Alice thinks they are the animal snatchers. But something is up with Tim, and Alice soon realises there is something he is not sharing.

 

With multiple possible prime suspects among the school staff, and more members of the LSPDA vanishing, Alice's attempt to find the villain and stop the thefts takes a dramatic turn when she loses a close friend to the snatchers. Their motives are unclear, but when Tim is turned against Alice, and she has a near-death experience, it seems time has run out. 

It is hard to draw a definitive line reviewing a story as readable as this. But I think you'll find there is so much here to enjoy that this will just tickle your tastebuds.

So, what did we think?

Truthfully, bedtime couldn't come quick enough so I could catch up with Alice's adventure, and Mrs H only put this down when she fell asleep.

 

I genuinely rooted for Alice, given the situations, pressures and choices she has to make, some of which we, too, have felt. 

I also loved – a strong word, I know, but true – the way the creatures in this adventure had as important a place as Alice. They weren't just the cause of her investigation but the surprising essence of the resolution. Intrigued? You'll just have to read the book to find out about that!

Alice gets to become part of their world whilst still in her own. A hard trick to pull off well, I feel, but Emily did this with aplomb! Their characters were delightful and demonstrated a range of feelings people forget that all sentient creatures have. I think it actually touched on Richard Adams' way of writing animals, which many younger readers won't have come across, but I happen to love. 

There are some really skilful twists in this, central and ancillary, especially towards the end. That said, the plot builds evenly throughout and is as busy as a bee with a route plan, gathering facts and setting the scene, all done in a warming, engaging fashion.

Make no mistake, this book is all about the adventure. Yes, Alice's autism is part of who she is, as it is me, yet it is incidental; as in real life, it is one wonderful flavour amidst the many that go to make not only Alice and this extraordinary tale so compelling, but each and every one of you out there.

The story has a lot of heart. It ably bridges different worlds and has themes of discovering friendships, trust, compassion and understanding for all sentient beings around us. 

So . . . . 

Crunch time. 

Buy this for your kids, for you. You never need an excuse to read good literature. It is an adventure that made me hark back to the thrill of discovering Watership Down. We have Alice's book on Audible and paperback, and we recommend both. 

I am careful about using the word magical for fear of suggesting something else. And whilst Alice and Co have what I'd prefer to call 'a special gift' or 'talent', I draw no comparison to books of magic and wizards. But like most of the books we get to review for you, dear reader, this book DOES have a pinch of something special, a flavour of its own and as such deserves a place in your hearts.

 

It takes books like this to make the world a warmer, more compassionate and better place. And teaching this to kids is where it all starts. 

I messaged Emily last night, and she kindly confirmed for us there will be a sequel, and she is working on it at the moment! So DO watch this space as we will review it. I am hoping we can get a copy before publication so you can get an order placed in advance.

Want to buy a copy?

To get a copy, missing stinky sticky congealing seaweed, and gulls who may or may not be after your chips, please head to your local independent bookshop (bobbly swimsuit optional). Like gulls and not the swimsuit (though I could be wrong), there are lots of book shops out there. Each is just waiting to serve up whatever kind of mystery, fun and adventure you desire.

Emily Kenny's web page can be found by clicking HERE or type this: https://emilykenny.co.uk/

One World Publications' web page can be found by clicking HERE or type this:
https://oneworld-publications.com/

Flavia Sorentino's web page can be found by clicking HERE or type this: https://flaviasorr.com/



We are joining the Sunday Selfies, hosted by Janet Blue of the Cat on My Head blog. 

So I shall leave you with a suitable laid back on side selfie to match what I hope will be your day! 🙂 🙂

Till laters!

ERin

Erin does it gangster style!

 

A short story that may yet get a sequel!

Welcome back.

Such was the popularity of this little add-on story to last week's book review of Sarah Todd Taylors latest story, we have decided to add it to our blog as a separate post. If you have commented before, there is no need to comment again.........

 

 

This week Mrs H and I have opted for a touch of the 1920's gangster movie . . . 

London, 1923. 

I'm standing in the fog underneath a lamppost in the seedy part of Soho's China Town. I look at my watch and sigh. My contact with the goods is late, but aren't they always when you're in a rush. The swirling light coalesces around the lamp like a shifting grimy mass of cotton wool. My best Fedora hat is shrinking to my head, and, despite the department store salescat's assurance, water seeps slowly under the raised collar of my Mack. Never buy cheap, I reminded myself for the fifth time that evening and sighed again.

Let me introduce myself. The names Shovel, Erin Shovel. Detecting and 'special deliveries' are the game. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Shouldn't it be Spade, Erin Spade? That one was taken at the Detective Society. The names actually Erin Eyebrowinkwinkski. And who'd have thought it, that mouthful was taken too! So I'm stuck with Erin Shovel. It was that or Trowel. Shovel sounds way tougher anyway, which is handy in this city. Gets you a reputation, and that brings you the meaty jobs. 

So that's why you find me here, damp, miserable, and on a job at the wrong end of town packing a piece. Yeah, this cat's tooled up, just in case.

I take one long suck on my catnip cheroot only to find it's gone soggy. I sigh, longer this time, then shove the damp treat in my pocket. What self-respecting cat would be out on a night like this? Hungry one, that's who.

The sudden sharp jangle of a trolley bus the next street sends a shiver down my back and tail that quickly doubles back and reaches the tips of my whiskers. As if in unison, Big Ben strikes 6pm. Muffled by the London 'pea-souper fog,' it sounds like someone's sat the bells in custard. Don't ask me how I know that; I just do. My tummy rumbles at the thought of food once I finish this special rush job for the Guild. I resist the urge to have a snack as it will dull my appetite and make me less alert. 

I freeze at the skittering of a stone and the rattle of a bottle over the street cobbles somewhere ahead. The silence returns, more intensely this time, and at the edge of the gloom the fog appears to lighten just a bit. Maybe it's nothing. Or perhaps it's a sign the next act is about to begin. 

I wouldn't be the first cat mugged in this neighbourhood. That's why I'm packing heat. I slowly reach into my left pocket for assurance and feel the still-warm, smooth barrel of my loaded .25 pistol. That's a .25 litre water pistol, to you. Enough to frighten the most ardent door-to-door salescats. 

 

Through all the thick, grimy fog seeps a scent; something exotic, spicy . . . . and cheap. Underneath it, I smell something fishy, maybe even dead. It's a smell you don't forget. It can mean only one thing: Frank the Fish is in the vicinity. 

 

Sure enough, the large and fish-smelling tomcat comes rollerblading across the cobbles. I can't say I am surprised or upset that he fails to stop in time and shoots past and back into the fog, leaving an almost visible trace of fish oil in the grey gloom. The sound of a dustbin being toppled by an out-of-control 25lb cat, followed by a GRUNT and swearing, means Frank has stopped. Moments later, he appears, carrying a battered and flatter-than-it-ought-to-be box. My box. 

"You Erin the Shovel?" he asks, smirking. "Digging around for work, are you?" he adds to the insult with a wallop on the shoulder with his huge paw. It's like being hit by a 10lb kipper and sends me into the lamppost, which I swear wobbles. 

"Yeah, yeah. You know I is, numb butt. Now give me the goods and I can be on my way."

Totally ignoring me, Frank pulls out a laminated card from his overalls. And, having looked furtively around, leans in far closer than a cat who eats five-day-old fish and doesn't bother with dental hygiene, should.

"What you acting like that for?" I says. "I mean, it's not like anyone can see us in this . . . soup. Plus, if your breath gets much closer, I might have to charge you for having my whiskers straightened!" 

 

Frank ignores my comment and clears his throat. "It says here I have to check your ID before passing over the 'STUFF'". His lips tremble in delight. "No ID, NO GOODS. I can accept a driving license," he adds, as though this will somehow make life easier. I'm pretty confident he couldn't tell a driving licence from a one-pound note, but as I've not got either, this could turn nasty.

"So, here's the thing," I says. "I need that box. My clients needed it like half an hour ago. "So, we can do this the easy way or . . . ." I pat the bulge in my pocket. 

"Or what?" Frank is suspiciously eyeing my pocket, uncertainty and cogs whirring in his eyes. "What's the easy way," he says finally.

"I can give you this here card of mine," I say, pulling out a curled-edged and damp business card and thrusting it up to the cat's face. "Here, keep it. It's got all my details. As good as a driving licence." 

 

Frank snatches the card and, far too slowly, scans the smudged ink. I tease the box from his grasp and check the goods. "Hey, Frank, where's the tuna! I ordered the Tuna Mayo Surprise with extra cheese and catnip! These look like sardines. You and Giuseppe trying to pull a fast one?!"

"Hey, I just deliver these things. Anyways, the boss says you can't have toona and that's that."

"He does, does he. And why's that? It was a special order, for The Detective Writers Guild, and you knows how that mob gets itchy claws when it comes to book launch party food!" 

Frank understandably backs up a pace as I reach into my other pocket. "Yeah, he does. He also said you'd get all hissy fit, so he told me to tell you that toona wasn't available in Britain until the 1950's! This here is the 1920's!" And with that, he pockets the calling card and blades off into the fog. 

You'd be expecting me to sigh again right about now, and I did. Somehow, I never ended up with the pizza of my dreams, ever. The lamp above me flickers and, with a hiss, goes out. 

"Erin, dear. Are you awake?" Mrs H gently placed a supper plate beside where Erin sat. 

 

"No. No, just had my eyes closed thinking about my book and the food for the book launch," Erin said, with a hint of a yawn.

 

"You've been dreaming again, dear. Besides, you need an idea for a book, then write it." Mrs H smiled and then asked. "Do you have a title?"

 

"Strangely enough, I do. 'Erin Spade, PI, and the Big Toona Rip Off'"

 

"The PI would be for Pizza Investigator, would it?" With a wry smile and glint in her eye, Mrs H pulled off the plate cover to reveal Erin's favourite supper. 

 

"Do you read minds, Mrs H?" 

 

"No dear, but I do read a lot of detective novels!" And with that and a knowing wink, Mrs H left Erin to her Tuna Pizza Surprise with all the toppings. 

 

The End

That's it, folks!

 

If you've enjoyed the B-Movie gangster style story!

Till laters!

ERin

 

 

 

 

Alice Éclair, Spy Extraordinaire! A Spoonful of Spying

 by Sarah Todd Taylor;  

An Adventure Book Review & Sunday Selfie by Erin the Cat Princess©

 

 

Today we have a double header for you. First off, having pride of place, is our book review of a FABULOUS new 1930's Adventure. This is folowed by a piece of 1920's style B movie Black and White mischief and fun from us!

So, if you're all now seated comfortably and have got the popcorn and drinks safely tucked away, I'll dim the lights and draw back the curtains on today's main feature: 

 ALICE ÉCLAIR, SPY EXTRAORDINAIRE! A Spoonful of Spying.

 

Author: SARAH TODD TAYLOR

 

Cover art by:  BEATRIZ CASTRO

 

Published by:  NOSY CROW

Publication date:  12 January 2023

Paperback ISBN:  978-1839940972

 

Cover price for Paperback £7.99

 

Pages:  272 (approx)

 

Age range: Middle Grade (9 AND upwards)

Any dogs or cats? Yes, a feline called Casper, who I suspect gets more than he bargains!

 

SPOILER ALERT

Some as to early plot direction and characters.

Thank you to... 

We are exceedingly grateful to Sarah Todd Taylor and Hannah Prutton of Nosy Crow Publishers for the awesome proof copy of this highly-anticipated, delectable book before publication.


As ever, our views in this review are our own. We only share reviews of books we have read, like and feel our readers deserve to know about and that we hope they will enjoy as much as we did, which in this case is a lot.

 
The plot

13-year-old Alice Éclair, cake maker supreme by day, and spy for the French government by night, is off on a mission. And it's not to buy fresh eggs for her mother's famed pâtisserie, Vive Comme L'Éclair. 

We join her in an action-packed scene aboard Le Mistral, Paris' most luxurious event boat, as it sails slowly down the Seine. Alice and senior agent, Claude, are hot on the trail of spies and stolen information valuable to the enemies of France. 

Disguised as a waiter, Alice serves, while elegantly dressed Claude, never short of admiring company, mingles with the well-healed partygoers. Both are on the lookout for their suspect. Suddenly the chase is on, but it goes sour when Alice is faced with a life-or-death choice. And so the villain escapes, but not before she manages to steal a slip of paper from his pocket. Wet and muddy, Alice blames herself. She feels she failed Claude just when she needs to be proving herself. Worse, Claude dismisses the piece of paper.

The paper, however, soon becomes the first clue that indicates the plans for prototype French aircraft, code-named 'Daedalus', are to be stolen and passed to foreign agents. And where better for spies to mingle and plans to be passed than the upcoming World Fair in Paris!

 

Under guise of showing off her cake-making art, Alice and her mother get an invite to take a stand at the fair. Of course, for Alice, it means between helping her mum and working as a spy, she gets little chance to investigate marvels from across the globe on display. 

After a few days with little to go on and even fewer suspects, Alice gets pushed to what she thinks is a lowly position in the Fashion Pavilion. Claude, however, seems to have taken the best, most glamorous assignment for himself! 

OK, from here on in, clues and suspects start to mount. In fact, it seems there are spies everywhere interested in all manner of things. 

 

Alice's decorating skills get to be unleashed too, as she gets embroiled in kidnapping as the adventure quite quickly takes a high speed, high stakes and high octane race to save friends, families and secrets from dastardly deeds and deadly double-dealing . . . . . persons!

 

And if you are wondering about Casper, the cat, well, he gets far more than he bargains for when he steals a ride to the World Fair!

So, what did we think?

 

After Alice's first adventure, A Recipe for Trouble (a LINK to our Review is HERE), I wondered if and how Sarah could pull off another spectacular tale?

I am delighted that she has far exceeded my hopes and expectations. 

This is an adventure packed with unashamed panache, gusto, bravery and adventure worthy of famed Belgians, Tintin and Hergé. 

 

But this is by no means a copy. It stands tall and proud like one of Alice Éclair's own culinary creations, with layers of mystery to unravel and countless textures and flavours. All this amidst a Parisian backdrop of high fashion, aviation, and a world fair. Truly the only thing Sarah hasn't provided is the smells and tastes of Alices cooking. For that, the only solution is to buy your own.

It doesn't shy away from failure and the lessons and costs it brings.

 

The cast is engaging and highlights that women of the era in real life were also at the forefront of engineering and flight. I am so pleased that we see this in writing, as it is often assumed quite wrongly that women were nothing but models, cooks and housewives.

So . . . . 

Crunch time. 

I get a definite sense of an 'upping of the anti' in this second adventure. It is bolder, stronger, and growing with Alice. 

It certainly hits all the right notes in all the right places to make it a firm favourite for adventure-loving kids (and Mrs H.). It also sets another high bar for Sarah to clear for the next book. 

 

So, for me, this is a MUST-READ. Sit back and enjoy a rollercoaster of a ride that takes the reader from the glam of the catwalk, up into the skies and along the crowded streets and waterways of Paris. 

Want to buy a copy?

 

To get a copy, please do choose to support your local independent bookshop. There are plenty out there, and some may well serve up cake and coffee!

Sarah Todd Taylor's WEB page can be found HERE or type this: https://sarahtoddtaylor.com/


Nosy Crow's web page can be found HERE. or type this: https://nosycrow.com/product/alice-eclair-spy-extraordinaire-a-spoonful-of-spying/

Beatriz Castro's web page can be found HERE. or type this: https://beatrizcastroilustracion.com/

We hope you enjoyed the review. Before the second feature, we offer you a selfie.

If you've stayed the course and have some extra time, why not enjoy the second feature. This week Mrs H and I have opted for a touch of the 1920's gangster movie . . . 

London, 1923. 

I'm standing in the fog underneath a lamppost in the seedy part of Soho's China Town. I look at my watch and sigh. My contact with the goods is late, but aren't they always when you're in a rush. The swirling light coalesces around the lamp like a shifting grimy mass of cotton wool. My best Fedora hat is shrinking to my head, and, despite the department store salescat's assurance, water seeps slowly under the raised collar of my Mack. Never buy cheap, I reminded myself for the fifth time that evening and sighed again.

Let me introduce myself. The names Shovel, Erin Shovel. Detecting and 'special deliveries' are the game. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Shouldn't it be Spade, Erin Spade? That one was taken at the Detective Society. The names actually Erin Eyebrowinkwinkski. And who'd have thought it, that mouthful was taken too! So I'm stuck with Erin Shovel. It was that or Trowel. Shovel sounds way tougher anyway, which is handy in this city. Gets you a reputation, and that brings you the meaty jobs. 

So that's why you find me here, damp, miserable, and on a job at the wrong end of town packing a piece. Yeah, this cat's tooled up, just in case.

I take one long suck on my catnip cheroot only to find it's gone soggy. I sigh, longer this time, then shove the damp treat in my pocket. What self-respecting cat would be out on a night like this? Hungry one, that's who.

The sudden sharp jangle of a trolley bus the next street sends a shiver down my back and tail that quickly doubles back and reaches the tips of my whiskers. As if in unison, Big Ben strikes 6pm. Muffled by the London 'pea-souper fog,' it sounds like someone's sat the bells in custard. Don't ask me how I know that; I just do. My tummy rumbles at the thought of food once I finish this special rush job for the Guild. I resist the urge to have a snack as it will dull my appetite and make me less alert. 

I freeze at the skittering of a stone and the rattle of a bottle over the street cobbles somewhere ahead. The silence returns, more intensely this time, and at the edge of the gloom the fog appears to lighten just a bit. Maybe it's nothing. Or perhaps it's a sign the next act is about to begin. 

I wouldn't be the first cat mugged in this neighbourhood. That's why I'm packing heat. I slowly reach into my left pocket for assurance and feel the still-warm, smooth barrel of my loaded .25 pistol. That's a .25 litre water pistol, to you. Enough to frighten the most ardent door-to-door salescats. 

 

Through all the thick, grimy fog seeps a scent; something exotic, spicy . . . . and cheap. Underneath it, I smell something fishy, maybe even dead. It's a smell you don't forget. It can mean only one thing: Frank the Fish is in the vicinity. 

 

Sure enough, the large and fish-smelling tomcat comes rollerblading across the cobbles. I can't say I am surprised or upset that he fails to stop in time and shoots past and back into the fog, leaving an almost visible trace of fish oil in the grey gloom. The sound of a dustbin being toppled by an out-of-control 25lb cat, followed by a GRUNT and swearing, means Frank has stopped. Moments later, he appears, carrying a battered and flatter-than-it-ought-to-be box. My box. 

"You Erin the Shovel?" he asks, smirking. "Digging around for work, are you?" he adds to the insult with a wallop on the shoulder with his huge paw. It's like being hit by a 10lb kipper and sends me into the lamppost, which I swear wobbles. 

"Yeah, yeah. You know I is, numb butt. Now give me the goods and I can be on my way."

Totally ignoring me, Frank pulls out a laminated card from his overalls. And, having looked furtively around, leans in far closer than a cat who eats five-day-old fish and doesn't bother with dental hygiene, should.

"What you acting like that for?" I says. "I mean, it's not like anyone can see us in this . . . soup. Plus, if your breath gets much closer, I might have to charge you for having my whiskers straightened!" 

 

Frank ignores my comment and clears his throat. "It says here I have to check your ID before passing over the 'STUFF'". His lips tremble in delight. "No ID, NO GOODS. I can accept a driving license," he adds, as though this will somehow make life easier. I'm pretty confident he couldn't tell a driving licence from a one-pound note, but as I've not got either, this could turn nasty.

"So, here's the thing," I says. "I need that box. My clients needed it like half an hour ago. "So, we can do this the easy way or . . . ." I pat the bulge in my pocket. 

"Or what?" Frank is suspiciously eyeing my pocket, uncertainty and cogs whirring in his eyes. "What's the easy way," he says finally.

"I can give you this here card of mine," I say, pulling out a curled-edged and damp business card and thrusting it up to the cat's face. "Here, keep it. It's got all my details. As good as a driving licence." 

 

Frank snatches the card and, far too slowly, scans the smudged ink. I tease the box from his grasp and check the goods. "Hey, Frank, where's the tuna! I ordered the Tuna Mayo Surprise with extra cheese and catnip! These look like sardines. You and Giuseppe trying to pull a fast one?!"

"Hey, I just deliver these things. Anyways, the boss says you can't have toona and that's that."

"He does, does he. And why's that? It was a special order, for The Detective Writers Guild, and you knows how that mob gets itchy claws when it comes to book launch party food!" 

Frank understandably backs up a pace as I reach into my other pocket. "Yeah, he does. He also said you'd get all hissy fit, so he told me to tell you that toona wasn't available in Britain until the 1950's! This here is the 1920's!" And with that, he pockets the calling card and blades off into the fog. 

You'd be expecting me to sigh again right about now, and I did. Somehow, I never ended up with the pizza of my dreams, ever. The lamp above me flickers and, with a hiss, goes out. 

"Erin, dear. Are you awake?" Mrs H gently placed a supper plate beside where Erin sat. 

 

"No. No, just had my eyes closed thinking about my book and the food for the book launch," Erin said, with a hint of a yawn.

 

"You've been dreaming again, dear. Besides, you need an idea for a book, then write it." Mrs H smiled and then asked. "Do you have a title?"

 

"Strangely enough, I do. 'Erin Spade, PI, and the Big Toona Rip Off'"

 

"The PI would be for Pizza Investigator, would it?" With a wry smile and glint in her eye, Mrs H pulled off the plate cover to reveal Erin's favourite supper. 

 

"Do you read minds, Mrs H?" 

 

"No dear, but I do read a lot of detective novels!" And with that and a knowing wink, Mrs H left Erin to her Tuna Pizza Surprise with all the toppings. 

 

The End

That's it, folks!