Big Honey Dog Mysteries HOLIDAY COLLECTION Read online

  Copyright © 2014 by H.Y. Hanna

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9941726-1-7

  www.bighoneydogmysteries.com

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

  Author: H.Y. Hanna

  Title: Big Honey Dog Mysteries : Holiday Collection / H.Y. Hanna.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9941726-1-7 (ebook)

  Subjects: Dogs—Juvenile fiction.

  Series: Big Honey Dog Mysteries.

  Dewey Decimal Classification notation: A823.4

  Author’s Note

  This book follows British English spelling and usage.

  There is a glossary of British terms at the end of the story.

  Collect the other books in this series:

  Curse of the Scarab (Book 1)

  A Secret in Time (Book 2)

  Dedication

  To Honey,

  who is no longer with us

  but lives on in this mystery series inspired by her.

  Table of Contents

  NIGHT OF FLYING SHADOWS

  MESSAGE IN A BAUBLE

  TREASURE FROM THE PAST

  CURSE OF THE SCARAB (Big Honey Dog Mysteries ~ Book 1)

  Historical Note: The real story of the ‘lost Fabergé eggs’

  Glossary of British terms used in the stories

  BOOKS IN THIS SERIES:

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  NIGHT OF FLYING SHADOWS

  ONE

  THERE WAS A WOLF WITH huge, glassy eyes staring at her from inside the doorway. Honey the Great Dane jumped back and growled, her hackles rising. The wolf didn’t move. Puzzled, Honey stretched her neck forwards, sniffing tentatively. It smelled of real fur and skin and whiskers and claws—it definitely wasn’t one of those squeaky soft toys that humans got for you from the pet store. But something just didn’t seem right. Why was it so still?

  Honey heard chuckling behind her and turned around to see her human, Olivia, laughing.

  “Looks like Honey is a bit freaked out by your stuffed wolf, Lord Higginbottom,” Olivia said, smiling at the tall man who stood next to the butler in the open doorway.

  “By jove, that is a magnificent specimen of a dog!” Lord Higginbottom said, rubbing his hands.

  Honey eyed him warily. She wasn’t sure she liked the way he looked her up and down or called her a “specimen”. She winced as Lord Higginbottom dropped a large, meaty hand on her head and thumped her on her ears. The musty smell of tobacco wafted over from the folds of his tweed jacket and Honey sneezed.

  Next to her, Tyson the Jack Russell Terrier growled deep in his throat. Honey hoped that Lord Higginbottom wasn’t thinking of thumping Tyson on the head as well. He might get a nasty shock.

  “So you’ve got a little one as well, eh?” Lord Higginbottom said, bending down to look at Tyson.

  “Who’s he calling ‘little’?” growled Tyson under his breath.

  Uh-oh, thought Honey, eyeing her friend warily. Tyson might be “little”—with his compact body and stubby legs—but anyone who knew anything about Jack Russells would know that their size was the last thing that mattered about them.

  Above their heads, Olivia was explaining, “Oh no, just the Great Dane, Honey, is mine. This is her friend, Tyson. I’m looking after him while his family is away. Thank you for inviting us to your Halloween party, Lord Higginbottom,” she added.

  “Oh, welcome, welcome. Thought it was about time I gave a local party. Halloween is as good an excuse as any—show the Americans we can celebrate the holiday too, eh?” The tall man grinned.

  Olivia smiled back “And it was really nice of you to let us bring our dogs, too. It’s hard to find dog-friendly events and places these days.”

  Lord Higginbottom waved his hand airily. “Big country house, this. Plenty of room. My father used to say, a house isn’t a home without a dog in it.” He turned to his butler impatiently. “Well, let them in and shut the door, man!”

  Honey and Tyson stepped over the threshold and followed the humans into the entrance hall. The heavy oak door thudded shut behind them and the sound echoed somewhere deep in the house. Honey looked around, her nose working busily, taking in all the new smells. A high ceiling with exposed wooden beams rose above their heads and the hallway stretched in front of them, leading into the gloomy interior of the house. Stag heads with enormous antlers and wild boar heads with vicious-looking tusks were mounted on the walls, their glassy eyes glaring into space. A rusty suit of armour stood to attention against one wall, next to a severed elephant’s foot being used as an umbrella stand. Honey shivered. This house didn’t even need special decorating for Halloween. It was spooky enough.

  “Do you have a dog, Lord Higginbottom?” asked Olivia politely.

  “Naw, haven’t had one since I lost my old Sally. I might get a pup next year. Old friend of mine breeds fine Gordon Setters. But in the meantime, I’ve got my other animals to keep me company!” He chortled, gesturing around him.

  “Er... yes,” said Olivia, looking back at the wolf that stood stiff and menacing by the front door. It was still facing the now-shut front door, its lips curled back to show its fangs.

  “Ah, d’you like her?” Lord Higginbottom said proudly, walking over and thumping the wolf on the head. Clouds of dust rose from the stiff fur. “I call her Lupa. ‘She-wolf’ in Latin, you know. I say she’s the best guard dog you can get—ha! Ha! Ha!”

  Honey looked at the wolf again and suddenly felt sorry for it. She was such a proud, beautiful creature. She should have been returned to the earth, her spirit allowed to run free—not stuffed and frozen and forgotten in some dusty doorway.

  “She’s one of the prize pieces in my collection,” said Lord Higginbottom.

  “Your collection?” Olivia said.

  “Yes, I’m a hobby taxidermist,” Lord Higginbottom explained as he led them down the corridor and through a set of double doors. They followed him into a great hall with a huge fireplace and stained glass windows mounted high up in the walls.

  “It’s a great Victorian art, you know, stuffing animals. Shame it’s dying out now. Over the years, I’ve managed to amass the whole collection of British fauna. Actually, no,” he corrected himself. “I’ve almost got the whole collection. Just missing the bat. But I’ve got all the other animals that used to or still roam the British Isles.”

  He made a sweeping motion with his arm and Honey followed it to see that the great hall was filled with stuffed animals. Wings spread, teeth bared, paws raised... all frozen in silent motion, they lined the corners and sides of the room. She saw a badger, a fox, a peregrine falcon with beady eyes, a squirrel, a hedgehog, a rabbit and a shrew, a barn owl, an otter, a pheasant with a beautiful, long iridescent tail, a red deer with its spotted fawn and a white swan with a graceful neck. And in the pride of place beside the fireplace was a brown bear standing on its hind legs, its mouth open in a soundless roar.

  Tyson growled deep in his throat again and Honey shuffled nervously, putting some distance between her and the bear. She bumped into something else behind her and whirled around to find herself face-to-face with a stuffed weasel, its mouth open in a silent snarl and its little red glass eyes boring into her.

  “Ticks!” Honey yelped, scrambling backwards. She tripped over Tyson who was standing behind her and fell over in a tangle of long legs and giant paws.

  “Oomph!” came a growl from under her bottom. “Get off me, ya great oaf! Yer squashing me flat!”

  “Sorry,” mumbled Honey, hauling herself back to her feet. She glanced back. Tyson was standing up and giving himself a good shake. Honey copied him
quickly—nothing like a good shake to help calm the nerves—then she realised with dismay that the drool dangling from her jowls had been flung across the room. One long white gob of slobber landed on the bear’s face, covering one eye.

  Oops.

  Honey glanced quickly at the humans, but thankfully, they didn’t seem to have noticed. Lord Higginbottom had his hands clasped in front of his stomach, beaming at Olivia who was looking around the room with her eyes wide.

  “Wow... this is quite a collection,” she said. “I didn’t realise that there were bears in Britain.”

  “They’re extinct now, of course, like the wolf,” said Lord Higginbottom. “The largest carnivores now are the badger and the red fox. All the other big predators are gone. Well, unless you believe the stories of the British big cats!”

  “British big cats?”

  Lord Higginbottom raised his bushy eyebrows. “Haven’t you heard of them? Lots of people have been reporting sightings of mysterious big cats around the English countryside. Pumas or panthers or similar. Escaped from local zoos or released by people after the Dangerous Animal Act in 1976—they didn’t want to be caught with an illegal pet. In fact, there are rumours of a phantom big cat right here in this area... they call it the Lucifee.” He nodded towards the back of the house. “Roams the forest out beyond my property, they say. Killed some local sheep and chickens. Big, black cat. Bigger than a Great Dane.”

  Honey wished that Lord Higginbottom would stop talking. He was going to give her terrible nightmares. Normal-sized cats were terrifying enough, but giant ghostly ones roaming the countryside? She shuddered.

  Olivia gave a nervous laugh. “Surely those big cat stories are just urban myths. Silly stories to scare people.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure, young lady,” said Lord Higginbottom, wagging a finger. “Those stories don’t arise out of nothing. And this is the time of year when anything can happen... especially tonight on Halloween!”

  TWO

  HONEY WAS RELIEVED when Lord Higginbottom led them to a set of double doors on the other side of the great hall, which opened into a smaller drawing room. It was warm and bright in there, filled with people talking and laughing. This must be where the Halloween party was. Honey hurried into the room after Olivia, glad to get out of the great hall with its eerie collection of frozen, stuffed beasts.

  “Honey! Tyson! Good to see you, mate!” Ruffster the mongrel mutt came trotting up to greet them. As usual, he looked like he had been dragged through a hedge backwards—his scruffy coat sticking out in odd places, one ear up, the other ear flopping. He came and circled around Honey and Tyson, sniffing their bums with friendly familiarity.

  “Nice to see an animal that’s not stuffed,” growled Tyson.

  Ruffster flicked his ear. “Holy liver treat, you saw the creepy collection out there, huh?”

  Tyson rolled his eyes. “Humans. Never understand ’em and what they like to do for fun. My folks sit and stare at the TV box all afternoon, yelling at people running around a field after a ball.”

  “That’s called football, mate,” said Ruffster knowledgeably. “My Guy likes to look at that in the TV box too. Not sure it’s good for him, though. He gets really reactive—jumpin’ and shoutin’ and shakin’ his paws at the screen. I was talkin’ to Buddy the Lab at the park—he’s got a reactive human too—and he reckons it’s fear aggression. It’s a common problem, he says, ’specially with male humans. Is your Olivia like that?” Ruffster looked at Honey.

  She furrowed her brow, thinking. “No, Olivia has lots of pretty people smiling and holding hands and kissing in her TV box. She smiles with them and sometimes she cries with them. She needs lots of tissues.”

  “Ooh, that’s a love story,” said Suka the Siberian Husky as she came up to join them. She waved her big plumed tail. “My Boy thinks they’re stupid. He likes to see machines zooming around and blowing up. His Mother allows him to look at the TV box after he’s finished dinner and done his homework. I always sit with him.”

  “The best thing is when the TV box is showing humans cooking food,” said a new voice with a wistful sigh.

  “Biscuit!” Honey turned in delight to see her Beagle friend. Biscuit was known as the walking-stomach-on-legs, but he also had the best nose of any dog in town. Honey touched his muzzle affectionately. “I didn’t realise you and Suka would be here too.”

  “We’ve been out trick-or-treating,” explained Suka. “My Boy’s Mother has got the flu bug so Ruffster’s Guy said he would take us around the neighbourhood. We passed by here and Lord Higginbottom invited us to come in and join the party. Howling Hyenas, did you see those creepy stuffed animals outside?” Her blue eyes opened wide. “My Boy got really scared. But then we came in here and he’s happy and excited now. He’s never been to a Halloween party before and Lord Higginbottom’s Cook has made all these amazing Halloween treats!” She looked over to the other side of the room where a ten-year-old boy in a skeleton costume was standing beside a long table spread with a sumptuous buffet.

  Honey followed Suka’s gaze, her eyes widening at the sight of all the food. There was a feast of devil’s food cupcakes, chocolate spider cookies, lime green jelly, sausage rolls wrapped in pastry to look like bandaged fingers, caramel popcorn clusters, and an enormous, spiced pumpkin cake with cream cheese frosting.

  “My Missus made that pumpkin cake,” said Biscuit proudly. “She’s good friends with the Cook.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not under that table, mate, tryin’ to nick some goodies. That’s where you usually are,” said Ruffster.

  Biscuit shuffled his paws. “I tried! But Cook keeps coming to check the table and she... she’s a bit strange.”

  As if on cue, a woman pushed open a door beside the buffet table and came into the room. She was wearing a white chef’s outfit, with a striped apron and cap on her head, and her eyes darted around anxiously. She placed a large, orange jack-o-lantern in the centre of the table and lit a candle, which she put into the carved pumpkin. The light from the candle flickered eerily behind the jack-o-lantern’s eyes.

  Suka leaned forwards excitedly as her nose got scent of her favourite prey: gossip. She lowered her voice to a loud whisper. “What do you mean, ‘strange’?”

  “Well, she keeps wailing and worrying about bad luck happening, especially tonight on Halloween,” said Biscuit.

  “Oh, you mean, she’s superstitious,” said Suka.

  “She’s not super at all,” Biscuit grumbled.

  “No, no, ‘superstitious’,” said Suka. “It means somebody who believes things, even if they’re silly or nobody knows if they’re true. My Boy just had that word in his vocabulary homework this week.”

  Biscuit’s ears drooped. “Yes, she made me and my Missus walk around our house backwards, three times, before sunset today because she said that’s the only way to keep safe from evil spirits on Halloween.”

  Ruffster gave a bark of laughter. “Mate, you didn’t really walk around your house three times backwards?”

  Biscuit looked sheepish. “Well, Cook said it was really important. She got very upset, so my Missus said we should just humour her. Even Lord Higginbottom specially went and bought lots of pumpkins from the market this morning to carve into jack-o-lanterns, because Cook said you must have them to keep demons away on Halloween.”

  “Superstitions are a load of cat poo,” growled Tyson.

  “Yeah, mate, there’s no such thing as ghosts,” said Ruffster, scratching his collar carelessly.

  Honey thought again of the mysterious Lucifee that Lord Higginbottom had mentioned and wondered how true that story was. Maybe that was just a “superstition” too, she thought hopefully.

  “Well, I don’t know...” said Suka, waving her fluffy tail. “My Boy’s been learning about Halloween at school and some of the books say it’s a time when demons and ghouls can cross into our world easily. Anything can happen!”

  “The only thing that’s going to happen is that
I’m going to starve to death...” said Biscuit mournfully. Then he brightened as he saw Cook leave the buffet table and walk across to the windows. She started busily arranging some candles there.

  “Ooh, she’s not looking now! Maybe I can grab a cupcake before she gets back.” Biscuit stood up eagerly.

  “Somebody will see ya at the table,” growled Tyson.

  “No, I’ve got an idea,” said Biscuit, wagging his tail.

  “Wait, Biscuit—” Honey started to say, but the Beagle was already halfway across the room.

  He sidled up to the end of the long buffet table and peeked over the top, his eyes darting furtively around. Nobody was looking. The humans were busy talking and laughing. Suka’s Boy was helping Cook move the candles by the windows. But the food was in the middle of the buffet table, far away from him—Honey wondered how the Beagle was ever going to reach it.

  Biscuit grabbed the end of the tablecloth in his mouth and started pulling. The plates and bowls of food began sliding across the long buffet table towards him. Lurch, slide, stop... lurch, slide, stop...

  “Creeping kibbles, I have a bad feelin’ about this,” muttered Ruffster, as they all stood and watched.

  The food was bunched up at the end of the buffet table now. Biscuit released the tablecloth and jumped up with his paws on the table edge, grabbing a sausage roll from the nearest plate. It disappeared down his throat and he jumped up again for more. His nose bumped the big bowl of green jelly. It teetered on the edge of the table, then tipped over, pouring green jelly onto Biscuit’s head. The bowl hit the ground and shattered.

  Crash!

  “BISCUIT!”

  A plump woman stomped across the room and grabbed the Beagle by his collar. It was Biscuit’s Missus and her face was more orange than the pumpkin on the table. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

  “Oh, no!” Cook shrieked and rushed over. “It’s awful bad luck, it is! Awful bad luck!”