Glassbilen Som Försvann (Dickens Detektivbyrå, Book 1) by Suzanne Mortensen

By Suzanne Mortensen

Privatdetektiv Clara Dickens kör sin gröna Morris Minor ända från London until Skåne med ett piano på biltaket och flyttkartonger i bagaget. Spårhunden Safir sitter bredvid och tittar ut genom rutan. De har löst mysterier åt kungligheter, kändisar och vanligt folks i hela världen. Nu väntar nya härliga äventyr!

Clara Dickens nyöppnade detektivbyrå i Åhus får en fin commence. Tvillingarna Svana och Svante tittar in på kontoret och tipsar om ett klurigt fall. Rudolf Rippels glassbil är spårlöst försvunnen. Jakten kan börja! Spår, suggestions och spaning leder fram until mysteriets oväntade lösning.

English translation:
Private detective Clara Dicks is riding their eco-friendly Morris Minor from London to Skåne with a piano at the motor vehicle roof and relocating packing containers within the trunk. The bloodhound Safir is sitting subsequent to Clara and is asking out throughout the automobile window. They're solved mysteries for royalty, celebrities and customary people from around the globe. Now comes new intriguing adventures!

Clara Dickens newly opened detective bureau in Åhus will get a pleasant begin. The twins Svana and Svante investigate the workplace and offers a tip of a tough case. Rudolf Rippels ice cream truck is lacking. the search starts! Leads, guidance and surveillance bring about the unforeseen resolution of the secret.

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Additional resources for Glassbilen Som Försvann (Dickens Detektivbyrå, Book 1)

Sample text

Morton reached out and tugged his coat sleeve. “Come along, Jimmy,” he said softly, feeling, himself, both sorrow and guilt. Half-reluctantly, the young man turned away, and they pushed through the crowd, which was suddenly abuzz with chatter, and even laughter. But neither Morton nor Presley shared in this odd sense of release. They went quite a distance before a hackney-coach presented itself. Morton quietly gave the driver the address of the Bow Street Magistrate's Court, not wanting anyone in the crowd to hear.

Morton saw despair written there, but defiance as well, and anger. “Here's a pleasant diversion for you,” the condemned man hurled out, “watching old Caleb Smeeton and his good wife hang! ” He paused and Morton thought the man would break down, but he went on, strangely calm. “But how did those fine Bow Street men know where to nab us? Just where to be, and at what hour? ” he bitterly answered his own question, and glared out at the crowd. “Friends like you … “Aye, one of our own peached on us… the same as told us about the panney, and what hour the owner would be away.

Acton hesitated. ” The jarvey's shoulders sagged. “Off Cartwright Square,” he said. ” Morton mulled it over a moment more. “What is it you're not telling me, Ralph? ” “Nay, nay. ” The jarvey shifted from foot to foot. Morton stared hard at the man, but it had only the effect of causing him to shift more rapidly. The Runner drew out his hand, with a single shilling in it, which he turned reflectively in his fingers. “I will find out what happened to Mr. Glendinning, Ralph, you may be sure of that.

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