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The Mallorca Connection [Bob Burns Investigates Series Book 1] [Secure eReader (recommended)/Mobipocket/Microsoft Reader/Adobe Reader 7]
eBook by Peter Kerr
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eBook Category: Mystery/Crime/Mystery/Crime
eBook Description:  Bob Burns is an old-fashioned kind of Scottish sleuth, more interested in catching villains than brown-nosing to get promotion. So, when his enquiries into a brutal and bizarre murder are blocked by his bosses, should he risk losing his career by carrying on his investigations? Encouraged by an attractive-though-maverick forensic scientist and assisted by a keener-than-bright young constable, Bob does it his way. The trail leads the trio from Scotland to Mallorca, where intrigue and mayhem mingle with the crowds at a fishermen's fiesta. A rare combination of suspense and comedy, with a real twist in the tail. This is to be the first in a series of mystery novels featuring Bob Burns, his dry Scots humour and his unlikely pair of sidekicks.
eBook Publisher: Accent Press/Accent
Fictionwise Release Date: October 2006
This eBook is part of the following series:
Available eBook Formats [Secure eReader (recommended)/Mobipocket/Microsoft Reader/Adobe Reader 7 - What's this?]: SECURE MOBIPOCKET FORMAT (541 KB], SECURE MICROSOFT READER FORMAT (432 KB] - Requires Microsoft Reader 2.1.1 for PCs, or Microsoft Reader 2.2.2 on Pocket PC 2002 handheld devices. Some older Pocket PCs can be upgraded. Learn More., SECURE EREADER (RECOMMENDED) FORMAT (261 KB], SECURE ADOBE READER 7 FORMAT (2.0 MB]
Secure Adobe Reader 7: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud enabled
Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
Microsoft Reader ISBN, Adobe Acrobat Reader ISBN, MobiPocket Reader ISBN, eReader (recommended) ISBN: 1905170335
 
BOB BURNS LOOKED ON as the workman put the finishing touches to cementing the tiny headstone onto its plinth, then stepped forward and laid a single red rose on the grave. ?Relation of yours, was he, mate?? the workman asked, gathering up his tools. ?No, I didn't even know Bertie all that well. Just came along to pay my respects at her topping out, sort of thing. Somebody had to.? ?Did you say her?? ?That?s right ? although I think it?s safe to say her father had been hoping for a son. Roberta Roy McGregor, her full name was.? ?Hmm, it takes all kinds, and that?s a fact,? the workman muttered. He cast Bob a glance that was a mixture of puzzlement and wariness, then asked, ?And what about Dixie the bairn? Grandchild, was it?? Smiling to himself, Bob knelt down and propped the rose against the little headstone. ?No,? he chuckled, ?Dixie was her cat.? With some urgency, the workman grabbed the handles of his wheelbarrow and trundled off to his van, mumbling, ?Aye, they're not all bloody locked up yet, and that is a fact!? Bob took one last look at the headstone. ?So long, old girl. I'll try to drop by occasionally with a flower for you. Too bad it can't be a dram, eh?? He glanced at his watch. Eleven o?clock ? opening time. Time for a quick pint before going back to work? Yeah, bugger it! Why not? He stuck his hands in his pockets and ambled out of the churchyard. Dirleton was looking at its best, a picture postcard of leafy tranquility, still half asleep in the warm glow of the late August sunshine. The most typically-English village in Scotland, some called it, and it was a fair enough description, Bob reckoned ? what with the village green, the little stone church, the whitewashed inn at the corner, the cluster of pantiled cottages all nestling snugly in roses-round-the-door serenity, and even the upmarket homeliness of the Open Arms Hotel, sitting in its understated elegance just over the road from the walls of the famous old ruined castle itself. Typically English, perhaps ? yet to Bob Burns, Dirleton embodied the very essence of rural south-east Scotland. ?Maybe that?s why the Highlanders used to call us folk from round here Sassenachs as well,? he said absentmindedly, leaning his elbow on the bar. ?What was that, sir?? Bob blinked at the barman. ?Oh, sorry ? just thinking aloud, friend. Pint of Belhaven Best, please.? He nodded to two old codgers sitting with a collie dog over in the corner, then cast his eyes round the otherwise empty room. The public bar in the Castle Inn hadn't changed much in the twenty years since he left the village. The fruit machine was new, and the barman looked as if he was young enough to be playing truant from school, but otherwise everything was pretty much as he remembered it.
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