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    The Ho Ho Ho Mystery
    The Ho Ho Ho Mystery
    The Ho Ho Ho Mystery
    Ebook145 pages2 hours

    The Ho Ho Ho Mystery

    By Bob Burke

    3/5

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    About this ebook

    The festive follow-up to The Third Pig Detective Agency.

    When Father Christmas goes missing on Christmas Eve eve, Mrs Christmas calls on our intrepid hero Harry Pigg to track him down.

    What follows is another hardboiled caper featuring fairy tale villains, plenty of red herrings, a few close shaves, a couple of punch ups and a very clever twist.

    Aided and abetted by his sidekicks Jack Horner and the genie from the lamp, Harry tries to save Christmas before time runs out.

    If only he didn’t have to deal with those bloody annoying elves.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins UK
    Release dateOct 28, 2010
    ISBN9780007364022
    The Ho Ho Ho Mystery
    Author

    Bob Burke

    Bob is the award-winning author of The Third Pig Detective Agency series. He lives in County Limerick with his wife and three children.

    Read more from Bob Burke

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    Reviews for The Ho Ho Ho Mystery

    3/5

    25 ratings6 reviews

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    • 3/5
      Fun and entertaining read.
    • 4/5
      The notion of a pig detective is as far as I am aware a unique one. Bob Burke has invented a fairy tale world with a new spin on Aladdin and Jack Horner, Grumpy the dwarf and one of the Billy Goats Gruff. A light fun read ,similar in many ways to the books of Jasper Fforde and which will neither tax your brain nor I suspect stay long in your memory. No outright laughs,but plenty of wry grins.
    • 3/5
      I saw this by chance on the Kindle store, bought it for 99p, and had it finished in less than an hour. I did think it a bit reminiscent of Jasper Fforde, and the humour was nothing new, and it reminded me of Malcolm Pryce a bit, too... But it was fun. It never quite raised a chuckle, but there was perhaps a knowing smile or two, and while I figured it out in advance, I thought it was a bit clever.

      The basic idea is the same as Fforde's Nursery Crimes: a fairytale detective, in this case the third little pig. Knowing fairytales serves you well, in figuring out the plot and catching the jokes.

      If you're looking for something fun, cheap and undemanding for your Kindle, you could do a lot worse. I have a four hour car journey ahead of me, as I type, and I think I'm going to get the sequel to keep me entertained without too much attention needed. It's only 50p, after all.
    • 2/5
      A middling pastiche of the hard boiled detective genre written for kids of early teen years. Not as funny as it could or should be. An okay read that doesn’t compel me to read more of the series.
    • 3/5
      Easy entertainment. If I were in the business of optioning properties I'd nab this series. It is from the UK and centers around fairytale characters. The third pig, you'll remember, is the one smart enough to build the strong brick house. He's also the detective hired to solve mysteries that involve Aladdin's lamp, orcs, elves, and the Wicked Witch of the West. An animated HBO series would be perfect!
    • 3/5
      The third pig-- the one who built his house of bricks!-- uses his fame in defeating the wolf to start his own detective agency. But then he's approached by Aladdin, the richest man in Grimmtown, and the search for his missing lamp becomes quite a quest. Harry Pigg is helped by Little Boy Blue, Jack Horner, and the Seven Dwarves, to name a few. And Edna, the Witch of the West, is involved. This book is such fun and I'm looking forward to the sequel.

    Book preview

    The Ho Ho Ho Mystery - Bob Burke

    1

    Lady in Red

    The woman claiming to be Mrs Claus glowered at me, her face turning as red as her very Christmassy jacket. ‘Well,’ she demanded, ‘is there a problem?’ I considered the question carefully. There were a number of problems actually, but I wasn’t about to list them out – at least not to a very angry woman who seemed capable of doing me serious physical harm. I’d received enough punishment during my last case and I wanted this one – if, in fact, it turned out to be a case at all – to be as pain-free as possible. Diplomacy was clearly the order of the day.

    ‘Mrs Claus, please make yourself at home.’ She squeezed herself into the offered chair, which protested loudly at the intrusion. It looked like someone had tried to stuff a red pillow into a flowerpot. When she was comfortable (or at least not too uncomfortable), I asked her to tell me the story from the beginning; if nothing else, it would give me a chance to get my thoughts together – and these thoughts were currently so far apart they couldn’t even be seen with the help of the Hubble telescope.

    ‘It’s my husband, you see,’ she said, fidgeting with her cuffs. ‘He’s disappeared.’

    ‘And your husband would be …?’ I knew what she was going to say; I just wanted to hear her say it. This was obviously a very poor attempt at a practical joke and I needed to stay sharp to find out who the culprit was, although the finger of suspicion was pointing firmly at Red Riding Hood. This was just the kind of stunt she’d pull. More importantly, once I knew who it was, I could figure out a way to get back at them. No one got the better of Harry Pigg in the practical jokes department.

    ‘He’s Santa Claus, of course.’ Her face got redder with indignation. ‘Who did you think I was married to dressed like this?’

    I had to admit she did look the part. If I had to buy an outfit for Santa’s wife, it was exactly what I’d have picked: fashionable red trouser suit with white fur lining and a very trendy pair of black high-heeled boots. Well, I’d have picked something red anyway.

    ‘OK, let me get this clear,’ I said, trying hard not to snigger. ‘You are married to Santa?’

    ‘Yes,’ she replied.

    ‘As in the jolly fellow with the white beard who says, Ho ho ho a lot and flies around dropping off presents to children all over the world on Christmas Eve?’

    ‘Is there another?’ she demanded.

    ‘Not that I’m aware of.’ I was now biting the inside of my cheek so as not to laugh hysterically in her face. ‘And he’s missing?’

    ‘Yes, as I’ve already pointed out to you.’

    ‘You’re sure he’s missing and not just away on a boys’ weekend with the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy?’ I couldn’t contain myself any longer and burst into howls of laughter.

    Seconds later I was pinned to the wall behind my desk with Mrs Claus’s forearm rammed firmly up against my neck. I felt my eyes bulge from the pressure on my throat and I was distinctly short of breath.

    ‘Do you think this is funny?’ she demanded. ‘My husband has disappeared; children all over the world are facing huge disappointment when they wake up on Christmas Day and find nothing under their trees except bare carpet and some pine needles, and you see fit to sit there making jokes at my expense?’ She pulled her arm away and I dropped to the floor gasping for air. I noticed that my two new ‘partners’, Jack Horner and the genie, had beaten a hasty retreat into the main reception area outside. Cowards! I might have to revisit this new working arrangement if this was going to be their attitude at the slightest hint of trouble.

    ‘Clearly I’m wasting both my time and yours, Mr Pigg,’ she said, with what I must admit was a certain degree of righteous indignation. ‘I shall take my business to someone who is prepared to take my problem somewhat more seriously. Good day to you.’

    As she stomped to the door and made to leave, it occurred to me that she might actually be telling the truth; she was pushing it a bit for someone playing a joke. More to the point, if she was being truthful, taking her business elsewhere meant Red Riding Hood would get the case and the only way she was getting any case at my expense was over my cold and lifeless body. Then again, with my luck, that mightn’t be beyond the bounds of possibility either – I’d come close a few times on my last case, why would this be any different?

    It was time for eating some pie of the humbly flavoured sort.

    ‘Mrs Claus, please accept my apologies for my behaviour.’ I walked after her and extended my trotter. ‘My last case has left me the worse for wear and I’m not quite myself at the moment.’ If you’ve been keeping up with my career, you’ll know this wasn’t entirely untrue. ‘Please make yourself comfortable and I will give you my complete and undivided attention and will personally guarantee the quality of service for which this agency is renowned.’

    I was piling it on a bit, but, in my defence, I was getting desperate. I needed to keep this client. Apparently mollified, she turned and sat back down in the chair – which once more protested loudly at the strain.

    I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘It won’t happen again.’

    ‘Make sure it doesn’t,’ Mrs Claus replied. ‘I haven’t got time for amateurs and I need to find my husband before it’s too late.’ Her tough veneer finally cracked and she began to cry gently.

    ‘You mean they might kill him?’

    ‘No,’ she blubbed. ‘I mean too late for Christmas.’ Obviously the thought of her husband being killed hadn’t crossed her mind and the tears came even more quickly when she realised what I’d said.

    Nice one, Harry, I thought. Make the client feel worse.

    I handed her a tissue from a box in my drawer and she dabbed her eyes. While she did so, I quickly checked the box to make sure I had enough tissues. I figured she could be crying for quite some time.

    ‘Mrs Claus, perhaps you could start from the beginning so we can decide on a proper course of action. How long has he been gone?’

    ‘Since yesterday morning,’ she replied. ‘He left the previous night for our northern base and was due to arrive first thing yesterday. According to the elves, he never showed. We’ve checked with air-traffic control and they’ve had no reports of any accidents. The last thing we heard was when he gave us an update an hour out of Grimmtown. Since then, nothing. It’s as if he just disappeared into thin air. I may never see him again.’ This brought on a fresh deluge of tears. Now I was really concerned; if she didn’t stop soon there was the distinct possibility my office would be flooded and I wasn’t sure that my insurance would cover the cost of the damage.

    ‘OK, OK.’ I whipped out my notebook and began to scribble down what she was saying. ‘How was he getting to your base? Grimmair?’

    ‘Oh goodness, no. He always flew himself. He’s quite an accomplished sleigh pilot, you know. He doesn’t like travelling by commercial airlines.’

    I didn’t blame him. I didn’t fancy it too much either. I always seemed to end up squashed between the two smelliest, loudest and most unpleasant Orcs on the flight – and they always took my peanuts.

    ‘So, he left on his sleigh. Was this some sort of motorised craft or …?’

    ‘Goodness, Mr Pigg, do you know nothing about my husband? It was reindeer powered. All his sleighs are propelled by a team of reindeer. Of course this wasn’t the elite team; they’re saved for the Christmas run. These were just economy reindeer, but certainly capable enough of getting him to the North Pole without incident. But he never arrived.’ More tears.

    ‘And you’ve received no communication of any sort, either from him or anyone who may have taken him?’

    ‘Nothing and I’m so worried something might have happened to him. Please, Mr Pigg, I need your help; the children need your help.’

    I thought of Jack Horner waiting outside. What would he think of me if I didn’t find Santa Claus – especially if I didn’t do so before December 25th?

    ‘OK, let’s go through some of the more obvious questions. Does he have any enemies?’

    A shake of the head.

    ‘Have you noticed anyone suspicious hanging around the house over the past few days?’

    Another shake.

    ‘Do you know of any reason why anyone would want to kidnap him? Are you rich?’

    ‘We have some money put aside, but we reinvest most of what we make back into the company. Every year there are new toys added to the children’s lists, so we’re constantly developing new products and this puts quite a drain on our finances. We’re not in it for the money, you know. If whoever did this did it because they think we’re wealthy, they’ll be sorely disappointed.’

    That left one obvious question. ‘So if he wasn’t kidnapped for the money, then why was he kidnapped?’

    Mrs Claus shrugged and said, ‘I don’t know; I just want you to find him, whatever it takes.’ But as she said it, I thought I detected the faintest hint of evasion in the glance she gave me. She knew more than she was saying. There was obviously something else going on here and, with my luck, it would almost certainly result in something unpleasant happening to me while I tried to work out what it was.

    Super!

    ‘Is there anything else you can tell me that might be important?’ I pressed. ‘Did your husband appear any different before he left? Did he seem tense, out of sorts? Any little detail, anything you might have noticed, no matter how insignificant, might be important.’

    Mrs Claus thought for a second and shook her head. ‘No, nothing. It was just another trip. He was as happy as always. Lots of Ho, ho, ho’s and Merry Christmas, everyone’s. He did like to get into the spirit of things early. And now he’s gone.’

    Just when I thought the waterworks had finished, they started up again. She was a one-woman reservoir. She appeared to be storing enough water inside her to supply an entire town for a year. Where did she keep it all? I was hoping she’d stop soon – I was running out of tissues.

    ‘Mrs Claus, let me assure you that the Third Pig Detective Agency is on the job. Our skilled operatives will be working on the case to the exclusion of everything else and we will do our utmost to ensure your husband is returned safe and sound.’

    I know, I know: ‘skilled operatives’ was stretching it a little, but I was hoping she hadn’t noticed that, apart from me, they consisted of a small boy and a fat ex-genie dressed in bright yellow silk trousers.

    She seemed reassured by my charm (in fairness, who wouldn’t be) and got up to leave. As she walked to the door, something struck me – and it wasn’t her forearm

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