Blackpool Rock Bloodshed
Arriving in the famous English seaside resort, Albert plans only to reminisce about a childhood holiday more than seventy years in the past. While there he will eat the town’s most famous creation - the sugary treat known as rock.
But when he walks into a shop being shaken down by heavies enforcing a protection racket, all thoughts of relaxation go out the window.
Instantly marked when Rex rousts the criminals, Albert must choose whether to leave the town – the sensible choice – or unravel the gang’s plans – the option containing the greatest likelihood for mayhem and danger.
However, the choice is not his, because his partner has sniffed something other than cavity-inducing candy on the wind …
… the scent of a wolf. A real one. And if Rex’s nose is right, then it needs his help.
Man and dog both know how to solve a crime, but separated and working independently, can they arrive at the same conclusion? Can they be as effective working individually?
One thing is for certain.
There is going to be bloodshed.
Baking. It can get a guy killed.
When Steve Higgs wrote his debut novel, Paranormal Nonsense, he was a captain in the British Army. He would like to pretend that he had one of those careers that must be blacked out and generally denied by the government, and that he has to change his name and move constantly because he is still on the watch list in several countries. In truth, though, he started out as a mechanic - not like Jason Statham in the film by that name, sneaking around as a hitman, but more like one of those sleazy guys who charges a fortune and keeps your car for a week even though the only thing you went in for was a squeaky door hinge.
At school, he was largely disinterested in all subjects except creative writing, for which he won his first prize at the age of ten. However, calling it the first prize he won suggests that there were other prizes, which is not the case. Awards may yet come, but in the meantime, he enjoys writing mystery and thriller novels and claims to have more than a hundred books forming a restless queue in his mind because they are desperate to be written. Now retired from the military, he lives in southeast England with a duo of lazy sausage dogs. Surrounded by rolling hills, brooding castles, and vineyards, he doubts he'll ever leave, the beer is just too good.