The first book in the Shady Hollow series, in which we are introduced to the village of Shady Hollow, a place where woodland creatures live together in harmony until a curmudgeonly toad turns up dead and the local reporter has to solve the case.

Reporter Vera Vixen is a relative newcomer to Shady Hollow. The fox has a nose for news, so when she catches wind that the death might be a murder, she resolves to get to the bottom of the case, no matter where it leads. As she stirs up still waters, the fox exposes more than one mystery, and discovers that additional lives are in jeopardy.

Vera finds more to this town than she ever suspected. It seems someone in the Hollow will do anything to keep her from solving the murder, and soon it will take all of Vera s cunning and quickness to crack the case.

A VINTAGE CRIME/BLACK LIZARD ORIGINAL

“This captivating tale offers sunshine and murder in perfect proportion to keep readers entertained and engrossed in deceptively placid Shady Hollow.”
—Shelf Awareness
 
“An absolutely delightful cozy read. . . . An remarkable empathy is also on display in these pages, putting this book firmly in the category of heartwarming reads despite the murders it chronicles.”
—Criminal Element

 “Watership Down meets Mickey Spillane. A mystery of rare and sinister charm.”
—Alan Bradley, New York Times bestselling author of the Flavia de Luce series

“A magical confection that will leave you nostalgic for the storybooks of your youth.  It’s quirky and clever, charming and smart.  I read Shady Hollow in one sitting and can’t wait for more!”
—Sarah Addison Allen, New York Times bestselling author of First Frost

“Get ready to fall in love with Shady Hollow and its quirky cast of animal characters. Charming and clever, Juneau Black will take readers on delightful ride as the mystery unfolds. I can’t wait to read more!”
—Amy E. Reichert, author of The Kindred Spirits Supper Club

“Need a book to curl up with by the fire? This is it! Shady Hollow must be the coziest of cozy crime stories. It’s a whimsical woodland murder mystery like no other! I not only enjoyed reading about it—I want to live there, surrounded by enigmatic pandas, diligent mice and well-read corvids. I have to try the food, listen to the gossip and visit the tiny café—and I don't even care that there is a murderer on the loose!”
—Leonie Swann, bestselling author of Three Bags Full

Autorentext
Juneau Black is the pen name of authors Jocelyn Cole and Sharon Nagel. They share a love of excellent bookshops, fine cheeses, and good murders (in fictional form only). Though they are two separate people, if you ask either of them a question about their childhood, you are likely to get the same answer. This is a little unnerving for any number of reasons.

Leseprobe

Chapter 1

 

One lovely dawn in late August, the sun was cresting the tops of the distant hills to pour its golden light over the forest. Gladys Honeysuckle, always an early riser, was already on the wing, more than halfway into her daily journey toward town. She was a hummingbird (as her name implied), and her bright green wings were always in motion, going about a hundred miles an hour. Her tongue seemed no different. Gladys had something of a reputation as the town gossip. Conveniently, she was well employed by the Shady Hollow Herald, the town’s sole newspaper, where she wrote a regular column about town events and goings-­on. Not a prestigious post, perhaps, but one suited to her gifts. BW Stone, the editor of the Herald, had kindly provided Gladys with a small desk in the newsroom, making her the first gossip columnist to rate as a regular reporter. This distinction made Gladys puff up her chest with pride and ensured her daily attendance at the paper. BW Stone liked all his reporters to be on-­site, where he could keep his sharp skunk eyes on them.

 

Gladys was a widow, and her chicks were grown and gone. A true empty nester, she looked forward to going to work every day. Further, she was determined to prove her worth to the paper, thus assuring that her job would exist forever.

 

On this particular morning, she left her small straw-­nest cottage, located high in a beech tree outside town, and flew toward the center of the village and the newspaper office. Peering down the quiet paths partly hidden beneath the leaves, she saw that almost no one else was about yet. She spied only Joe, ambling along the north track, his massive hooves surprisingly quiet on the road. The moose was not by nature an early riser—­at least not compared to the birdfolk. But Joe wouldn’t dream of allowing a customer to wait outside his coffee shop. He was up well before dawn to open the café, with fresh joe ready to serve. He seemed to be at work at all hours, with nary a complaint, despite being alone in the world but for his son, Joe Junior. Servers and cooks came and went . . . Joe was a constant.

 

Gladys paid Joe little mind while she winged her way over the forest. She had her own issues to worry about, thank­you­very­much. While she darted over the tallest branches, her buzzing brain was fully occupied with thoughts of her youngest, Heather, who had recently moved in with her new husband. They were both grown, true, but it’s a mother’s prerogative to worry about her offspring, and Gladys was no exception. Of course her chick claimed to be happy. They lived off in their own world, a day’s flight away. But who really knew?

 

Not Gladys, who uncharacteristically was feeling quite left out of the loop and was rather anxious as a result. This was a state she never wanted to be in. She trembled at the very notion of unheard gossip.

 

Lost in thought, Gladys circled twice over the millpond, gaining height on an updraft. She glanced down at the water, yet to be touched by sunlight. Coasting on the wind, she spied something out of the ordinary, a shape that didn’t quite fit. She swooped back around for another look. What could it be? A sack of some type? A bit of lost wood floating in the pond? She dipped even lower, her natural curiosity bubbling forth.

 

The object broke the smooth surface of the water, shapeless and perplexing in the pale dawn light. It was still and quiet, but it was no clump of weeds or loose log that had drifted to the middle of the pond at the behest of the gentle current.

 

The hummingbird’s heart went cold. This shape was getting awfully . . . familiar. Her wings beating furiously, Gladys flew even lower, hovering directly above the body of a toad, belly up. And not just any toad. Otto Sumpf.

 

Otto was a longtime resident of the Shady Hollow pond. He had a reputation for being grumpy and surly, though some residents insisted that underneath the facade, he was quite kind. He would never thank you to point it out, though.

 

Now, it appeared, he was also quite dead. His pale legs were stiff; if not for the position of the body and its terrible stillness, he might have been midleap.

 

Stunned, Gladys registered these incidental facts while staring at the poor toad from a vantage point only birds enjoy. From the shore, Gladys’s actions would be unclear, should anyone be watching. She didn’t consider that, however, because the horrible truth of Otto’s demise was still coalescing in her frantic mind.

 

Dead! Poor Otto was dead! And she, Gladys Honeysuckle, was the first to know! At last Gladys glanced nervously around to see if anyone else was present. She had discovered a body, and she had to tell someone. Her tiny humming…