About the Book

Who could ever have imagined a daring daylight heist on Prescott’s famous shopping corridor, Whiskey Row? Just as the city’s annual Frontier Days parade winds its way past Birksen Jewelers - with the mystery searchers in tow! But wait: the thieves are pros. . . visitors from out of town. . . with military explosives training. . . long gone. . . in a highly noticeable black Jeep. . . right? Better buckle up! In this captivating mystery, the key to solving one of the city's most daring robberies lies with a famous old saying: There is no honor among thieves.

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Excerpt

The parade ground to an unexpected halt. The marching band stopped, and the chorus petered out with a few more drumbeats. Trumpets halted in mid-phrase. Fred braked. The horses following float thirty-three whinnied and stamped. The crowd had grown quieter but more restless. People gazed around in confusion.

A sudden alarm, loud and insistent, rang out along Whiskey Row.

Heidi leapt off the float and onto the pavement, yelling, “C’mon! Something’s happening.” The mystery searchers vaulted to the ground and tore after the star reporter.

Pete hollered, “Where?”

“Past the restaurant, on the right!”

Heidi reached Birksen Jewelers and pushed through a mob that had gathered at the front door. The foursome followed. Inside the store, an ear-piercing alarm shrieked, all but drowning out the ringing of multiple phones. People shouted to make themselves heard. Total bedlam, Suzanne thought.

A man wearing a white shirt lay flat on the floor, out cold. Blood streamed from a nasty gash on the crown of his head. Kathy, the most squeamish of the young sleuths, felt instantly lightheaded and averted her eyes. Two women, looking panicked—the store’s clerks, by the way they were dressed, Kathy figured—were applying paper towels to the man’s wound.

Suzanne’s eyes shot over to Pete. “Get the Search and Rescue crew!” she shouted. “They’re right behind our float!”

Pete pushed his way back out the front door.

Suzanne knelt by the wounded man to help stem his bleeding while Kathy, still avoiding the sight of blood, tried to comfort the clerks. With the arrival of help, one of the women sprang to her feet and hurried toward the rear of the store, where she used a key to access a small metal panel and killed the alarm. The ringing phones had died away. A surreal silence descended upon the store’s interior.

As if by magic, a miniature camera appeared in Heidi’s hand. She never went anywhere without it. Click. Click. Click.

Tom took in the shocking scene before him. He counted eleven display cases smashed wide open—ransacked and empty—but three others, still loaded with glittering merchandise, sat untouched. Curious. A million tiny pieces of glass carpeted the floor, crunching under the soles of his shoes. He spotted multiple surveillance cameras, all positioned close to the ceiling. And then there was the—

“Here’s where they came in!” Heidi called out. Click. “Someone blew the back door open.” A thin layer of soot covered the rear security door, which was jammed at the halfway position, leaving a gap about two feet wide that revealed a glimpse of the alley behind the shop.

In his mind, Tom replayed the weird boom sound. Oh, okay, he thought. Got it.

The clerk who had killed the alarm was a short, middle-aged woman dressed in a powder-blue skirt with a matching blouse and low-heeled shoes. She wore bright-red lipstick that contrasted against her pasty-white skin and pixie-cut dark hair. Drops of blood had found their way onto her top. She seemed disoriented.

Tom noticed the clerk’s nametag: Carol Olinger, Birksen Jewelers. He caught her eye and introduced himself. “Did you see what happened?” he asked gently.

“Some,” she replied. “Donna and I were standing in the doorway, watching the parade. Mr. Evers—he’s the one on the floor, our manager—was on the sidewalk when a cannon exploded. I thought it was, you know, part of the clown act. Then I heard something else. I glanced back into the store and . . . it—it was just horrid! Two men wearing scary Halloween masks and dark clothing were smashing the display cases open with sledgehammers.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “So frightening.”

“What sort of masks?”

“The type you pull over your head,” she replied, visibly distraught at the memory. “The latex kind. One guy looked like a green monster. The other wore the face of a human skull.”

“What happened next?” Tom urged.

“I screamed!”

About the Author

Barry Forbes began his writing career in 1980, writing and producing literally hundreds of film and video corporate presentations, winning a handful of industry awards along the way. He also served as an editorial writer for Tribune Newspapers and wrote a couple of non-fiction books. Later in life. . .

"When I started the Mystery Searchers series, I wanted to integrate the things that I liked as a 10-15 year-old—from the 4th or 5th grade, all the way into junior high school. I loved mystery books which lead, often, to mystery solving, crime and detective stories, and action and adventure. So I would devour books like the Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, or Enid Blyton’s The Famous Five series. I quickly realized that clean, wholesome books were important too, and I’ve integrated that concept in every Mystery Searchers installment."

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