In all his years of sleuthing, snarky 1950s private eye Axel Hatchett has never faced a case like this: a bear trained to kill. Hatchett finds himself hunted by a deadly two-legged predator whose bullet comes unnervingly close to Hatchett's new wife, and that has Hatchett seeing red Armed with a revolver and his caustic wits, Hatchett is out to solve a grizzly killing, or die trying. 1950's private eye Axel Hatchett stopped by to comment on tracking a killer that had more than two legs. Here's what he has to say about the case of the Killer Bear for Hire, the fifth in the series of mystery novels he gumshoes in: "Two-legged murderers are bad enough, but when they have four legs, I think a detective who gets hired to find them ought to be able to charge more I was newly married, I hadn't worked for a spell and I needed to pay my landlord. Fortunately, right then Ambrose Hatfield stomped into my office. This Hatfield, and his brother, Cuthbert, didn't have a feud with any folks named McCoy, but they were a colorful pair. They both lived out in the woods of our fair state, Colorado, and I think they would have been happier if they'd been around in the 1850's instead of the 1950's. "Ambrose told me a story about a bear that had been stalking him and his brother. The bruin was out to kill them, but why? The Hatfields wanted me to find out who might have trained the bear to end their lives. Of course I took the job; I needed the clams. I borrowed my landlord's truck-and his forty-five caliber hog leg-and headed into the backwoods country where Ambrose and Cuthbert hung their hats. It wasn't long before I got an unwanted introduction to the Grim Reaper, as the brothers had nicknamed the bear. The Reaper chased me up a tree and almost ruined my shoeshine. I failed to find the incident humorous. I decided I needed to solve the mystery as soon as possible or I'd end up in a shaggy four-footer's belly. "For a time I believed that the Grim Reaper was simply a wild bear and that the Hatfield brothers were a couple of country loons. Their sister, Bethany, changed my mind. She was a whole lot more genteel than her bumpkin kinfolk, and she was a divine number to gawk at, too. Bethany gave me a long list of neighbors and other enemies who would gladly rid the mountains of her brothers' existence. And she honestly felt that the bear that was hunting them down had been trained for the purpose. I chose to listen to her. Ambrose and Cuthbert's nearest neighbor lived more than a mile from their cabin, and some of the folks who held serious grudges against them scarcely lived in the same county. I practically wore out my landlord's pickup driving around to talk to possible suspects. "To make a short story long, my time in the woods-interviewing a gaggle of crusty eccentrics who hated the Hatfields-finally paid off. But I didn't figure things out quick enough to prevent someone's murder. Sometimes I think I'm not cut out for this job. It's seldom tame and sometimes pretty wild. I don't mind working in the high lonesome, but after the case of the Killer Bear for Hire, I wouldn't mind spending a bit more time in town, sitting in front of my own fire." Thanks, Axe. Our advice is to not feed the animals.

When thieves snatch a statue of the bird-headed Egyptian god, Thoth, and drop its owner from a third-story window, 1950s private detective Axel Hatchett is set on their trail. But there are actually three ivory ibis statues, and one of them may contain a treasure map Hatchett enlists the aid of his hash-slinging fiancee and a snake-handling English professor to help solve the case of the three cursed birds. We caught 50's noir detective Axel Hatchett in a reflective mood, and he told us about his investigation of the Three Cursing Birds, the fourth in the series of mystery novels he appears in. Here's what he told us while he lit up one of his infamous cheap cigars: "What do you know about sacred ibises, or the old Egyptian god, Thoth? I knew next to nothing about such things until a few nights before Christmas. That's when my old professor friend, Eben, got me out of bed with a midnight phone call. He told me that a former colleague of his, an English professor named Kirsten Lund, had been attacked that night and dropped out of the upstairs window of her house. She ended up with a broken leg. Not anybody's idea of a swell Christmas present. "Dr. Lund wasn't interested in having a gumshoe like me look into her little accident, so Eben hired me himself. Seems like he had some romantic feelings for the good doctor. I couldn't blame him-Lund was a looker, even if she was on the wrong side of fifty. She was talented, too, and that's how the trouble started. She liked to carve artsy figurines out of exotic woods, and bone, and even ivory. An old lover of Lund's-Ollie Crampton-had given her an ivory figure of the god Thoth, a guy with a man's body and the head of an ibis. That's a bird, in case you don't know. I didn't. Thoth must have been an easy guy to spot, especially when wearing a Hawaiian shirt. "Lund told me-from her hospital bed-that there was a story, and a mystery, behind the ivory ibis Crampton had given her. Supposedly, there was a treasure map hidden in the carving's base, pointing the way to a tomb full of gold, and other pawnable items, near the pyramids in Egypt. Of course the tale was so much hooey, but Lund's attackers didn't know that. They'd dangled her from her bedroom window to try to scare her into giving them the carved bird. She wouldn't tell them where it was, so they'd thrown her out the window. To make matters more confusing, Lund had carved two copies of the ibis. There were three of the damned dinguses No doubt the good doctor's treasure-hunting attackers were trying to track down the whole trio of birds certain that one of them contained a treasure map. "While I was trying to find Lund's assailants, and at the same time wondering what I was going to give my swell fiancee, Tracy, for Christmas, I got involved with quite a collection of creepy characters. There was a dentist who hunted for gold in our own fair Colorado, a snooty librarian, a couple of smart-alecky college kids, and three pretty feisty dames. Sometimes being a sleuth isn't much fun. And-wouldn't you know it?-by the time I got a handle on the case, somebody got murdered. How's that for Christmas cheer? I was able to solve the mystery, and corner the killer, and collect my paycheck. I even found the perfect gift for my best girl, Tracy. A pair of cuddly kittens. Better that than three cursing birds " Thanks, Axe, and don't stop believing in Santa."

Rumpled 1950s sleuth Axel Hatchett is summoned to the Flinders Mansion to prevent a millionaire's threatened murder. After a fierce blizzard knocks out the power and closes the roads, Hatchett is trapped in the candle-lit mansion with an eccentric array of terrified guests and servants. Hatchett is determined to survive, but he has only one clue to go on: a sinister gray toupee. Axel Hatchett still gets nightmares over his case of the Slayer With A Gray Toupee, the third mystery novel he appears in. Here's what he says about it. "I've been afraid of bald guys and snowstorms ever since I worked this case. Think of it: I was trapped in an old mansion in the middle of a storm that knocked out the electricity and froze the water pipes. My fellow inmates were a bunch of scared servants and eccentric guests, one of whom was set on murder. The only clue I had to go on was a cheap toupee sent with a threatening note. "Even though the old cook working in Flinders Mansion was as good as they get, being trapped in the dark with a crazed killer kind of took away my appetite. Good thing I still liked my cigars. My host kept his humidor stocked with swell Cubans. They burned like a dream and helped light my way. "After passing a couple of nights dodging arrows, finding death notes with daggers stuck to them, and listening to disembodied banshee screams, my naturally sweet nature began to fray at the edges. I needed to find whoever it was who wanted to kill my host, and I was beginning to worry about my own neck. "I had plenty of suspects, including a smooth-talking butler, an ex-cop who'd been thrown off the force, and a guy who went around dressed in a court jester's costume. Talk about creepy company I was able to track down my client's would-be assassin, but not before somebody else became a corpse. Boy was I glad when the snowstorm ended and I could go home."

After 1950s gumshoe Axel Hatchett is hired to protect a used car dealer from a threat of murder, Hatchett finds himself in a nest of rattlesnakes - literally When the car dealer is bumped off, and Hatchett's prime suspect is murdered, the sleuth is forced to sift through a deck of also-ran suspects to solve the two killings before another corpse is added. And to make matters worse, he's falling for a mouthy waitress who works in a sleazy diner.... Axel Hatchett, has some words to say about Glimmer In A Glass Eye, the second mystery novel in the series he stars in. "Used car salesmen, a garage full of snakes, some witches, and a couple of stiffs. That's what I had to face to solve this case. And you think your job stinks When my car dealer client was bumped off I thought I'd found a prime suspect for the killing. But then that guy got put on ice as well. That left me with more possible suspects than cards in a deck, and I'm not much for Old Maid or Animal Rummy. "I found myself wading through widows, witches, poachers, bartenders, old soldiers, and even-God help me -a librarian. My nose was twitching in all directions, but I couldn't find a scent I liked. Well, maybe the widow's perfume. With two corpses already in the morgue, I knew I better get to work fast before a third dead body joined the party. It might be mine. "Between trying not to sit on poisonous vipers dumped in my car, to getting beat up and bounced from a sleazy bar by an bimbo (oh, the shame), I was sweating overtime just to stay on my feet. "My former client's widow-a real looker-had hired me to not only find out who had murdered her husband, but who had shot his possible killer. What a can of worms Still, better than a can of rattlesnakes To make things worse, my unreliable mechanic still had my car on his operating table. I was driving a loaner as flashy as a gangster's fire truck. "I don't really mind rubbing elbows with swell dames, and this case had three of them, but I had another siren to worry about, one about as loud as an ambulance. Her name's Tracy, and she slings hash at one of the worst diners my stomach has ever shaken hands with. There's something about her greasy little frown that I can't say 'no' to. What's happening to me? Now I've got to pay for dates The life of a detective is not what you've seen on your television. In the real world, the bad guys aren't such bad shots, and the heroes aren't all that smart."

When 1950s private eye Axel Hatchett is hired by a delectable redhead to turn up her missing husband, Hatchett discovers that the man is not only still alive, but is armed, probably crazy, and is on a killing spree that may include Hatchett But something stinks about this case - big time - and it's not Hatchett's pet skunk, Ambrosia. Here's what 1950's noir detective, Axel Hatchett, has to say about DEAD MAN LIMPING, the first of the mystery series he stars in: "I should know better than to let dames hire me. Especially when they look like Rita Ravencamp. Kentucky-Derby-winner legs, enough flaming red hair to upholster Rapunzel, and a face that makes the average angel look like a spinster fish monger with smallpox. But it wasn't just her looks that hooked me -- it was her money. It'd been so long since I'd eaten that I wasn't sure if I remembered which end of a fork to use. "Rita had a missing person's case for me to solve. Two years earlier, her husband, Roscoe, mistakenly drove his big Packard into a river. His body was never found. My guess was that he'd managed to get out of the car, but had drowned and been sucked into some underwater cave or something. But his presumed widow was claiming her husband was still alive, and she had pictures-taken recently-to prove it. "The redhead wanted me to track down her wayward husband and bring about a happy reunion. She'd gone to the cops, but they weren't buying her story. I didn't believe it either, but when she gave me her come-hither-and-make-it quick glance, and opened her purse to give me a glimpse of her stack of folding green men, I couldn't resist. I was hers for the long haul. "I snooped around for Rita, but the more rocks I turned over, the more I was convinced that someone was pulling strings behind the scenes. I don't like being treated like Pinocchio. To hell with kindly old Gepedo. But I kept spending Rita's money and digging deeper into the case. "It took my best detective tricks to finally gather up all the ugly pieces of the puzzle. And when I finally figured things out, I realized that a murder was about to take place. I sure hope I have enough time to keep it from happening." Thank you, Mr. Hatchett, for your views on the case of DEAD MAN LIMPING.

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