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    The First Frost: Rob Frost Cozy Mysteries, #1
    The First Frost: Rob Frost Cozy Mysteries, #1
    The First Frost: Rob Frost Cozy Mysteries, #1
    Ebook91 pages1 hour

    The First Frost: Rob Frost Cozy Mysteries, #1

    By Ruby Loren

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    About this ebook

    Only one man can dig up the truth and rewrite history.

    Rob Frost has been searching for something his entire life. Now, after all these years of digging holes, he might finally be close to finding it.

    But just when the key to achieving his destiny is finally in his grasp, everything goes wrong. A man is murdered… and Rob is about to be caught redhanded at the scene of the crime.

    Rob Frost is an expert at digging himself into holes… but getting back out again is a different matter.

    If you enjoy a mystery thriller with a dash of dark humour, you'll love Rob Frost's first mystery novella! Get it now.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRuby Loren
    Release dateDec 5, 2018
    ISBN9781386608172
    The First Frost: Rob Frost Cozy Mysteries, #1

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      Book preview

      The First Frost - Ruby Loren

      Prologue

      The man in black walked down the empty London street. Clouds parted in the sky above him, but only the faintest shimmer of silver cast shadows across his face, before it was once more cloaked in darkness. The moon was a day away from turning new. It was the perfect night to do some digging.

      He pulled his large coat tighter around his chest, wondering just how ridiculous he looked. Would he be arrested before he even reached his destination? The coat was a necessity to hide what lay beneath it, but he knew he hardly looked normal. If it weren’t for all of the recent police cuts and the absence of ‘bobbies on the beat’ on the streets of London these days, he would never have made it to his destination.

      He turned right when he saw the sign for Hyde Park and let the breath he’d been holding onto go. Now that he was in the park he could move more discreetly, away from the accusing glare of the many streetlights. The man in the black coat stepped off the path and disappeared into the bushes. He opened his trench coat, glad that no one had witnessed his terrible fashion faux pas, or the reason for it - that would have been bad, too.

      He took the spade out and inspected the razor sharp edge. If the police had stopped and searched him, he wouldn’t have been able to give them a good answer for why he’d been carrying a spade through central London. Or at least, he wouldn’t have been able to give them an answer they were likely to agree was good. He personally believed that he had every reason to be here carrying a spade.

      Tonight could be the night you find it, he muttered into the darkness before continuing his way across the rotting leaf litter behind the thick bushes of Hyde Park. His eyes darted across to the well-kept lawns, and he waited for it to happen.

      Five minutes later, it did.

      Something inside of him, some hidden intuition he’d always possessed, whispered that this was the spot. He walked out onto the lawn and stuck his spade in. It sunk into the earth without much trouble. Even though it was already November, the ground had yet to freeze. He liked the London soil, especially when it was damp from November rain. Clay was easy to shovel when it was in that state.

      Ten minutes later, he’d made some significant progress. If he never found the thing that he was searching for, he consoled himself that he could always land a job as a grave digger, or any kind of hole-digger for that matter. Other people were good at the arts, sciences, or sports, but he was good at digging holes.

      A bird chattered in the trees nearby, disturbed by something in the night. The man in the hole paused and listened. He heard the distant splash of the lake and then, faintly, the one-two step of a late night Londoner making their way home through the park. A sleepless goose announced itself with its noisy call and then the park returned to silence. The man in the hole kept digging.

      Come on, he muttered, pausing only to reach into his pocket and lightly touch the Roman coin he kept there. It had been his first ever lucky find and every time he went digging, he hoped that his luck would hold. A remarkable amount of the time, it did. When he stuck a spade into the ground after getting that strange indescribable feeling, he often struck gold. Or silver. Or bronze - depending upon the period from which the find originated. The only downside? It seldom turned out to be what he’d actually been searching for when he’d started digging, and it was never the one thing he’d always hoped to find.

      But perhaps tonight would be different. He was close, he was sure of it!

      He’d found the clue when a man who owned one of London’s biggest secondhand book stores received an interesting book in one of his big buy-ins. A glance through, whilst categorising the books, revealed the one word that the man digging the hole in the park had paid the bookseller to call him about if he ever saw. The man in the trench coat had bought the book from the seller. Hidden within it was a strange riddle… one that he believed would finally lead him to the answer he had been searching for his whole life. Or perhaps more aptly, his ‘hole’ life.

      He smirked as he shovelled another spadeful of dirt onto the lawn. Even when he was in the midst of digging himself into a hole, he was still so witty. Way wittier than any of the other private detectives the country had to offer. That bunch of stuck-ups wouldn’t know humour if it bit them somewhere unmentionable.

      The man looked down at the bottom of the hole he stood in. It was empty of all but a few bricks - probably the old foundations of a building long lost to the sands of time. He swore under his breath. He’d been sure that tonight would be his night! Could he have been wrong about the clue leading him here?

      Beneath a carpet, oasis in the monarch's land, and left of time’s ticking hand… The words of the riddle echoed in his mind. So far, he hadn’t been able to figure out the rest of the riddle, but of this much he was pretty sure: the riddle in the book was referring to one of the capital city’s public parks. He was pretty sure that the book itself had dated from Victorian times. Although - dating books wasn’t his strong point. He hoped the key he’d find would lead him to something far, far older than that, but the other words of the riddle had also hinted that the way was passed down through living memory. He assumed it meant that certain families or groups of people had been entrusted with little pieces of the truth. With a bit of luck, whatever was hidden beneath the ‘oasis in the monarch’s land’ was the key to unlocking all of those clues. And once he’d done that, he’d finally be within sniffing distance of what he’d been searching for since his childhood discovery.

      But whatever it was he would find, it wasn’t going to be at the bottom of this hole. His lucky feeling had vanished the way it sometimes did with a silent whisper, as if apologising for jumping the gun. With a sigh, he pulled

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