One of the oddities of Golden Age fiction was its fixation on the occult and the generally weird – ancient gypsy curses, haunted burial grounds &c. It therefore something of a relief to settle in with the refreshingly literal Ms. Moyes: When a title refers to a third dog, we are not talking about some metaphysical barking: There were three dogs and now one is missing. Up in arms about this is Emmy Tibbet's sister Jane, a stalwart of the animal-rights movement and a trial to the other locals, who are a lot more concerned with the fact that one of their number has recently been hauled off to prison for the minor crime of having killed someone while drunk. Happily, Henry Tibbets soon shows up to connect the two and restore order to the village....though not before being forced to dress in drag.

No one knew that Lord Charlton, one of Britain’s wealthiest bachelors, had an heir until the terminally-ill textile magnate summoned his solicitor, Ambrose Quince, to his London townhouse in Belgrave Terrace. There he revealed that he wished to alter his will in favor of his nephew, the son of his black-sheep brother. The boy had been secretly adopted by American parents and taken to live in the United States when his own parents were killed in a bombing raid on London during World War II. His present whereabouts: unknown. When Lord Charlton dies suddenly, he takes with him the secret of Simon Warwick’s identity. Two men come forward claiming to be Warwick. Then one turns up dead in Ambrose Quince’s office and Henry Tibbett, Chief Superintendent of Scotland Yard, is faced with a double mystery: Who is the murderer? And who is Simon Warwick? The astonishing answers are revealed in an ingenious and wholly satisfying manner that will keep readers guessing right up to the end.

Mr. and Mrs. Tibbetts pop into a pub for lunch but get served a murder case in this novel with "all the proper ingredients for a cozy whodunit" (The New York Times). What could be more delightful than a long-forgotten relative who dies and leaves you a tidbit in his will? How about if that tidbit is in fact a charming country pub, and that pub is now yours—lock, stock, and barrels of beer? Susan Gardiner is delighted, even when it becomes clear that the establishment has a lineup of regulars, not all of them as endearing as one might prefer. No, she doesn't love all her new customers, but she certainly didn't intend for one of them to be poisoned by a bad batch of mushrooms. The outlook is dire for both Susan and the Blue Moon . . . until Inspector Henry Tibbett steps in. He and Emmy just want a spot of lunch, but they are, as ever, willing to take on more than they had bargained for, in this compelling British mystery by the Agatha Award-winning...

Millionaire Lord Charlton altered his will in favor of his nephew, Simon Warwick, who had been adopted by American parents when his own were killed in World War II. When Lord Charlton dies, two men claiming to be Simon Warwick turn up in London to claim the estate. Then one is found dead, and Chief Superintendent Henry Tibbett is faced with a double mystery: Who is the murderer, and who is Simon Warwick?

If I were Scotland Yard, I might be that put-out with Henry Tibbet: He seems never to stay in England for more than about ten minutes, and he's always taking vacations! This time around, he and the ever-pleasant Emmy are holidaying in the Alps when a popular ski instructor gets it in the neck. Everybody in town is eager to point a finger – typically at the victim's wife, who is widely assumed to have had enough of his philandering. But Henry isn't sure, and sure enough, he is soon to be found poking his British bulldog's nose into a decidedly French scandale, turning up dirt on some of the swankiest swells on the mountain.

Fans of Emmy Tibbett, have we got the book for you! Vacationing with friends in the Caribbean, Emmy and Henry meet a sprightly and delightful spinster who spins a yarn about a young woman lost at sea and then (perhaps) found again. The yarn gets yet more fascinating when the spinster herself disappears, and Henry—wry, unflappable Henry Tibbett of Scotland Yard—responds in a most uncharacteristic fashion. It's up to Emmy to untangle the clues, contending with drug smugglers on the one hand and an addled husband on the other. And did we mention the hurricanes? Emmy, of course, has resources to spare, so much so that we wish we could bring her back for a series of her very own.

The Tibbetts have fond memories of the newly independent Caribbean nation of Tampica, but the island may have exchanged colonial rule for another set of shackles. The government is corrupt, and Tampica is now a haven for drug smugglers. Henry investigates, and in the process severely tests all assumptions about this "innocent" tropical paradise.

What would you do if a U.S. Senator was found murdered with a machete on the grounds of your exclusive golf club in the Caribbean? Maybe order another umbrella drink and work on your tan...or if you're John and Margaret Colville, the owners of a modest hotel on the island of St. Matthews, call your friends, Inspector Henry Tibbett and his wife Emmy, to investigate. Did the friendly young islander who tends bar for the Colvilles commit murder? The local authorities have arrested him, but Henry soon discovers that the murder rests on complex motives reaching far beyond the Caribbean.

It's a slow day at Scotland Yard, so Inspector Henry Tibbett takes a busman's holiday, immersing himself in the world of puzzling puzzlers. The hijinks kick off with an amusing gift: Someone unnamed has sent Henry the beginnings of a crossword puzzle. Even more mysterious: The clues point to the group of mystery writers to whom Henry has pledged to give a presentation. Most mysterious of all: None of the writers are who they claim to be, and one is a murderer. Which one? For that you'll need to solve the puzzle. Six across and then down, down, down.

DEATH AND THE DUTCH UNCLE In which Henry Tibbett, now a full Superintendent, moves into the rarified atmosphere of international politics, following up the mysterious death of a small-time gambler in a seedy British pub. And in which an equally astute and gentle policeman, Inspector Van der Valk (see Nicolas Freeling) of Holland, first encounters the redoubtable Superintendent from New Scotland Yard.

Mavis Ironmonger is nobody's idea of a good diplomatic wife. She drinks too much, she's awfully friendly with the staff at the Washington embassy, and her music-hall roots have a way of bursting out at the most inappropriate moments. Indeed, it's at an embassy reception that Mavis manages to insult a visiting ambassador and get herself hauled off to sober up. With the party winding down, Mavis is due downstairs, to say the official goodbyes, but in fact she has already made her final farewell, courtesy of a gunshot. The ambassador refuses to allow the Americans to investigate, demanding instead that Henry Tibbet be called in from London. But if you know Henry, you know he won't be staying in DC; in an eyeblink he is headed to the ambassador's island nation, before haring back to Washington to prevent a second murder.

To date, Emmy Tibbett has been something of a secondary character – a placid, pleasantly plump presence who serves mostly to make her detective-husband Henry all the more likeable. With Johnny, however, Emmy at last gets a turn in the spotlight, as she and Henry head off for the 20th reunion of her Royal Air Force squad. It's a bittersweet trip for Emmy: She loved her work with the RAF, and she was in love with one of the pilots, but their happiness ended abruptly when he killed himself, crashing his plane into the North Sea. But was it suicide? At the reunion, Emmy is startled to realize that she may have been the last person to see her sweetheart alive. And she's more than startled to discover that virtually everyone connected with that fatal flight had something to hide.

Are you craving Christie? Yearning for a plot? Whimpering softly into your teacup about the days when one could count on a nice civilized, mannerly sort of murder, with a sleuth who was reasonably free of neuroses and substance addictions? Patricia Moyes to the rescue! In Dead Men Don’t Ski she introduces Inspector Henry Tibbett, a blissfully ordinary English copper with a pleasantly plump wife and a nose for the bad guys. Sadly for Henry (but happily for us) that nose has a knack of ruining his vacations. In Dead Men, he and Emmy are headed for the Italian Dolomites, ready for a spot of skiing and some first-class people-watching, all those athletic youngsters in their swanky late-1950s ski outfits. It’s all very “Mad Men” until one dead body turns up, and then another, and it becomes clear that Murder has come to the mountain.**About the AuthorPatricia Moyes (1923-2000) was a British mystery writer best known for her “Henry Tibbet” series of old-fashioned mysteries. During WWII Moyes joined the Royal Air Force and became a radar operator and flight officer. Subsequently, she worked as assistant to actor and director Peter Ustinov, with whom she collaborated on a film script. She also spent some years as assistant editor for British Vogue. A cat lover, Moyes wrote two books about cats.

A bit of a delicious throwback, in many sense of the word. For starters, we have a weekend house party, that hallmark of Golden Age crime-fiction, and apparently still going strong in 1970, when this book was first published. The party is in honor of a certain Lady Balaclava, herself something of a hallmark of the Golden Age, and still, yes, going strong. Well, at least until midway through the festivities, when she keels over, having apparently been poisoned. The most obvious suspects are her Ladyship's daughters and their (suspiciously foreign) husbands: Leave it to Henry Tibbet to head off to the Continent, there to check on the daughters' alibis and, once again, establish his bona fides as Scotland Yard's most peripatetic detective.

Rich, aristocratic, and at the heart of swinging London, "Pudge" Coombe-Peters has everything except a decent nickname. And in fact, he has two special attributes: He owns the narration – the drawling, deliciously snobbish, all-but-impossibly irritating narration – of Falling Star, and he has a chum named Henry Tibbett, who comes in just awfully handy when people start dying on the set of the film that Pudge is producing. Tibbett is especially welcome because, by the second death, it's clear that we're not dealing merely with murder but with Impossible Crime, the kind of fiendishly clever puzzle that is killingly hard to write and even more difficult to solve. The twisty plot and gorgeously retro setting on their own would make for a splendid read, but adding Pudge to the mix puts it over the top.