In all his years of sleuthing, snarky 1950’s detective Axel Hatchett has never faced a murder case like this: a bear trained to kill. Staying in a cozy mountain cabin, with a pair of modern-day mountain men, Hatchett finds himself hunted by not only this four-footed assassin, but by a two-legged one as well, whose bullet comes unnervingly close to killing Axe’s new wife. Now the P.I. is seeing red! Armed with an old-West revolver and his caustic wits, Hatchett is out to solve this grizzly crime, 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 Axel Hatchett Mystery series of humorous noir: Two-legged murderers are bad enough, but when they have four legs, I think a detective who gets hired to find them ought to charge more! It’d be a crime otherwise. I was newly married, I hadn’t worked for a spell, and I needed to pay my landlord. Fortunately, 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 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. I interviewed a gaggle of crusty eccentrics who hated the Hatfields - 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 cozy fire. Thanks, Axe. Our advice is to not feed the animals.