Carl Hiaasen Read Online Free PDF Page A

said. “Did you see on the news about the wolves out West? They’re trying to take ’em off the endangered list so that we can wipe ’em out all over again. Does that make any sense?”
    Her son didn’t answer. Honey turned out the light.
    “Thanks,” Fry said.
    “I didn’t forget my medicine, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Which was true in a way—she’d thrown the pills in the trash weeks earlier. “Certain things still set me off, no matter what,” she said. “But I’m getting better, you’ve gotta admit.”
    “Yeah, you’re definitely gettin’ better.”
    “Fry?”
    “I’m serious,” he said.
    “Other things I just can’t let slide. You understand? Starting with matters of basic civility.” Honey closed her eyes and listened to her son’s breathing. Tomorrow she would go find another job, and then after she came home she’d get on the phone and track down Mr. Boyd Eisenhower.
    “He had such a nice voice, didn’t you think?”
    “Who?” Fry asked.
    “That man who tried to sell us a place on the Suwannee River,” Honey said. “I thought he had an exceptionally agreeable voice.”
    “I thought he sounded like a total dick.”
    “What are you saying, kiddo? That I’ve lost my marbles?”
    “No, Mom, I’m saying good night.”

    The private investigator’s name was Dealey, and his office was downtown near Sundance Square. Lily Shreave was fifteen minutes early, but Dealey’s assistant waved her in.
    Dealey, who was on the phone, signaled that he’d be finished in a minute. Pinned under his left elbow was a large brown envelope on which “Subject Shreave” had been printed with a black Sharpie.
    After the private investigator hung up, he asked Lily Shreave if she wanted coffee or a soda. She said, “No, I want to see the pictures.”
    “It’s not necessary, you know. Take my word, we got him cold.”
    “Is she in them?” Lily Shreave pointed at the envelope.
    “The pictures? Yes, ma’am.”
    “She pretty?”
    Dealey eased back in his chair.
    “You’re right, it shouldn’t matter,” Lily Shreave said. “What’s her name?”
    “The one she’s using now is Eugenie Fonda. She works at Relentless with your husband,” Dealey said, “and she has an interesting back-story. You remember the ‘Hurricane Homicide’ case a few years ago? The guy who whacked his wife and tried to make it look like she drowned in a storm?”
    “Down in Florida,” Lily Shreave said. “Sure, I remember.”
    “She was the husband’s girlfriend,” Dealey said, “the one who wrote that book.”
    “Really? I read the first chapter in
Cosmo.
” Lily Shreave was puzzled. The woman had made the tree cutter out to be a stallion in the bedroom. So why on earth would she want Boyd?
    “Let me see those pictures,” she said.
    Dealey shrugged and handed her the envelope. “It’s the typical routine. Drinks after work, then back to her place. Or sometimes a late lunch before they punch in. Did I mention she was single?”
    Lily Shreave held up the first photo. “Where was this one taken?” she asked.
    “At a T.G.I. Friday’s off the 820. He ordered ribs and she got a salad.”
    “And this one?”
    “The doorway of Miss Fonda’s apartment,” Dealey said.
    “She’s a real amazon, huh?”
    “Six feet even, according to her driver’s license.”
    “Age?”
    “Thirty-three.”
    “Same as me,” Lily Shreave remarked. “Weight?”
    “I don’t recall.”
    “Are those flowers in his hand?” Lily Shreave studied the grainy color print.
    “Yes, ma’am,” Dealey said. “Daisies and baby’s breath.”
    “God, he’s so lame.” Lily Shreave couldn’t remember the last time her husband had brought her a bouquet. They had been married five years and hadn’t slept together in five months.
    “This is the first time he’s cheated on me,” she volunteered.
    Dealey nodded. “You got your proof. My advice is take him to the cleaners.”
    Lily Shreave laughed caustically. “What