Crazy Like a Fox (Lil & Boris #3) (Lil & Boris Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF

buddies about as worthless as he is, mostly work nights as security guards to make their beer money.”
    “McElroy work security anywhere?” I wanted to know. I might have run across him that way. I didn’t recognize the truck by its description, so chances were I hadn’t given him a ticket.
    “Last I heard, he was pretending to work at the truck plaza on the interstate. His daddy died last year, that’s where he got the money for the truck.” Kurt’s face crumpled up in contempt. “Idiot didn’t save a damn dime of it. I checked with his boss, no word from him since he left work Saturday.”
    “Anyone else missing?”
    “Not that I’ve heard.” Kurt took out a little notepad and a pen. “Now what do you remember? Anything about them at all would likely be a help.”
    I almost laughed. I said the same thing quite often. “One was tall. By my standards,” I clarified. “I’d put him at six-two or six-three. Other guy was maybe an inch or two shorter than I am. Figure five-ten-ish. Hoods, masks, sunglasses.” I blinked at my own stupidity in not seeing it sooner. “They didn’t take them off, not even inside.”
    “You see their hands?”
    “Gloves,” I pointed out, “it’s winter. Boots, too, work boots. Older ones, not new. Jeans. They were both wearing coats in camo, but that doesn’t mean a thing around here.”
    Kurt and Tom and Punk and I all nodded grimly. One of every four guys around owned a coat with some kind of camo pattern on it. Tom had one, and so did Aunt Marge’s Roger. They weren’t exactly scarce.
    “What about the attack?” asked Kurt. “You put up a fight. There was stuff all over the house.”
    “Part of that was probably the cat,” I replied with a smile. “Boris has a temper. I remember breaking a bowl in the living room, and I remember being in the cellar doing yoga. There wasn’t even a knock at the door, but you know I never lock the damn thing in daylight.”
    Tom tsked. Punk just shook his head. Yeah, yeah, I know. But seriously‌—‌who’d think to lock a door in daylight in Crazy? Not many people bothered locking them at night. And I’m the sheriff, for crying out loud. I’m known to be armed. Well, most of the time I’m armed. With a Sig Sauer, no less. I keep my town-issued Smith & Wesson purely for backup. But during yoga, I go unarmed. Yoga with a gun is just creepy.
    “All right,” I said briskly, to get them focused on something besides my stupidity. “We have a lot of circumstances and nothing solid, then.”
    “There’s some to go on,” offered Tom hesitantly. “Kurt did say not many know about that cabin. How’d McElroy find it, then?”
    Kurt grimaced. “My grand-daddy ran shine with Old Man McElroy, that’d be this kid’s great-grandfather. Might be the story about the cabin runs in their family, too.”
    So we tentatively had a connection between a truck, a person, and a place. Nothing, in other words. I chewed on that for a few moments, while I tested my feet and hands. The pain was easing, but the pins and needles were just as bad as ever, and in its own way, that felt worse. My feet at least seemed to be recovering by the minute, though the right hand remained raw and flaming sore.
    I went to the heart of what bothered me most. “Any idea how they got me down?”
    All three men shuffled their feet and looked everywhere but at me. Good grief.
    “Tazer?” I suggested. “Mace? Hit to the head?”
    “We don’t know,” Tom blurted out in real misery. He’s a big guy, lots of old military muscle still under a sheath of civilian blubber, and when he looks upset, it’s like watching a teddy bear cry. You want to hug the stuffing out of him. “Don’t you know?”
    I didn’t. I frowned, concentrating hard. I was down in the cellar, doing yoga. Boris was dozing on the shelf above the washer and dryer meant to hold detergent but that was a de facto cat bed because a cat will always go for the warmest spot around, and I’d thrown