New World Monkeys Read Online Free PDF

grain.
    “How’s the Kiss of Death campaign coming?”
    “Great. I’m frenching it into submission.”
    “Sorry, man. See you Monday.”
    Duncan walks away from the cultivated field, his pastoral fantasy suddenly bruised, unsteady. He had cast the three original Laundry Elves himself six years ago for his award-winning Tide Laundry Capsule launch. Dwarves as allegorical representations of the concentrated power of detergent capsules. He drew from the childhood fable of the shoemaker. From
Snap, Crackle
, and
Pop.
Laundry Elves became the tumbling, frolicking icons of laundry detergent in North American households. Duncan had handpicked the men from the Ukraine State Circus School and saved them from a life of post-communist oppression. It was true he’d been moved off the account—the junior team needed a shot at flexing their talent—but he still felt personally involved.
    Duncan moves back toward the rear of the house. The garden is a patch of pebbles and dust screened from the neighboring property on the east by a rotting hedge. What he’s looking for out here is a little orderly distraction. A gentleman’s garden he can plow and harrow. He stands with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, and surveys the garden. What’ll he need to round his weekends? A shovel or spade, some fifty feet of hose, abag of fertilizer. And something hardy to plant. Pumpkins and squash, masculine gourds, potatoes he can persuade from the ground. There’s got to be enough summer left for a tuberous root. It would be nice to move from denim to soil now and then. Yes, he thinks. It’s time to
make
something. He decides to buy a shovel.

CHAPTER 5
Of the Hand
    T he old library cats circle and pounce while Lily is in midflight through the lobby. “We caught you,” Ginger says, creeping around the side of the bulletin board. Though the old floorboards have yawned apart over the years like a wide-toothed comb, they are deceptively silent under the woman’s feet.
The better to startle you with
, Lily thinks.
    “I told you she hadn’t left.” Persian blows aggressively into a tissue and then wipes at her nostrils. “It’s only five now.”
    Lily backs up against the great corkboard. There’s a flutter of postings, the rattle of thumbtacks in a tin.
    “Will you come to the meeting tomorrow?” Ginger is breathless, shuffles a stack of paper from one arm to the other. “It’s more a gathering for Skinner, really. Cheer the old man up.”
    Lily presses her bike helmet to her chest. “Skinner?”
    “Truth is he brought it all on himself.” Persian’s voice is taut with recrimination. “You should have seen the way he spoiled that thing.”
    “He’s a bachelor. We all have to make allowances.” Ginger hands Lily a sheet of paper from her stack. “The Sovereign belongs to him.”
    In Lily’s hand is a flyer emblazoned with a photo of the same feral hog she and Duncan killed less than forty-eight hours ago. Accompanying it is a plea to local residents:
Help Us Find Our Sovereign of the Deep Wood.
“It’s been gone over a week now. Skinner found the latch snapped right off his fence.”
    Persian shakes her head. “I never agreed with feeding an animal off the kitchen table.”
    “He’s raised that thing since it was a piglet. Pets are like family.”
    Lily can hear the polite gap in their commentary as they turn to her for input. But she finds herself staggering and inarticulate under the weight of this information.
    “A wild boar?”
    “Wild?” Persian sneers. “Better looked after than most kids in the county.”
    Is the twitch in her cheek an illusory spasm? The wagging of her spotted conscience? Lily dumps the bike helmet over her head, attempts to disguise the bead-and-reel pattern of sweat collecting along her hairline.
    “You’ll come tomorrow at seven, then?” Ginger gets ready to press another leaflet on her. “We’ll have refreshments.”
    Lily can feel the first trickle of perspiration sliding down