Scents and Sensibility Read Online Free PDF

forgot!—and found lots happening in the Parsonses’ front yard.
    For starters, we had some workers digging up the saguaro cactus, watched real closely by Special Investigator Newburg who was telling them to be careful and watch what they were doing and take it easy for chrissake. Then we had Bernie standing by the front door, watching her. And old Mr. Parsons in the open doorway, hunched over his walker. He didn’t appear to be watching anything, but he was the first one to see us.
    â€œThe happy wanderers return,” he said.
    Hey! Mr. Parsons nailed it. He turned out to be one smart old customer. Shooter went trotting over to Ellie, and I trotted over to Bernie. But what was this? She took a quick glance at Shooter, then looked away? And Bernie did the same thing to . . . to me? I did the first thing that came to mind, which was to grab him by the pant leg. Gently, of course. Bernie was no perp, although wasn’t there something a bit perpish about not making a fuss over the return of a happy wanderer? I tugged at his pant leg a bit, still gently, and he steadied himself easily by getting a quick grip on the front step. Then I felt his other hand giving me a quick scratch between the ears, as only Bernie can do.
    â€œYou’re incorrigible,” he said.
    Which had to be something good. I lay down at his feet.
    â€œAnd it’s going to take hours to get all those thorns out of you.”
    Life was perfect, or even better. As for Shooter, he was sitting over by Ellie and kind of whimpering. She wasn’t giving him the time of day—it was maybe afternoon, in my estimation, but no guarantees—and was in fact looking at Bernie. “See that look, Chet?” he said in a low voice. “It means I caved.”
    What was this? Caves were in the picture? We hadn’t done any cave exploration in some time and now didn’t seem right, but here’s something about me: I can make just about any time seem right!
    â€œEasy, Chet. What’s with you today?”
    Nothing. Nothing at all. I sat, calm, silent, but at the same time totally in charge of everything that was happening on the Parsonses’ front lawn. It’s always fun to watch humans at work. They tend to snap at each other at times, and flash dirty looks. Dirty looks: a fascinating subject, but not now. In short, after some snapping—mostly from Ellie at the workers—and some dirty looks—mostly from them back to her when she wasn’t watching—the saguaro got moved to a flatbed truck and driven away. After that, Ellie scooped up Shooter and carried him to the pickup. He gave her face a lick on the way over—almost always the right approach in this sort of situation, but she said, “That crap won’t work on me.” Then she plopped him down on the shotgun seat—leaving the window cracked open, but not as much as before—and came over to us.
    â€œAny word on your ‘anonymous’ benefactor having a permit?” she said to Mr. Parsons.
    â€œNo ma’am.”
    â€œWe have other ways of IDing the thief,” Ellie said, “but if you gave up the name, it would make all the difference in your personal case. Think about your answer.”
    Mr. Parsons stood straighter and for a moment let go of the walker. “I have nothing more to say.”
    â€œThen get ready to be cited for receiving stolen property.” Ellie headed for the pickup. “Among other charges,” she called over her shoulder.
    Bernie walked after her. I went with him, of course, hardly seems necessary to mention. We caught up to her by the pickup. Bernie lowered his voice.
    â€œI hope that was an idle threat on your part.”
    Ellie’s eyes, blue, as I hope I’ve already pointed out, now seemed more like the color of ice cubes. “Hope away,” she said, not lowering her voice at all. Was that why Bernie lowered his even more?
    â€œI’m asking you