Scents and Sensibility Read Online Free PDF Page B

to give him a break. I told you I’d help.”
    â€œUh-huh. I looked you up. You’re a private detective of mixed repute, although you seem to get results. But it’s all moot, because there’s no line item in the budget for private detectives.”
    â€œWe’ll work for nothing,” Bernie said.
    Ellie shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ll handle this myself. But—” She glanced over at Mr. Parsons. “But if you can get me the name within twenty-four hours, I’ll cut him a break.” She got in the pickup and drove off. Shooter looked my way as they turned the corner at the end of the block and let out a series of barks I didn’t appreciate. How come he got to ride in the shotgun seat? Which maybe didn’t make a lot of sense since I had no desire to be in that pickup at all. But what can you do?
    Bernie turned to Mr. Parsons. “Don’t know if you caught any of—”
    â€œI’m not saying anything and that’s that,” said Mr. Parsons.
    â€œUnderstood,” said Bernie. He gazed down at the hole in the ground where the saguaro had stood.
    â€œSuppose it’s too much to expect them to fill it in themselves,” Bernie said.
    â€œGovernment,” said Mr. Parsons.
    â€œGot a shovel?”
    â€œThat’s not necessary.”
    â€œBe my pleasure.”
    Bernie ended up filling in the hole. I did what I could to help, but undigging turns out to be different from digging in ways I have yet to master. When we were done, Bernie said to Mr. Parsons, “When was the last time you had a nice home-cooked meal?”
    Mr. Parsons shrugged.
    â€œSteak and eggs at our place,” Bernie said. “Fifteen minutes.”
    Fifteen minutes? Was that like now? I was already at our front door.

FOUR
----
    Y ou’re quite the chef, Bernie,” said Mr. Parsons, wiping his mouth on a napkin. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”
    We sat at our kitchen table, me actually under the table and closer to Mr. Parsons’s end, in case he turned out to be a messy eater. Which he did not. But you have to learn to deal with disappointment in this life, and I was just starting to wonder how that might be done, exactly, when all of a sudden, in a sneaky, quiet way, there was Mr. Parsons’s hand down under the table, holding a nice fatty glob of steak practically right in front of my mouth. I snatched it up, and pronto. So that was how you dealt with disappointment? I’d learned a valuable lesson.
    â€œMaybe you haven’t been eating enough, Daniel,” Bernie was saying.
    â€œThe thing is I enjoy sitting down to a meal with Edna. It’s not the same by yourself.”
    â€œThere’s Iggy.”
    â€œAnd I love him. But . . .”
    But? What was that but? I loved Iggy, too, but with no buts about it. I wriggled myself out from under the table, kind of wanting company.
    â€œHow about a beer?” Bernie said.
    Mr. Parsons checked his watch. “Isn’t it a little early?”
    â€œPlanning on operating heavy machinery this afternoon?”
    Missed that one, myself, but it made Mr. Parsons laugh. Bernie got two bottles from the fridge, snapped off the caps with the opener—loved that sound! Snap off more caps, Bernie, more, more, more—and gave one to Mr. Parsons.
    â€œCheers,” said Mr. Parsons.
    â€œCheers.”
    Mr. Parsons took a little sip. “Do you think she’s serious?” he said. “Special Investigator whatever her name was?”
    â€œNewburg, Ellie Newburg,” Bernie said. “And yes is the answer.”
    â€œNot that I blame her—can’t have people digging up saguaros out of the desert, willy-nilly.”
    â€œTrue,” Bernie said. “But you had nothing to do with it.”
    Mr. Parsons gazed at the beer in his hand, then drank again—this time not a sip, more like the rest of the bottle, tipping it up, his