The Cane Mutiny Read Online Free PDF Page A

is missing from her jawbones.”
    â€œThat’s nice, but you mean imprisoned in a zoo, don’t you?”
    â€œOh no, Abby. Zoos aren’t as awful as most people think. Animals don’t wake up each morning thinking, ‘Oh goody, I get to walk twenty miles today through beautiful scenery while searching constantly for things to eat, and at the same time keeping a watchful eye out for predators, but being free in this beautiful place is worth it, so I don’t mind.’”
    â€œBless your heart, C.J., was that run-on sentence sarcasm?”
    The big gal has no guile. “No, Abby. What a lot of people don’t realize is that most animals just want to eat, be safe, and reproduce. The only reason they roam so far in the wild is to find food, not because they want to sightsee. In zoos their basic needs are met, and these days most zoos are making a huge effort to duplicate an animal’s natural surroundings, but without the predators, forest fires, and floods that would kill them in the wild. You really should read The Life of Pi. ”
    â€œCan we agree to disagree?”
    Her response was drowned out by the pounding on the back door to the storeroom.

4
    T weedledee recoiled when she saw me. “It’s you,” she said.
    â€œHalf the size of life, and twice as beautiful.” “What?”
    Tweedledum edged his partner aside. “There’s been a report of a possible homicide.”
    â€œActually, that’s not what I said to the dispatcher—oh, what the heck. Come in. But brush the Krispy Kreme crumbs off first.”
    To their credit, they did what they were told. Tweedledee, who has a shelflike bosom, took longer.
    â€œNow, where’s the body?” she demanded.
    â€œIt’s a skull, not an entire body. And there’s really no need for y’all to get involved, because it’s only a gorilla skull. And an antique gorilla skull at that. So you see, it’s not a police matter. Calling you was my mistake.”
    Tweedledum had his own shelf, a mite lower down, and he unabashedly brushed it clear as well. “Ma’am, that’s for us to decide, not you.”
    C.J., she-who-cannot-tell-a-lie, had been standing in the background. Now she insinuated her broad shoulders and planet-size head into the picture.
    â€œTechnically, Abby, it’s not an antique unless it’s a hundred years old, or older, and this one isn’t.”
    I shook my head. “Et tu, Brute?”
    â€œNo foreign languages,” Tweedledee barked. “This is my crime scene, and we’re going to speak only English.”
    I nodded. “Forsooth.”
    The busty sergeant scowled. “Is that foreign?”
    â€œUnequivocally not.”
    Tweedledee was linguistically challenged. “Is it, or isn’t it? That’s not rocket science, ya know. Either something is English or it’s not.”
    â€œMe he,” C.J. said. “That’s both foreign and not.”
    Sergeant Tweedledee pivoted. “What did you say?”
    The big galoot didn’t even flinch. “I said ‘Who is she.’ That’s Hebrew.”
    â€œShe speaks seventeen languages,” I said proudly.
    â€œMe who,” C.J. said. “That means ‘Who is he.’You see, me is who, and who is he, and he is she, except they’re not really, because they’re not spelled like that—”
    Tweedledee snapped her fingers, but they were both sweaty and stubby, and the gesture made no sound. “The body. Show me the body.”
    One of the blessings—it’s also a curse—of being so small and perky is folks expect me to act perky no matter what. As a result, I can get away with glowering, and no one’s the wiser.
    â€œThe skull is this way,” I growled.
    It’s been my observation over the years that most folks cannot resist touching beautiful things. Dee and Dum were no exception. As we threaded our way