The Hound of the Sanibel Sunset Detective Read Online Free PDF

to stroke his stomach,” Tree said.
    “I am not stroking this dog’s stomach,” Freddie said.
    Clinton squirmed some more. Freddie sighed before reaching out a tentative hand and rubbing it along his belly. Clinton moved his head back so that his throat was exposed. He looked ecstatic.
    “We can’t do this,” Freddie said, continuing to pet him.
    “We can’t do what?”
    “We can’t allow ourselves to become attached to this dog.”
    “We’re not attached.”
    “Yes, we are, Tree, and he’s not our dog. You’re going to have to give him back.”
    “I know that,” Tree said.
    “I don’t think you do,” Freddie said.
    She stopped petting Clinton, and he rolled onto his side. She took another look at him, shook her head, and then got out of bed. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said.
    Tree got up and stretched. His sciatic nerve was throbbing, and he had trouble walking on his left foot thanks to what he had learned was plantar fasciitis caused by the wear and tear of morning beach runs on the ligament connecting the heel bone to his toes. He hobbled into the kitchen, Clinton following eagerly.
    Tree finished making the coffee as Freddie, right on cue, entered wearing a pale linen pantsuit. As he did each morning, Tree marveled at her exquisitely cut blond hair, the dazzling green of those eyes, the subtle, sensual elegance of a beauty age had failed so miserably to defeat. He wondered, as he wondered at some point every day, how he had ever been lucky enough to marry her—how she had been crazy enough to marry him.
    He handed her a coffee cup, accompanied by a kiss on the mouth. Clinton sniffed around the kitchen, reconfirming his new surroundings. Freddie watched him as she sipped her coffee. Tree noticed she could not help smiling.
    “See?” he said. “You like him. You can’t help but like him.”
    “Of course I like him,” Freddie said putting her coffee on the counter, half finished. “He’s a big, lovely, affectionate guy—somewhat like my husband. I just don’t want to like him too much.” She kissed Tree’s mouth. “The dog, I mean. Not the husband.”
    “I’m glad you clarified that for me,” Tree said.
    “I’ve got to get going. What are you up to today?”
    “I’m retired, remember? Maybe I’ll wander around and see if I can find a shuffleboard game somewhere.”
    Freddie rolled her eyes and gave him another kiss. “You are going to do something about the dog, aren’t you?”
    “I’ll get in touch with Edith and see if I can get to the bottom of what’s going on.”
    “Please don’t get yourself mixed up in anything you shouldn’t be mixed up in,” Freddie said.
    “I never do.”
    “Liar.” At least she said it affectionately, Tree thought.
    Didn’t she?
    ________
    Tree poured more kibble into a bowl and set it on the floor. This time Clinton didn’t bother with food inspection but dug right into it while Tree went into the bedroom and changed into a T-shirt and shorts. He waited until Clinton finished off the bowl and then put him on his leash and the two of them proceeded out onto Andy Rosse Lane and down to the beach at the end of the street.
    Tree thought about it, and then unhooked Clinton’s leash from the bright yellow collar he wore around his neck. “Okay, now I trust you not to run away,” he said to the dog. Clinton, busily sniffing the sand, did not appear to be listening.
    Tree broke into a run. Clinton, ears flapping, bounded along beside him.
    It was another one of those perfect sun-drenched mornings Tree had begun to take for granted, except today was even better, out here on the beach, his sciatic nerve calm, the pain momentarily gone from his foot tendons, splashing in the surf, with one’s beloved canine companion.
    Except Clinton wasn’t exactly his, as Freddie was quick to remind him. That caused Tree to slow his pace while Clinton raced on, those giant paws kicking up tufts of sand. Clinton was just a dog, after all. Tree would