The Koala of Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

fantasized about me as he took his morning shower, he purred, and could hardly wait until our dinner date that night and the follow-up next Monday, the only full day off we shared.
    “Me, too,” I purred back. “I’ll chill some Reisling. But it would be nice if we could see each other more than twice a week, especially now that you don’t have any more big cases.” Joe himself had recently suggested an increase in face time, although the prospect had its difficulties. As sheriff of San Sebastian County, he was always on call, and as a widower with two young children, he spent most of his free hours entertaining them, not his girlfriend.
    The purring ceased. “Big cases?”
    “Like those murders a few months ago.”
    “Hmm.”
    “Just highway accidents, which are sad enough.”
    “Hmm.”
    I would have been more alert to his change in tone if it hadn’t been for Bonz’s loud bark. Coming through the fading mist toward us was Hans, Linda Cushing’s aging German shepherd. He had slipped his leash again. Infuriated at this intrusion onto what Bonz saw as his own turf, my dog lunged toward Hans as best as he could, given that he only had three legs. Ordinarily, the terrier-sized Bonz is timid, but he knew from previous encounters that Hans, despite his imposing bulk, was an even bigger chicken. As Bonze snarled on, the shepherd shrank back against a rusty Volkswagen parked near the harbor gate, and vented a pathetic howl.
    “What’s going on?” Joe yelled through the phone. “Need me to send over a squad car?”
    Through the din, I yelled back, “Just Bonz threatening Hans again. Talk to you later.” I rang off, then leaned down and closed my hand gently around Bonz’s muzzle. “No, dog. Hans is a friend. Friend .”
    Bonz gave me a defiant look, but before he could bark again, I heard Linda’s voice. “Hans! Shut that racket up!”
    “We’re over here by the gate. Bonz has him cornered.”
    “Can’t keep a leash on the damned dog these days,” she muttered, coming toward us, leash and collar dangling in her hands.
    “Either he needs a smaller collar or you need to fatten him up.”
    She humphed. “Vet’s got him on a diet.”
    Remembering her financial problems—these days nearly everyone in the harbor is broke—I said, “I’ve got a spare that’ll fit him. Want it?”
    “If you don’t need it.”
    Sensing rescue at hand, Hans stopped his howling and waved his tail. She bent down and kissed him on the nose. Bonz growled.
    “You shut up too, Bonz,” Linda said, but with a dog-loving smile, “or your mama will chop you up for otter food.”
    My aborted conversation with Joe forgotten, I opened the harbor gate with my key card and we walked our dogs along the dock. When we stopped in front of the Merilee , she recounted what little information she’d been able to give Joe about the Grimaldis’ party. “Kate seemed sober enough to me, but maybe she started knocking them back after I left.”
    “What time did you leave?” I asked.
    “Around midnight.”
    “Kate was still there?”
    She nodded. “Yeah, but trust me, that girl was sober.”
    “Did you tell Joe?”
    “Of course. I also gave him that full guest list I promised. Maybe the Grimaldis know how much she drank after I left. After all, they were the ones supplying the beer. There was one bottle of Cutty Sark on hand, but it disappeared early,” she cackled. “I helped with that, although to be honest, Doris was the one who was really knocking it back.”
    “That’s odd. I’ve never seen her drink much, either.” Doris Grimaldi, along with her husband Sam, owned Lucky Lanes, where the zoo was holding its Bowling for Rhinos fundraiser. Sam, the younger and better-looking of the two, provided Lucky Lanes’ bonhomie, leaving Doris to handle the business side of things. Like many successful people, she was more bookkeeper than partier.
    Linda snorted. “If you’d stayed longer, you’d have seen what I mean. By the time I