The Penguin Who Knew Too Much Read Online Free PDF Page A

proceeded with his pond construction.
    A hole that would look like a godsend to anyone who happened to have an unwanted dead body lying around in need of disposal. Or, for that matter, anyone who wanted to commit a homicide while such a convenient burying place was available.
    Chief Burke wouldn’t like it much, but I felt relieved to know that my family wouldn’t be the only suspects.
    “Don’t worry,” Randall said, patting me on the shoulder. “Everyone knows the Sprockets have always been pretty strange. It’ll probably turn out to be some craziness one of them got up to.”
    “Thanks,” I said. I decided not to tell them that the body was at least a year and a half too fresh to blame on the house's previous owners.
    “Where’d you get those things from, anyway?” Vern asked, pointing at the penguins.
    “You know Patrick Lanahan?”
    “The lunatic who runs the Caerphilly Zoo?” Randall said. I got the feeling he wasn’t all that keen on Lanahan.
    “Is he here?” Vern asked. “Because we really need to talk to him, too.”
    “Sorry,” I said. “If he was here, you’d be welcome to talk to him, as soon as I gave him a piece of my mind about dumping the penguins on Dad.”
    “The damned scoundrel,” Vern muttered. Apparently he took a dim view of Lanahan's foisting stray penguins off on innocent bystanders.
    “If he drops by to visit his penguins, could you give us a call?” Randall asked. “We need to speak to him about something. Been trying to track him down for over a week.”
    “Will do,” I said.
    “Meanwhile, those things aren’t going to be happy for long in that little pen,” Vern said, indicating the penguins.
    “Unfortunately, I think Chief Burke will put Dad's plans for a basement penguin habitat on hold,” I said.
    “Why not fence off part of your father's cow pond for them?” Randall asked. “Works for the ducks. And we could run down toFlugleman's for a couple rolls of chicken wire and some posts. Have it up in an hour or so.”
    I glanced over at the penguins. They were a little crowded in the duck pen. And the fishy odor of penguin poop was already starting to permeate the yard. The pond was out of sight, and even more important, downwind. Moving the penguins to the pond sounded like a great idea.
    Of course, the Shiffleys weren’t donating their services. And I suspected that a few rolls of chicken wire and some posts would cost far more than seemed reasonable—like everything else we’d bought for the house. Could our depleted bank balance cover the penguin fence?
    Then again, they weren’t our penguins.
    “Sounds like a great idea,” I said. “Dad will be happy to foot the bill—nothing's too good for his penguins, as I’m sure you’ve already noticed.”
    “What about your camels?” Vern asked.
    “Llamas,” I said.
    “Look like camels to me,” Randall said.
    I turned, intending to point out the key differences between a camel and a llama, and found that the Shiffleys were right. We had camels. Two of them, neatly tethered to the barn door. Through the hedge, I spotted a vehicle driving off at high speed—a pickup truck with a horse trailer hitched to the back. Evidently, Dad had also said “Just drop them off today with Meg” to whoever had fostered the zoo's camels.
    “We’ll be putting the camels in your uncle Fred's old pasture,” I said. “With the llamas.”
    “Probably a good thing to check first that there's no breaks in the fence,” Vern said.
    “Let's do that now, before we go to Flugleman's,” Randallsuggested. “That way, if we need any wire or posts for mending the pasture fence, we can pick them up at the same time.” “Good plan,” Vern said.
    They both nodded a casual good-bye and turned away. “I’ll let Dad know what we’ve worked out,” I called after them.
    Let him know and extract a blank check made out to the Shiffleys, in fact. The Shiffleys paid no attention to me as they strode off to the