The Puffin of Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

fiancé shows you a good time, too.”
    ***
    There were no more fights at the Viking Tavern, but Bryndis wanted to get us to the stables in Vik first thing in the morning so we left at eleven. Given the time difference between Iceland and California, it was somewhere around three the previous afternoon there, the perfect time to call my fiancé. After clearing a space for my laptop on the minuscule desk in the living room, Bryndis toddled off to bed, and due to the miracles of modern electronics, my call went straight through to the San Sebastian County Sheriff’s Office.
    â€œHow cold is it?” Joe asked, as soon as he picked up.
    â€œIt’s August, even in Iceland, and it hit seventy today. Since I was wearing ski gear more appropriate for Switzerland in December, I almost had a heat stroke at the airport. But now that the sun’s down the temperature’s dropping, and it would sure be nice to have you here to cuddle with.” I made kissy-kissy noises.
    â€œSending you an imaginary cuddle.” He returned my kissy-kissy noises.
    This was one of the things I loved about Joe. To meet Joe Reyes, he looked like your basic rough, tough county sheriff, albeit handsomer than most, but when you got to know him you realized he was sloppily romantic. At least once a week he had delivered a single red rose to the Merilee . And then there were those biceps, that chest…
    â€œIs the bear as cute as you expected, or haven’t you met him yet?”
    I put away my X-rated fantasies and replied, “Met him already, and he’s even cuter. They’ve named him Magnus. How’re things on the criminal front in San Sebastian County?”
    â€œNo more bank robberies since you left or Circle K holdups, only a couple of domestic disturbances, none of them violent, and a few speeders. You know, the usual. Speaking of Switzerland, have you decided where you want to go on our honeymoon?”
    â€œHawaii. Rome. Paris. Mexico City. Whatever’s fine with you.”
    More kissy noises. “You’re so easy.”
    â€œThat’s what all my fiancés say.”
    Joe also had a good sense of humor, so he got a laugh out of that one. But then, with regret in his voice, he said, “Listen, it’s wonderful talking to you, and even though you’ve only been gone a couple of days, I already miss you like crazy. But I promised to drop by and see Rogers at the hospital. If I don’t get out of here now, I never will. The paperwork’s about to hit the fan on the First National.”
    Just before I’d left, Sam Rogers, the newest and youngest deputy on the San Sebastian force, had broken his pelvis when his squad car experienced a blowout and rolled during the high-speed chase of two Nevada men who hours earlier had robbed the San Sebastian First National Bank. Like most good sheriffs, Joe was supportive of his deputies, especially when they were injured on the job.
    â€œGo, go. Spread the solace and put off the red tape as long as possible.”
    Another laugh, another rash of phone kisses, and we hung up.
    Despite my daytime nap, I slept well that night, awakening only once when, during an X-rated dream of Joe, I opened my eyes and discovered that he’d morphed into Drunk Elvis.
    â€œAre we having fun yet?” he leered.

Chapter Three
    At four in the morning, a few minutes before Iceland’s summer sunrise, Bryndis and I left Reykjavik for Hótel Brattholt—Icelandic for “steep hill,” my fellow zookeeper informed me. Brattholt was a combined hotel and farm near Vik, a tiny seaside community southeast of Reykjavik where she and Ragnar boarded their horses. When not slapping Drunk Elvis around, Ragnar was the soul of generosity, and had graciously offered to lend me his gelding so that I could enjoy a day in the saddle.
    â€œPretty isn’t it?” Bryndis said, pulling her Volvo to the right to avoid hitting a sheep walking down the