Tumbling Blocks Read Online Free PDF Page A

afraid he’d be lonely.”
    I watched in dismay as he started unloading enough dog paraphernalia to open his own pet store. “Hud, how much have you spent on this dog?”
    His face colored slightly as he put a green and white L.L.Bean bag full of plush toys in the back of my truck. The bag was personalized with Boo’s name and a picture of a corgi. “I know it seems a bit much, but this little guy’s been a godsend to Maisie . . . and I admit, to me and Laurie too. After what happened to Maisie, we needed something to take our minds off the trauma.” He lifted a dark green dog crate into my truck bed. “We’re going to counseling, and the child psychologist said she thought the puppy was a good idea, gave us all something in common to think about, concentrate on. Something that was positive and life affirming.”
    I ran my finger up the white stripe on Boo’s nose. His eyes were covered with a furry black mask, and his two maple-brown eyebrows twitched. “I understand. I was told by the police psychologist at Gabe’s office that something like what we went through will possibly show itself in unpredictable emotional ways and that we should be aware of that. A kind of post-traumatic stress syndrome, he said.”
    “Are you okay?” he asked, his expression concerned.
    I nodded. “Gabe and I are doing all right. I have some trouble with insomnia, but . . .” I shrugged. “It’s livable. Gabe was a little down, but his mother coming for Christmas seems to have cheered him up.”
    “And what’s this visit doing to you?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
    I shrugged again. “You know how it goes. It’s my mother-in-law. Gabe’s her only son and her first child. I’m not sure I’m exactly who she would have chosen for him.”
    “Her bad judgment then. Gabe’s a lucky man.”
    I laughed at his words. “Cut the bull pucky. I’ve already agreed to puppy sit your little sausage dog. Tell Maisie that Boo is in good hands.”
    He lifted a twenty-pound bag of puppy food into the back of my truck.
    “Whoa,” I said. “Just how long did you say you were going to be gone?”
    He grinned and leaned against the side of my truck. “Two weeks, tops. I just didn’t want you to run out of food. I don’t want this to cost you a penny.” He pulled out his wallet.
    “Put that away, Clouseau.” I’d given him the nickname of the bumbling French detective because Hud was anything but bumbling when it came to his work. “We’re friends. I won’t accept money for doing this.”
    “What if he needs to go to the vet?” Hud asked.
    “Who’s his vet?”
    “Dr. Catalina Vieira.”
    “She’s Scout’s vet too. No problem. She’ll just bill you.”
    “Okay, great,” he said, putting his wallet away. He took a card from the inside of his jacket. “Here’s the numbers where we’ll be if you need to contact me. My cell phone’s on there too, but the ranch is pretty far out. I’m not sure how good the service is.”
    “If I need you, I’ll find you.” I took the card and smiled at him. “Don’t worry, Boo is in good hands.”
    “That I know for sure, ranch girl,” he said, reaching over to stroke Boo’s head.
    “Have a safe trip. Say hey to Laura Lee for me.”
    He slipped his Stetson back on his head. “I’ll do that. Merry Christmas, ranch girl. And I meant it, you know.”
    “Meant what?”
    “Gabe’s a lucky man.”
    “Merry Christmas, Clouseau.”
    As Boo and I watched his red truck leave the parking lot, the sound of his horn blaring “The Yellow Rose of Texas” echoing through the stand of eucalyptus trees, another car barreled past him into the parking lot. A black Mercedes-Benz without a speck of dirt on it. The Wicked Witch of the West music reverberated through my head for the second time in a week. The car stopped a few feet from me, and Constance Sinclair, the folk museum’s personal patroness of the arts, stepped out.
    “Boo, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” I