Free Death of a Six-Foot Teddy Bear by Sharon Dunn Page A

“Yes … that could be it.”
“Thanks for all your information. We’ll be in the hotel awhile longer. It would be nice if we could find that ball Binky was rolling around in.”
They left just as Martha wrapped an arm around Mr. Simpson.
Mallory and Jacobson walked silently down the hallway and entered the elevator. Once the doors closed, Jacobson spoke. “There was more ice in the fridge, only it was red. No soft drinks.”
“Like made out of Kool-Aid or something?”
Jacobson nodded. “The guy seemed genuinely upset about the loss. I just noted that all that ice seemed like an irregularity.”
“Probably nothing,” said Mallory.
“Probably.” Jacobson touched her stomach. “I don’t know about you, but that $3.99 buffet looked pretty tempting.”
“Jacobson.” Mallory protested.
“I’m sure they have a side of beef for you.”

Cheryl the cleaning lady jingled the keys in her hand. “I’m only doing this because I’m a cat person.”
“Thank you.” Ginger struggled to get a deep breath. Time was of the essence. With Phoebe outside, she might never find her. Or worse, her cat would wander out into the street and be hit.
“Of course, those two-for-one coupons at the Steak House were a nice bonus.” Cheryl winked.
Never underestimate the power of a discount to open doors and dispel suspicion . “You’re so welcome.”
The cleaning lady sorted through her keys. “Hate to see anything bad happen to that squirrel either.” She pushed the door open. “There you go. I’ll be locking this behind you, so you won’t be able to come back in this way. These convention halls are supposed to be secure.”
Darkness and desert-night cold greeted Ginger. Water lapped against the shore. Anchored boats banged against one another. Her feet pounded along the boardwalk. She ran toward the backside of the Little Italy Hotel.
Light spilled from a downstairs room as did the aroma of Italian spices. The clinking of silverware and quiet chatter floated out from a covered terrace. Ginger exhaled. Up ahead on the boardwalk, Phoebe sat beneath a street lamp grooming herself.
“Phoebe.” She trotted across the wooden sidewalk. “Phoebe, come back here.”
Phoebe lifted her behind and swished her tail. Then she scampered into darkness out onto the pier. Gondola boats were tied and lined up along the dock in strings of three and four. The farther Ginger ran down the pier, the darker it got. Phoebe’s white paws showed up in the dim light. The cat was leaping from boat to boat.
“What I do for you.” Ginger kicked off her flip-flops and stepped into the first wobbling boat.
One gondola banged against another and she nearly sailed headfirst into the water. Her fingers got stuck between two boats rocking together, a Ginger sandwich. She pulled her fingers free and shook out the pain. Four boats away, Phoebe posed at the front edge of one of the boats, head tilted, tail tucked under.
“Here, kitty. Come to Mama.”
The cat didn’t so much as flinch.
“Tell me you haven’t killed that squirrel. Any squirrel but that one.
Ginger crawled into Phoebe’s craft. The cat leaped to the bottom of the boat. Ginger gathered Phoebe into her arms. Phoebe purred against her chest. “I thought I was going to lose you.”
Across the water several boats away, she saw a circle of light. Somebody was in one of the boats. Holding Phoebe, Ginger scrambled back onto the dock and ran until she was parallel to the string of boats. In a gondola, the farthest vessel from shore, a man bent over as if staring at something.
“Yo, who’s out there? What are you doing?” Yo? Where did that come from? She sounded like a sailor or one of those hip-hop fellas.
A familiar voice floated across the water. “Is that you?”
“Earl, Earl, I am so glad I found you. I have been looking for you all night.” Ginger walked to the edge of the dock and leaned over to see better. Earl’s light bobbed up and down. “What are you doing out here?”
Water