Free Die Buying by Laura Disilverio

article went on, “that Gatchel was under investigation for improperly influencing council members in favor of Jackson Porter’s development projects. Insider reports on his finances indicate that during weeks when the Vernonville council voted on zoning or other measures related to Porter’s projects, large sums of money flowed into and out of an account that has been traced to Gatchel. When contacted by this reporter, Gatchel had no comment.”
    “What do you think?” I asked Joel, looking up from the screen to see him watching me.
    “Gatchel did it,” he said positively. “They had lunch, Porter said something to set him off—maybe he offered to cooperate with whoever was investigating Gatchel to save his own hide—and Gatchel offed him.”
    “I thought Finola was your front runner.”
    He squirmed a little under my teasing. “You were right—she’s too small.”
    “So why’d Gatchel pose Porter in Diamanté’s window?”
    “Who knows?” Joel shrugged, obviously not considering it important. “Maybe to warn off other people who might be in a position to testify against him.”
    “You make him sound like a mob boss, instead of a penny-ante local politician with a flair for bribery,” I said.
    “Even penny-ante local politicians want to protect their asses,” he said.
    “Good point,” I said, and he blushed.
    Tracy Jensen and Harold Wasserman came in just then, and we exchanged greetings and speculation about the murder. After ten minutes, I left to begin my rounds; it was close on nine o’clock and merchants were beginning to filter in. My first stop on the Segway was the Herpetology Hut; I wanted to check in with Kiefer and see how many critters he’d recovered. Kiefer wasn’t there, but a girl who could have been his sister, his girlfriend, or a new employee was chopping lettuce and carrots on a cutting block beside the cash register. She told me he was in the food court. A glance in Agatha’s enclosure told me the python was still missing.
    I waved to Fernando as I entered the food court and looked around for Kiefer. Weak sunlight poured through the glass panes in the ceiling, and the scents of coffee, tomato sauce, and stale grease permeated the air. White-topped tables with chrome legs awaited the customers who would trickle in around midmorning. I liked their clean shine at this time of day, before they got spattered with ketchup, streaked with hamburger grease, and dotted with crumbs. I spotted Kiefer, dreads draped over his shoulders, talking to a man I didn’t know at the Legendary Lola Cookies stand. He held a large cookie. As I motored closer, Kiefer saw me and beckoned me over. He wore the same flannel shirt as yesterday, over a purple tee shirt that read, “My python is smarter than your fifth-grader.” He smiled.
    “Hey, EJ,” he said, “we rounded up thirty-three animals yesterday. One old dude found fifteen of them all by himself. He had some sort of motion detector gadget—it was bitchin’.”
    Let’s hear it for Grandpa Atherton.
    “We’re only missing four now. Two lizards, one snake, one tortoise, and Agatha. I guess that’s five.”
    “That’s what I came over to find out,” I said, dismounting. “Are they okay?”
    “One skink lost a tail, but other than that they’re cool. I wish I could get my hands on those dumbass LOAFers who turned them loose. Don’t they know reptiles need controlled temperatures and a special diet? They’re not rodents: they can’t make it on garbage and cookie crumbs. No offense, Jay.”
    The man behind the counter smiled. “None taken.”
    My first thought was that he didn’t eat much of his product. He was average height, about five feet ten, and lean in an athletic way, with strong biceps showing beneath the short sleeves of his orange “Legendary Lola Cookies” tee shirt. Wavy, dark red hair grazed his collar, and hazel eyes showed a gleam of humor. I could see why Kyra thought he was hot even though he was shorter than