Free The Case of the Fiddle Playing Fox by John R. Erickson Page A

stick-tailed friend who was off somewhere pointing tennis shoes.
    â€œBeulah, wait! What about us? I still have important things to tell you. Beulah!”
    She didn’t hear me. I turned my attention to the fox and began considering three or four ways of . . .
    â€œWell, you sure fixed me up, Foxie.”
    â€œSon, that is one fine lady.”
    â€œYes, I’m aware of that, and she’s much too fine a lady to be drooling over a common henhouse musician like you.”
    â€œShe may be the best-looking collie gal I ever laid eyes on. You’re a very, very lucky dog.”
    â€œI’m a lucky dog? She throws herself on you and your stupid fiddle, and then runs off to tell her bird dog boyfriend about it, and I’M a lucky dog ? You’ve just ruined my life, is how lucky I am.”
    He gave me a puzzled look. “Son, you told me to play my fiddle, and I played my fiddle. You told me to charm that gal, and I charmed that gal.”
    â€œYes, but I never told you to come out and take credit for it, just as though you’d actually done something. You idiot, she fell in love with your music, not me!”
    He looked at his fiddle and shrugged. “You know, Hank, this fiddle music is kinda hard to predict. Sometimes it falls on deaf ears and sometimes it don’t. A guy just has to try it out and see. If I was to try it again, I’d put a little less oomph on my bow.”
    â€œWell, you don’t need to worry about that. There won’t be another time. You’re fired, you’re through. You’ll never work for me again, I’ll see to that. Unless, of course, I want another broken heart, and in that case you’ll be the first one on my list.”
    â€œOh, uh shucks.”
    So, thanks a lot, Frankie. In less than 12 hours’ time, you’ve helped me lose my ranch, my job, my reputation, and now My One and Only True Love. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to drop dead. And with that, I’ll say good-bye. Forever.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œYes, and don’t try to talk me out of it.”
    â€œSon, I wouldn’t think of it.”
    â€œNo, of course not, because you’re such a selfish, heartless cad. You know very well that I have no place to go and that I’m a dog without a country, but do you care about that?”
    â€œWell now, of course I care about that.”
    â€œNo you don’t. You’re just saying that because you’re a sneaking, scheming untrustworthy fox who can’t be trusted. If you really cared, you’d . . . I don’t know what you’d do, but you’d do something. But of course you won’t because you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”
    Frankie sighed and turned a pair of lazy eyes in my direction. “Son, would it help your disposition at all if we went to the henhouse and got ourselves a nice big supper?”
    I began pacing, as I often do when difficult decisions are pressing down upon me. I noticed that my stomach was growling.
    â€œFrankie, we need to get one thing straight right here and now, and I mean bring it right out in the open.”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œI’m no pushover.”
    â€œNo, I figgered you weren’t.”
    â€œFor years they’ve tried to get me to sell out and compromise my principles, and every time the answer has been, ‘No dice.’”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œThere are some things a dog just can’t do without destroying his pride.”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œSo I’ll accept your offer, but I’m doing it as a personal favor to you.”
    â€œUh, thank you so much.”
    I dabbed at the moisture in the corners of my eyes. “Sometimes, Frankie, a guy just doesn’t know how he can stand to live another day.”
    He patted me on the shoulder. “I know, son, but they tell me that the best cure for a broken heart is a dozen busted