Free Murder Came Second by Jessica Thomas

ring, and by then I’ve had time to imagine that everyone I care for is either dead, injured or in a Turkish prison.
    Tonight was no exception. It was ten to three, and when I finally got the phone to my ear, I couldn’t quite understand what the person on the other end of the line was saying.
    “Hello? What? Who’s this?”
    “Streak, darlin’, don’t be mean! It’s Bootsie! And I’m in town!”
    “I am not ‘Streak’ and I don’t know any Bootsie. You have the wrong number and probably the wrong town, and why the hell are you calling anybody at three in the morning to say you’re here? Good-bye.”
    Fargo picked that moment to jump onto the bed and land on my stomach. So I added a loud “Ooof!” to my farewells.
    “What did you say, honey-babe?”
    “I said oof. My dog just . . . Christ, why am I having this conversation?”
    I heard Cindy give a smothered giggle as Fargo snuggled cozily between us.
    “Streak, now be nice. I came just to see you, and this is the number you gave me, so it must be you!”
    “I am trying to be nice. My name is Mergatroyd Mountbatten. And I do not know, nor wish to know you. Streak’s number is 4879773. Good-bye.” I hung up.
    “Whose number was that?” Cindy asked.
    “Captain Anders’s private line.” Anders was outstanding proof that not even Ptown could have cops that were universally smart and dedicated. He was dumb and obnoxious. He had gotten the job through the political clout of a former chief. The clout was now long gone, but how did you get rid of Anders? He never did anything dishonest. He rarely did anything at all. Fortunately, retirement was only a few years away.
    “Hopefully,” I added, “Mrs. Anders will answer.”
    “You really are dangerous when somebody wakes you up.” Cindy laughed. “Go back to sleep, Streak, darlin’.”
    “Oh, God.”
    We all sort of settled down and were quiet. Fargo was the first to begin to snore lightly. A short time later, Cindy’s breathing became rhythmic and deep.
    And I began to think those calm and happy thoughts that come to us all in the middle hours of the night. What the hell was wrong with Cindy’s car? The mechanic had fixed it twice, but it still made that funny noise. The garage door opener moaned piteously with every use. I supposed I’d better get a new one before the damn thing stuck halfway. What had caused my back tooth to give a twang when the ice cream hit it earlier last night? God, I hated dentists! And mine had a billing system that made our defense budget look like Scrooge personified.
    Then Fargo began to whimper and twitch his legs in his sleep. Automatically, I reached out and stroked his head. “It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s all right. I won’t let it get you. Go back to sleep. You’re safe in bed.”
    Cindy heaved a disgruntled sigh. “Why do you always wake him up? My brother says when they whine and paddle their feet like that, they’re having a wonderful dream about chasing rabbits, or maybe squirrels or a cat.”
    “I have heard that,” I replied loftily, “But no dog has ever been able to reassure me that it doesn’t mean a five-hundred pound rabbit wasn’t chasing them. Therefore, I go to their rescue.”
    “Oh. How thoughtful.”
    They both went to sleep again. I lay staring at the window. When I realized I could see things outside, I gave up and got up. After dressing quietly, I made a pot of tea and thought about getting my camera and going out. But it wasn’t much fun alone. Before I could decide, two rather frazzled beauties joined me and all was normal.
    After tea for two and a biscuit for one, we went to the beach.

    As the dog ran ahead of us and we walked down to sea level, I was once again reminded of why I loved this place. A few miles offshore, a gray fog bank squatted on the horizon like a grumpy toad, and above it, cirrus clouds reflected the radiant orange-pink glow from a sun not quite risen above them. The ocean was almost calm, with no