Free Chasing Can Be Murder by June Whyte

of dirt up my nose and deep inside my ears.
    “ Down , Lofty!” I told him, reaching around the tree-trunk neck to fasten a lead to his collar, all the time dodging that fat, slurping tongue.
    When all four paws were back on the ground, I patted the big head and led the dog over to the station wagon. “Okay, in you go. Your carriage awaits you, big boy,” I said, making with the cheery voice and encouraging hand gestures. “We can’t hang around at the airport all day. I have plans to spy on your new owner.”
    Not quite ready to exchange one set of transport for another, Lofty dragged me to a nearby bush. And then, with a look of sheer ecstasy plastered on his face, he proceeded to rain on each and every leaf until I started to worry about the bush’s welfare.
    Bathroom duties attended to, the dog shook himself, scratched the dry airport dirt up over his back, then ambled toward to the car. One bound and he was inside examining his new mobile quarters. Evidently satisfied with the comfort of the thick blue mattress, he turned in three tight circles then settled down, his dinosaur head resting on powerful paws. I could see two large soft brown eyes watching me as I slid in behind the wheel.
    After half an hour’s driving through bumper-to-bumper traffic on the inner-city roads, it was a relief to hit the quieter Port Wakefield Road. Here, I could cruise at 80ks/hr, relax and attempt to calm my chaotic thoughts.
    Since waking beside Matt’s lifeless body, my thoughts had been like a piece of knitting caught on a barbed wire fence, knotted, snarled and so out of whack with reality that it would take a miracle to untangle them. My preferred miracle would be the killer slipping on his wet bathroom floor and breaking his neck. Of course the alternative solution wasn’t quite so straightforward. It involved me as an amateur sleuth, tracking down and pursuing clues until I discovered the killer’s identity.
    As I drove past Globe Raceway , I slowed down. This was South Australia’s new multimillion dollar multifunction complex where both the greyhound and harness racing codes shared state-of-the-art facilities. In fact, Globe Raceway was the best thing to happen to greyhound and harness racing in our state since the introduction of TAB and Sky Channel.
    From the roadway, I could see several harness horses jogging around a sandy outside training track while greyhounds, attached to their handlers by long leads, swum in a large circular pool nearby.
    Once past, I forced my mind back to the present problem.
    “Thing is…I’m in a bit of a sticky situation here,” I told my silent travelling companion. “A friend of mine got himself killed last night and because he happened to be in my bed at the time—the authorities are inferring I might have had something to do with it.”
    Lofty gave a snort and I heard him shifting his bulk into a more comfortable position on the mattress behind me.
    “You’re right. Ridiculous idea. So it’s my job to find out who did murder Matt.”
    Ice settled in my chest, as once again, I visualized myself asleep beside Matt. How close had I come to waking with a rough hand against my mouth and the pointy end of a knife slipping quietly and fatally into one of my main organs? Thank God the dogs woke me. And what if I’d come back into the room sooner and interrupted the killer in mid-kill?
    Don’t go there!
    I inhaled deeply, held for ten and let all the nasty toxic thoughts filter out as I slowly exhaled. Feeling decidedly calmer, I continued to fill Lofty in on the story so far.
    Further along Port Wakefield Road, a service station, advertising gas, hot food-to-go and ATM facilities came into view. I drove straight past. Three gaslights shone under the dash, my stomach wielded an out-of-order sign and my shaky bank balance couldn’t take any spur of the moment withdrawals.
    “So, Lofty,” I said to my new best friend, “you can see why it’s imperative I track down the real