Free Night Mares in the Hamptons by Celia Jerome Page A

left my bags and bottles near the bike rack and tucked the dog under my T-shirt. So what if I looked pregnant with a six-pound Pomeranian?
    Mrs. Terwilliger reached down behind her desk when I opened the door. Uh-oh.
    Instead of pulling out a pistol, she handed me a stack of books. You never knew what Mrs. Terwilliger was going to give you, but you could be sure it was something you ought to read.
    The Horse Whisperer I was expecting. But three Louis L’Amour westerns?
    â€œThese are cowboy books, Mrs. T. I don’t usually—”
    â€œYou do now.”
    â€œBut the horses aren’t like the Old West mustangs. Or cow ponies.”
    â€œRead them. And remember, the cowboy always rides off into the sunset.”
    â€œYes, Mrs. T. Thank you.”
    Then she handed me another book, Women Who Like Too Many Men Too Much . I’d never heard of it. I looked down at the lump of Little Red. “I’m not . . .”
    â€œFor your cousin,” Mrs. Terwilliger said with a curl in her lip. “If she remembers how to read.”
    â€œI’ll tell her.”
    â€œThis one is for Dr. Lassiter when you see him.”
    â€œI’m not going to—”
    She reached back under the desk. I took the book, a pamphlet really, from the Royce Institute Press. Transuniversal Metaphysics and the Human Mind. An easy read, for sure. Before she could find more books for me to carry, I gave her a poster to hang, and to think about.
    She looked at the colt’s picture, then at me. “I’ll read National Velvet tonight. Aloud. That should encourage him. In fact, I already put Secretariat’s biography on various readers’ lists.”
    â€œThank you, ma’am.”
    â€œAnd the dog needs more air than that.” She handed me a cloth book bag with the library logo on it.
    â€œHe doesn’t like—”
    â€œFor the books, Willow. For the books.”
    â€œYes, ma’am, thank you. I’ll bring it back as soon as I can.” And I’d put it in the book drop instead of coming inside the library. We left in a hurry, sweating, but alive.

CHAPTER 9

    I MET SUSAN OUTSIDE THE POLICE STATION. She showed me the box full of laminated posters but decided to wait outside while I spoke to the chief. I didn’t believe her when she said she wanted to sit in the sun. She’d always hated her freckles. What I believed was she wanted to check out the young cop walking a German shepherd that was wearing an orange vest with K9 on it. The officer was short and almost skinny, with a real honker of a nose, but he was Susan’s type: male and breathing.
    Red and I went in and found Uncle Henry at his desk in his shirtsleeves unwrapping a bologna and mustard sandwich. Red wagged his tail. Uncle Henry offered us a piece. I refused; Red whined.
    â€œI didn’t know you had a working dog here,” I said, putting Red down so I could show Uncle Henry the posters. “What does it do?”
    â€œThe dog? He’s our drug sniffer.”
    I looked out the window. Susan and the cop were sharing the bench. The dog was fast asleep on the grass at their feet. “The shepherd reminds me of one of my mother’s rescue dogs. Hers had a chewed ear too.”
    â€œYeah, she gave him to us. Want a soda? Root beer’s the only kind we’ve got left.”
    â€œNo, thanks.” I kept watching out the window, more to see how close Susan was sitting to the young cop than to see what the dog was doing. “I didn’t think Mom ever trained a dog to smell out drugs.”
    Uncle Henry took a bite of his sandwich and shrugged. “She didn’t. She didn’t teach Ranger to sniff out bombs or track felons either, but he does them, too.”
    â€œOne dog can do all that?”
    Uncle Henry shrugged again. “No, but Big Eddie can.” He jerked a thumb toward where I was staring and took a long drink from his soda can.
    I took a better look while the