Free Dead Soldiers by Bill Crider

rereading Ross Thomas’s Yellow Dog Contract .
    Burns sometimes felt guilty that he found reading and rereading mysteries much more relaxing than reading the kind of material he dealt with every day. But while Hemingway and Faulkner might have been the perfect comfort reading for some people, they just didn’t work for Burns.
    He put the book down about ten-thirty and got ready for bed. He was almost asleep when the telephone rang. He picked it up and said, “Hello.“
    “Burns!   Is that you, Burns?“
    “Yes, Mal. It’s me. Who were you expecting?   Jeff Kent?“
    “This is no time for jokes, Burns,“ Tomlin said. “You gotta get over to my house quick!   Some son-of-a-bitch just tried to kill me!“

Chapter Twelve
     
    B urns threw on some clothes and drove over to Tomlin’s place as quickly as he could. When he arrived, every light in the house was on. He checked for police cars, but he didn’t see any. He parked at the curb and got out.
    Going up the sidewalk to the front door, Burns looked around the neighborhood. Everything was quiet except for a couple of crickets cricketing off in the grass, and all the other houses were dark. It was just after eleven o’clock. People in Pecan City went to bed early.
    Burns rang the doorbell, and after a few seconds the door opened a crack. An eyeball looked out at him.
    “That you, Burns?“
    “It’s me, Mal. What’s going on?“
    “I told you what’s going on. Somebody tried to kill me.“   Tomlin opened the door. “Come on in, quick.“
    Burns stepped lively, and Tomlin shut the door behind him. Then he threw the deadbolt and put on the chain. He was wearing a pair of shorts and an HGC T-shirt, and his hair was sticking out as if he’d run his hands through it several times and hadn’t smoothed it back down.
    “Come on back to the kitchen,“ he said. “ Joynell put some coffee on.“
    Burns followed Tomlin to the back of the house. Joynell was sitting at the Formica-topped table drinking coffee from an insulated plastic cup.
    “Hi, Carl,“ she said.
    She had on a bulky yellow terry cloth robe that covered her ample body like a tent. Her usually stiffly-sprayed blonde hair was mashed flat on one side.
    “Would you like some coffee?“ she asked.
    The coffee smelled good, but Burns wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, so he declined. Tomlin poured a cup for himself and sat at the table opposite his wife.
    “Sit down, Burns,“ he said. “I want to hear what you think about this.“
    Burns sat at the table. “I think you should call the police.“
    “That’s what I told him,“ Joynell said. “But he never listens to me.“
    “He should,“ Burns said, thinking about his earlier conversation with Boss Napier. “If someone tries to kill you, you call the police. You don’t call an English teacher.“
    “I don’t like the police,“ Tomlin said. “That Boss Napier has it in for me. Every time someone gets killed around here, he arrests me.“
    “That’s not true,“ Burns said. “You’ve never even been a suspect.“   He thought it over and realized that he was wrong. “Well, hardly ever.“
    “Once is enough,“ Tomlin said. “Besides, it’s you who solves all the cops’ cases for them.“
    Oh, boy, Burns thought. Boss Napier would really like to hear that.
    “We can call the police in a minute, I suppose,“ he said. “Now, tell me what happened.“
    “I told him not to go outside,“ Joynell said. “But he wouldn’t listen.“
    Burns was beginning to see a pattern in her remarks, but he knew there was a good reason for it. Mal wasn’t the type to listen to anybody.
    “Here’s the deal,“ Mal said. “I went outside to take Melinda for a walk, and that’s when it happened.“
    Melinda was the Tomlins’s dog. She was one of the largest basset hounds that Burns had ever seen, and her favorite pastime was eating. When Tomlin and Joynell left the house they had to jam a chair under the handle of the refrigerator door to