Free Hair of the Dog by Susan Slater Page A

waves.”
    â€œThat sounds so romantic.”
    â€œYeah, I guess.” Okay, he needed a little work in the romance department but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he lived to be a hundred, he wouldn’t be tripping the light fantastic on the deck of a cruise ship. Nope. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
    â€œLet’s go look at some houses.” Elaine pushed out of the booth and stood. The sideways glance made him think she’d read his mind.

Chapter Six
    Their townhouse looked pretty good. A trip to the World Market on International Speedway Boulevard for a few throw pillows and cloth napkins, a set of Mexican, hand-blown margarita glasses and pitcher, little hand-carved end tables from Africa, a framed seascape poster for the upstairs bath, and the place was becoming a home. Granted, some of these were things she’d have to donate to Joan’s garage when the time came to move, but in the meantime, they would enjoy them. She had dropped Dan off at the track and the day was hers to putter away. Well, do laundry, grocery shop, and give Sadie a nice long walk.
    One of the first things she intended to do was wash Sadie’s bed. There was every indication that it had never been washed. A little too much dog hair and doggy odor to be living with it in such a small space. And poor Fucher probably didn’t even notice.
    The bed’s flannel outer case had a zipper. She only hoped washing the casing would do the trick and that the stuffing wasn’t too “doggy.” She wasn’t sure what she’d do then, maybe buy some cheap towels and fill the bag. Getting Sadie to relinquish her favorite spot took some coaxing. And a hotdog. But finally Sadie was closed in the kitchen with her treat, and Elaine was sitting on the floor with the dog bed.
    The first thing she realized was that the flannel case was just a covering for a heavy canvas-like material that was really the bag itself. This was not a cheap bed. Elaine peeled off the first cover and set it aside. The canvas covering had a heavy-duty zipper that was rusted and probably reflected its age. Or was maybe just another victim of the salt air this close to the ocean. But there was no doubt that it needed a washing, too.
    The zipper took a little work and a trip to Joan’s garage to borrow some WD-40. Finally she’d inched the zipper back about a foot but needed more light to continue. Grabbing one end of the bed she jerked it upright and pulled it after her toward the nearest window. Turning back to sit down she sucked in her breath and dropped the bed. Trailing after her across the floor were several neatly bound stacks of twenties with more peeking out of the unzipped hole.
    â€œOh my God…” She’d found Fucher’s bank. And it made sense that he wouldn’t trust a real bank or maybe just didn’t know how to open an account. So, a dog bed worked just as well. Gave new meaning to keeping one’s savings under the mattress. But now what to do? Count it? It was beginning to bother her to even look at what promised to be quite a sum. It raised all kinds of questions—who should be notified? Was Fucher really responsible enough to make decisions? But maybe more importantly, could they, or even should they use it to make his bail?
    ***
    â€œTwo hundred and ninety thousand dollars.” The stacks of twenties covering the dining room table were impressive. Dan had counted it twice, yet it was still difficult to believe. In a dog bed and who knew how long it had been there. Amazing that it hadn’t been stolen but then who would look in a dog bed? Quite possibly Fucher had found one of the best kept secrets for safeguarding valuables at home. Made him think of a certain Barbasol can that had held a five-hundred-thousand-dollar necklace in Wagon Mound, New Mexico. People could be pretty inventive when it came to hiding valuables. But then so could thieves when it came to finding them.