Santa 365 (5 page)
Authors: Spencer Quinn
“What did you do to Roland?” Beck said.
“Not a thing,” Bernie said. “Other than help out with his search. Chet here's probably the best searcher in the Valley.”
The women looked my way. They nodded, like what Bernie had just said made sense. There was none of that alarm you sometimes get when people lay eyes on me for the first time. Beck and Shirl liked me and my kind.
“Elrood's in perfect health,” Bernie was saying, “and you'll have him back as soon as we're done here.”
“Don't call him that,” said Shirl.
“And we don't want him,” said Beck.
We went inside, and up some stairs to a closed door. Shirl took a key from her pocket, unlocked the door and pushed it open.
And there was Plumpy! He lay on a nice little bed in a nice little room with wood-paneled walls: old wood with knotholes, very homey. Plumpy wore red Santa pants and a red Santa shirt. He was leafing through a magazine, but he sat up as we came in.
“Hi, Bernie.” His gaze went to the garbage bag right away.
Meanwhile, Bernie had moved to the open window, was looking out. “Why the hell didn't you just jump out, Plumpy? It's maybe ten feet, and way less than that if you hung from the sill.”
“Do I look like an acrobat, Bernie? What's in the bag?”
“You know,” said Bernie.
Plumpy looked sad. I walked over and pressed against his leg, just being friendly. He gave me a pat.
“Don't suppose I'm in for a cut,” he said.
“Can do,” Bernie said.
“What the hell?” said Beck.
“No way,” said Shirl.
Bernie turned to them. “There's damage at his place, thanks
to Elrood.”
“Don't call him that,” Shirl said.
“And isn't it a rental?” said Beck. “You think a scumbag like him”âshe jerked her thumb at Plumpyâ“is gonna pay for repairs in a rental?”
“Are you, Plumpy?”
“Probably not,” said Plumpy.
Bernie reached into the bag, counted out some money, handed it to Plumpy. “Ten grand, in case you change your mind.”
“Much obliged,” Plumpy said. He rose, stuffed the money in his Santa pants, and headed for the door. Beck and Shirl parted to let him pass, parted real slow.
“Got any plans?” Bernie said as he went out.
I heard Plumpy clomping down the stairs. “You know my plans,” he called back to us. “Santa 365.”
Bernie dumped all the money on the bed, studied Suzie's printout. “According to this, you two are owed four hundred thirteen thousand seven hundred one dollars.”
“Less ten grand for the putter,” Beck said.
“As for the putterâ”
“You think it should be more?” said Shirl.
“More?”
“We love the putter,” Beck said.
“Love anything connected to Jayne Mansfield,” said Shirl.
“Yeah?” said Bernie.
“We looked a lot like her, back in the day,” Beck said.
“People always said,” said Shirl.
“Minus that rack,” Beck said.
“And not even so minus,” said Shirl.
“Um,” Bernie said.
In the end, they agreed on some number, all very complicated what with the amount in the bag not quite adding up to the amount that was missing. And did I hear right? We were taking a ten-percent finder's fee? Ten had to be a lot more than two, as far as I go when it comes to numbers. And who was the finder? Chet the Jet! Were we still rich? I thought so.
We drove back through Ocotillo Springs, slowing down as we passed the Animal Rescue fundraiser. The woman we'd seen before was all alone, standing under the balloons. Members of the nation within lay in the shade, their tails still.
After that we drove around the Valley, handing out wads of cash to everyone on the list. We got hugged and patted and kissed, and I chowed down on snacks out the yingyang. And when it was all over, we still had our ten percent! Bernie counted up the money. “Over ninety grand here, big guy.” He separated it into two stacks, one big, one little. Then we drove back to Ocotillo Springs, went to the fundraiser and handed the woman the big stack. Were we still rich? I thought so.
Some time later, we realized we'd forgotten all about Elrood. We hurried back to Plumpy's wrecked crib, but found that Elrood was already gone. The duct tape was neatly in place, not torn or twisted, like it was still confining an invisible perp. You see everything in this business.
We used the little stack to throw another Christmas party. Would you believe it? This Christmas party was even better than the first one! We had live music, for one thing. Rick's uncle Hector came.
Uncle Hector was a handsome older dude with a string tie. He was great at a very strange sort of dance called the cha-cha. It turned out that the cha-cha was Bernie's mom's favorite dance. Cha-cha went on all night long. Were we still rich? I thought so.
SCENTS AND SENSIBILITY
“
We hopped in the Porsche, me in the shotgun seat, Bernie behind the wheel, always our arrangement, with the exception of one time I'd rather forget when we got it reversed. Usually I'm brilliant at forgetting, so why couldn't I forget that particular episode? Let's drop the whole subject. What to remember is that riding shotgun in the Porsche just happens to be my favorite thing in the whole world. Our ride's been a Porsche ever since the start of the Little Detective Agency, which had to be when I joined up, unless I was missing something.”
Loyal, brave, and fearless, Chet (the canine companion to private investigator Bernie Little) doesn't miss much, even if he can't always remember what it is that he knows. In the eighth book in this bestselling, beloved mystery series, Bernie and Chet return home from a long road trip to find themselves in an unusually prickly situation. First, Bernie's wall safeânormally hidden behind the waterfall picture in the officeâis gone, and with it Bernie's grandfather's watch, their most valuable possession. And next door, old Mr. Parsons is under investigation for being in possession of a saguaro cactus illegally transplanted from the desert. Bernie and Chet go deep into the wild to investigate. Is it possible that such a lovely old couple have a secret in their past?
Chet and Bernie discover bad things going on in the desert, far worse than cactus smuggling, and all connected to a strange but innocent-seeming desert music festival called Cactus Man. They unearth clues that take them back to a long-ago kidnapping where the ransom money disappeared even though the kidnappers were caught. Stirring up the past brings our detective duo to the attention of a ruthless and charismatic criminal with a cult following, a criminal who sees at once what Chet and Bernie mean to each other and knows how to exploit it.
Chet and Bernie are in top form as they face real danger in their own backyard, take on some seriously bad dudes in an unforgiving environment, and discover unexpected truths about their own natures.
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About the Author
Randi Baird
Spencer Quinn is the author of seven previous bestselling Chet and Bernie mystery novels. He lives on Cape Cod with his dogs, Audrey and Pearl. When not keeping them out of mischief, he is hard at work on the next Chet and Bernie mystery. Keep up with himâand with Chet and Bernieâby visiting ChetTheDog.com.
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Also by Spencer Quinn
Dog on It
Thereby Hangs a Tail
To Fetch a Thief
The Dog Who Knew Too Much
A Fistful of Collars
The Sound and the Furry
Paw and Order
Scents and Sensibility
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