Paw and Order by Spencer Quinn Read Free Book Online Page B

Lizette said.
    â€œI went to winter carnival once in Montreal, back in college.” Suzie said. “I loved it.”
    â€œWhere did you stay?”
    â€œA B-and-B,” Suzie said.
    â€œNext time try the Château Frontenac—old Montreal at its best.”
    â€œThanks,” Suzie said.
    One of those strange silences that seem to settle in from above now came over us. “So awful about—what was his name again?”
    â€œEben St. John.”
    â€œSo awful,” Lizette went on. She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, leaving a dark smear of garden soil. “If there’s anything I can do . . .”
    I stepped out of the flowerbed, careful not to damage hardly anything at all.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    â€œWill you just look at him?” Suzie said, her voice quiet.
    For as long as she liked! We were in Suzie’s room, just inside the door, watching Bernie sleep. He lay on his side, face toward us, eyes closed, eyelashes crusted over with a surprising amount of eye gunk. That was Bernie, of course, always doing things in a big way, just another reason for the success of the Little Detective Agency, except for the finances part, which may have come up already, but it comes up a lot in real life, too, if that makes any sense, so . . . so something or other. Meanwhile, Bernie’s breathing—he’s a wonderful breather, hard to explain how exactly—was slow and regular, mouth open just a bit, drool leaking from the downward corner. He looked great. Suzie went over to the bedside table, picked up Bernie’s phone, checked the screen, sighed.
    She put the phone down, but too close to the edge of the table and it fell to the floor, landing with a not loud but sort of hard clack-clack . Then came something very scary I’d seen once or twice and had hoped never to see again. Bernie went from being totally still to totally in motion, springing from the bed with a kind of—yes, growl—and grabbing Suzie by the wrist so fast I didn’t really know what had happened until it was over. Suzie cried out. Bernie’s eyes, which were all blurry, slowly cleared. He let go of Suzie’s wrist, sat down on the edge of the bed with a heavy thump.
    â€œOh, my God,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He hung his head. I hated seeing that.
    â€œWhat . . . what happened, Bernie?” Suzie said, rubbing her wrist. “Was it a bad dream?”
    â€œI don’t know.” Bernie took her wrist, gave it a kiss. I moved in a little closer. Don’t think for a moment that I had a problem with Bernie kissing Suzie’s wrist. It was just that . . . that . . .
    â€œI haven’t had an . . . episode in a long time,” Bernie was saying, “didn’t think I’d ever . . .”
    â€œEpisode?” Suzie said.
    Bernie shrugged his shoulders.
    â€œLike a flashback?” Suzie said.
    â€œI guess that’s what they call it.”
    â€œTo the war?”
    Bernie nodded. A long time ago, before we’d gotten together, Bernie’d been to the war and had some bad times. I knew from the wound on his leg, which I may have mentioned before. He limped a bit, but not often, only if we were working real steep country, or he’d had to run for a long time. And Bernie didn’t have to run much, running being my department, amigo. He brings other things to the table.
    â€œWant to talk about it?” Suzie said.
    Bernie shook his head. He rose, rubbed his face hard with both hands, and then . . . then gave himself a sort of shake. Not my type of shake that goes from nose to tail and back again—impossible what with Bernie having no tail—but a pretty good shake, and in fact a great one for a human. But that was Bernie.
    â€œYou’re all right?” Suzie said.
    â€œYeah.” And I could see it. Bernie was back to normal Bernie, just the