The Hound of the Sanibel Sunset Detective by Ron Base Read Free Book Online

“I don’t like dogs. I have real issues with dogs.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that,” Tree said.
    She leaned forward speaking in a low voice so that the nearby diners couldn’t overhear. “Mr. Callister, the Force is aware that you met with Victor Trinchera shortly before his death.”
    “What force?” Tree said.
    “That’s what the Mounted Police call themselves. The Force.”
    “Okay. How do you know I met with anyone?”
    “We have information to that effect,” she said in her police-officer-giving-testimony voice. “So what about it, Mr. Callister? What were you doing with Vic Trinchera the morning he died?”
    Tree said, “My lawyer sent me to see him.”
    “Why would your lawyer do that?”
    “She said he needed to talk to a private detective.”
    “Are you a private detective?”
    “No, I’m not.”
    She looked flustered again, and spent more time clearing her throat. “Then I don’t understand. Why would your lawyer send you to him?”
    “She thought I was a private detective.”
    “But you are not.”
    “I’m retired.”
    Sergeant Spark paused before she said, “I see. But you went down there, anyway.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Did you know who Mr. Trinchera was?”
    “You mean did I know he was a gangster? I had no idea.”
    “He didn’t tell you when you got to his house?”
    “He didn’t tell me anything. He left shortly after I arrived.”
    “Yes. Okay. And what did you do?”
    “There was nothing else to do. I left.”
    “What about the dog?”
    “I thought you didn’t like dogs.”
    “I don’t like them, but Vic did.”
    “There was no dog.”
    “You should know, Mr. Callister, you should know that Victor Trinchera was one of the top Mafioso in Montreal. He ran the town while his boss, Johnny Bravo, was in prison. However, when Mr. Bravo was released last year, he naturally wished to resume his position as head of the family. Vic Trinchera appeared to go along with this, but in fact was working against Mr. Bravo behind the scenes, trying to bring him down.”
    “So then what was Vic doing in the Miami area?” Tree asked.
    “Supposedly, he was here to have open-heart surgery, but in fact it was something else entirely.”
    “Which was?”
    “In order to avoid going to jail for an art theft he committed as a young man, Vic Trinchera agreed to work with us as an informant. He came to Miami to make peace with Johnny Bravo and hopefully get himself reinstated in the family. That way he would be more valuable to us.”
    “That didn’t work out so well,” Tree said.
    “It is a big disappointment to me, and to the Force,” Melora said.
    “Well, I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do to help you,” Tree said. “I obviously wasn’t aware of any of this.”
    “And you have no idea why Mr. Trinchera would have need of a private detective—even a retired private detective?”
    “Not a clue,” Tree said.
    “What about your lawyer. What’s her name?”
    “Edith Goldman,” Tree said. Finally, a question he could answer truthfully.
    “Edith Goldman,” Melora repeated, as if to make a mental note of it. “And Ms. Goldman does not know why Mr. Trinchera wanted to see you?”
    “If she does, she didn’t tell me, and since the murder of Mr. Trinchera, I’ve only spoken briefly to her.”
    “She didn’t happen to say anything about a dog, did she?”
    “I can only repeat what I’ve already told you. I don’t know anything about a dog.”
    “You’re sure. This is Vic Trinchera’s dog.” Melora’s blue eyes focused on him, unblinking.
    “A dog you don’t like.”
    “That’s beside the point.”
    “I didn’t know he was a gangster, and I didn’t know he had a dog.” Tree thought the words came out of his mouth smoothly enough. During his time as a private detective, he had become quite a proficient liar, a dubious accomplishment, to say the least.
    “Yes, he did. Have a dog, I mean. Now the dog is missing.”
    “How do you know