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

this?”
    “When I went back to get the dog—I mean I hated the idea. I don’t even like to touch them. Hate the sound of their barking. Anyway, when I arrived at the house, the dog wasn’t there.”
    “He called you, didn’t he?” Tree said. “I was there when he made the call. He called the police officer he was working with when he thought his life might be in danger. You picked him up.”
    Melora didn’t say anything. But her head moved up and down ever so slightly.
    “When you drove off with Trinchera, where did you take him?”
    She hesitated as though deciding whether to answer him. “To a safe place,” she finally answered.
    “It couldn’t have been very safe,” Tree said.
    “Unfortunately, Mr. Trinchera didn’t do as he was told. He put himself needlessly in harm’s way.”
    “That’s not so good for you, then, is it Sergeant Spark?”
    Her mouth renewed its twisting, as though she had tasted something she didn’t like. “It is most important we find the dog, Mr. Callister. Anything you could do to help us in that regard would be most appreciated.”
    “What does the dog look like?”
    “The animal is a French hound.”
    “I’ve never heard of a French hound.”
    “Apparently, these hounds are the French equivalent of the English foxhound. They use them for hunting.”
    “Is that so?”
    “Clinton. That’s the name he answers to. Clinton.”
    “A French dog named Clinton?”
    “Named after the U.S. president, apparently.”
    “What’s so important about this dog?”
    She regarded him with narrowed eyes. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. But there is a substantial reward if he is found.”
    “What kind of substantial reward?”
    “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I will have to check with my superiors.”
    “So it might not be so substantial.”
    “As I say, I will check with my superiors.”
    She placed a business card on the table. It contained the logo of the RCMP. She produced a ballpoint pen and then wrote a number on the back of the card. “This is my local cellphone. If you have more information or if you find the dog, don’t hesitate to call me at any time.”
    She handed him her card and looked at him expectantly.
    Tree said, “Like I told you, I’m retired. And now my prospective client is dead. I don’t think I’m going to be much help to you.”
    For the first time since they met, Sergeant Melora Spark actually smiled. She had a very nice smile, Tree thought. With the smile on, she did not look so rigid and authoritarian.
    The smile was gone quickly as she rose to her feet. “Please call me when you find the dog,” she said.
    “I’m not looking for the dog,” Tree reminded her.
    “I will be in touch, Mr. Callister.” She collected her shoulder purse and left the restaurant.
    Kim the server returned with Tree’s grouper. Her smile was a bright hope for the future. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked.

8
    A mournful howl rose from inside the house on Andy Rosse Lane as Tree approached. Clinton, agitated, was alerting anyone looking for him as to his whereabouts.
    He waited just inside the door, full-throttle tail wagging, one of Tree’s sneakers clasped between his jaws—a gift for his new pal, the forgiveness for desertion. Tree took the sneaker and thanked him with a soothing hand. “However, you’re supposed to be quiet so people can’t find you,” he admonished. “You are not supposed to be announcing your presence to the entire island.”
    Clinton excitedly followed him into the kitchen. The dog had not touched his water or his food since Tree left. “What? You think I’m going to abandon you, is that it? So you’re saving your food, just in case. Is that what you’re doing?”
    Tree opened the refrigerator for a Diet Coke while Clinton went over and sniffed at his food. He then helped himself to a long drink. The tips of his ears dipped into the water bowl.
    “Here’s the thing, Clinton, you don’t have to worry,”