Canine Christmas Read Free

front of the Christmas tree where the body had lain and told the assembled suspects, the Hastings included, what he intended to do. We had already had a preview of how he intended to do it. He had spent the morning striding around the Stone Inn as if he owned it, barking orders at the state troopers, emergency medical technicians, newspaper reporters (whose exit had been speedy), and employees and guests alike. As a result, the medical examiner had been summoned, the body had been inspected and removed, the crime scene had been processed and photographed, and the living room was once again open to the guests, just as it had been the day before, with the exception of the chalk outline on the floor.
    The policeman pointed to the outline and stated unnecessarily, “A man has been killed.” He paused, as if for dramatic effect, and went on, “The man is Vincent Lars of New York City. He was eighty-two years of age. He was retired, lived alone, was up here to the best I can determine to spend Christmas in front of a roaring fire.” He snuffled his nose, which crinkled his mustache. “That will not happen. It is up to me to determine why. We know how. He was struck from behind with a piece of pipe. The pipe was discovered next to the body and processed for fingerprints. There were none. It is yet to be determined where this pipe came from, though the cellar and the toolshed are likely sources. The toolshed is somewhat less likely, as there appear to be no footprints leading to it in the snow.”
    The policeman paused, shook his head. “Don't you hate a crime where snowy footprints are a clue? I certainly do. So far, the only snowy footprints belong to Mr. Stanley Hastings, who, after finding the dead body, saw fit to walk his dog.”
    Here the policeman fixed me with a steely gaze, which I thought was undeserved. I had called the police first, and Zelda had needed to go.
    “At any rate, we are not going to rely on snowy footprints. We are going to determine the truth the old-fashioned way, by interrogation. I am going to question each and every one of you, and I am going to take you one at a time.”
    I went last, which hardly seemed fair, seeing as how I'd been the one to find the body, but it did have two advantages. It meant by the time he got to me he'd already heard everyone else's story. And it gave me time to talk to Alice.
    “So,” the policeman said. “You're a private investigator?”
    I smiled, in my best self-deprecating way. “Not so you could notice. I'm actually an actor and a writer. I don't get much work, so I support myself chasing ambulances for a negligence lawyer. I interview accident victims and photograph cracks in the sidewalk. It's mostly trip and falls.”
    He frowned. “I thought it was slip and falls.”
    “It is. I say trip and fall by force of habit.”
    “What habit?”
    I blinked. I couldn't believe he'd asked that. “The habit of being wrong,” I said. “I'm frankly a poor detective, the last one on earth I would personally hire.”
    “Yet your wife says you've assisted the police on occasion.”
    “I wish she hadn't. I wish you'd treat me like any other witness.”
    “Or any other suspect?”
    “If you prefer.”
    “All right. Would you care to tell me how you came to find the body?”
    “You already know that. I got up to walk the dog.”
    “This was standard practice?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “For you to walk the dog and not your wife.”
    “I very seldom walk my wife.”
    He blinked.
    I put up my hand. “Sorry. I know this is serious. We share the duty of walking the dog. This morning it was my turn.”
    “Why?”
    “Because Zelda woke me.”
    “Zelda is the dog?”
    “That's right.”
    “What time did she wake you?”
    “Six-fifteen.”
    “Was that earlier than usual?”
    “I'll say.”
    “Why do you suppose she woke up?”
    “I don't know. I suppose it was being in new surroundings. Oh, I see. You mean did she hear something? It's a possibility. Did you