Lead-Pipe Cinch Read Free

place where only the grown-ups were allowed, and we all yearned to see what was inside.
    Now I knew it was just a local tavern with stools covered in brittle red vinyl, mismatched chairs, and scarred wooden tables. It smelled of beer and hot grease, and served the best chicken fingers I’d ever tasted.
    Sue waved to me from a table near the so-called dance floor—a few square feet of light-colored wood set into the dark floorboards, with an old-fashioned jukebox next to it. Friday and Saturday nights there might be a few couples dancing, but tonight the floor was deserted.
    She hooked a thumb in the direction of the bar. “Figured you wanted chicken and microbrew,” she said, “so I already ordered for us.”
    I nodded my agreement. Sue knew me well. “How much do I owe you?”
    She shook her head. “I had a good day, you can catch it next time.”
    I gave her a wide-eyed look. “It must have been good for you to pick up a check, Gibbons. What gives?”
    She chuckled. “What, you don’t think I can pick up a check now and again? I am wounded, I tell you. Wounded.”
    “I helped you set up your computer, remember? Got the bookkeeping program running? I’ve seen your bank accounts, woman. I know you’re not exactly rolling in dough.”
    She nodded. She was one of the few people in Pine Ridge who’d seen what I could do with a computer. My boss, Barry Hickey, was another. Mostly, however, I’d left that part of my life in San Francisco and I didn’t talk about it.
    “So, what does a good day mean at Doggy Day Spa?”
    Sue grinned, relishing the delay. “I have a new regular,” she said, “and she tips well!”
    “Really? Who?”
    “Astrid McComb. Remember I told you she brought in an adorable Yorkie a couple weeks back?”
    I nodded.
    “Well, today she showed up with the Yorkie again—said he just loved coming to see me.” She preened a little, then continued, “But she also had a pair of Old English sheepdog puppies. Said she thought they were more appropriate for the castle.”
    “That’s one way to choose a dog, I suppose,” I said, sarcasm dripping.
    “It’s not like that,” Sue said. “She was looking for another dog, and she fell in love with these two. Couldn’t decide between them, so she got ’em both.
    “Anyway,” she continued, “she brought them both in for grooming today and told me she wanted a standing appointment every week.”
    “Nice.”
    “Even better was the tip she left. More than paid for tonight’s dinner.” She paused and glanced back at the bar. “Which, by the way, looks like it’s ready.”
    Katie, the barmaid, brought the steaming baskets to our table along with a couple frosty mugs of microbrew. I felt the heat radiating from the food, and quickly decided I could give it a few minutes to cool down.
    Sue looked at me, wiping a drop of foam from her lip. “You installed that tracking program, but I still don’t understand what it really does. Can we go over that again?”
    Sue’s conversations were often a roller-coaster ride of subject changes and non sequiturs. Her thoughts raced ahead of her words, and she dove headlong into a new subject without transition.
    This time she’d done a U-turn, back to her computer system. A few months earlier I had cleaned up some software issues, and put tracking and security software in place. I’d given her the Samurai Security standard instruction lecture when I was finished, but she still had a lot to learn.
    I launched into an explanation of what the various programs did, but I dialed it back within a couple minutes, as I saw her eyes glaze over. “Sorry,” I said. “Sometimes I forget I don’t do that anymore.”
    Sue eyed me with a troubled look. “Yeah, but you sure sound like you still could. Why don’t you? It’s got to be a heckuva lot more lucrative than being a plumber.”
    “Apprentice plumber,” I corrected, trying to steer the conversation away from my previous profession. “I still have more