Zorilla At Large! Read Free Page A

heterosexual sex position called The Zorilla.
    â€œSay, when you’re both stuck in a caravan during a rainy week away in Rhyl,” Harry Henry continued, oblivious of Brough’s discomfort, “Well, the Mrs and I like to play what I call The Alphabet Game. Do you know it?”
    â€œUm... Can’t say that I do.”
    â€œWell, you have a sheet of paper each and you write the alphabet down the margin and then you come up with different categories. Like Vegetables, for example. Or Capital Cities. Then it’s a race to think of an example for every letter of the alphabet, do you see? And you score double points if you come up with an example nobody else has thought of. When it comes to Animals, people always go for zebra, you see. But I don’t. Guess what I put. Go on.”
    â€œUm... ‘zorilla’ by any chance?”
    â€œDouble points every time!” Harry Henry laughed and tried to exchange a clumsy high-five with Brough.
    â€œI see...” said Brough. “That explains that. For a moment there, I thought you were going to reveal something shockingly intimate about your domestic life.”
    â€œHah!” Harry Henry wiggled his eyebrows so much his spectacles fell off. He lowered his voice and confided, “High score gets oral from the loser.”
    Brough edged away. “Fun for all the family,” he muttered.
    ***
    Miller was waiting in the hotel reception. She watched Brough come down the stairs. How happy he looked! His whole body glowed with it - not just the rays of the Californian sun. Having a world-famous boyfriend was obviously doing Brough a power of good. Miller felt a twinge of sourness and decided to attribute it to envy: she envied Brough for having a boyfriend when she did not. She could live with that kind of envy. Envying the glamorous, multimillionaire Oscar Buzz for having Brough as his lover - well, that was something she did not wish to entertain. Not in the slightest. No, thank you. Please, move on.
    â€œI said, Miller,” Brough’s tone was impatient, suggesting he was about to repeat himself because she clearly wasn’t listening, “I’m glad things are perking up a bit.”
    â€œAre they?”
    â€œA nice grisly murder. For a moment there I thought we’d be on that weasel hunt with Jason and Stevens.”
    â€œHuh.” Miller hitched the strap of her bag onto her shoulder. “It’s not a weasel, it’s a zorilla.”
    â€œActually, I think you’ll find it’s a member of the mustelid family. Weasels, Miller.”
    â€œDoes Oscar Buzz find you this insufferable?”
    â€œHe adores me,” said Brough. “I can’t wait to see him again but he’s off filming in Morocco or Australia or somewhere. His new film’s called Bro, Where’s My Camel? Or something.”
    â€œAnd you’ve got the hump because you can’t see him?”
    â€œDon’t try to quip, Miller; you’ll only strain yourself.”
    â€œWanker.”
    â€œWhat was that, Detective Sergeant?”
    â€œI said I’ve asked for the manager. He should be here in a minute.”
    â€œGoodo. Oh! Remind me to show you my pictures. Oscar and I had the whole of Disneyland to ourselves one night. He paid for the lot. Can you imagine? The things we got up to in those spinning teacups.”
    Miller made a face that suggested she might vomit.
    A thin-faced man with a belly like a beach ball arrived. He introduced himself as Barry Morgan, manager, and ushered the detectives to the door that led to his office.
    Morgan sat behind a cluttered desk. He would have leant his arms on it but his belly prohibited him from getting close enough. He gestured for the detectives to sit. There was only one other chair. Miller took it; Brough pouted.
    â€œMost hotels,” Morgan began, “put on murder mystery nights but when it’s all over, they jump up and go home. Here...” Words