Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 14 - Murder in a Casbah of Cats by Kent Conwell
Book: Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 14 - Murder in a Casbah of Cats by Kent Conwell
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Authors: Kent Conwell
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added. And they expect you to throw in a frequent rubbing and scratching also.
He was joking, of course, but if he were standing at my side right now observing all those pampered cats, he might be laughing out of the other side of his mouth.
Eddie had not replied, so I sat at my laptop, figuring I would see what I could find.
When I started with Blevins Security, I hired in at the entry-level job, skips and traces. For some reason I liked the work. It was my third job after graduating from UT.
I started out teaching English at Madison High, in Austin, but parents, football, and ambitious administrators proved too much for me. I simply wanted to teach kids, but kids didn’t want to learn and parents didn’t want to displease the kids and administrators didn’t want to displease anyone.
Then I sold insurance for even a shorter time. I hated it.
Blevins Security was next.
And I guess you could say I blossomed there. I was familiar with computers and within a couple of years had discovered enough sites that, for a nominal fee, I could find 90 percent of those individuals I sought.
Soon, we gained the reputation in and about Austin as the agency to retain for skips and traces. The job was fine with me. I’m no strong-arm joker or gun toter, although I do have a snub-nosed .38 at my apartment.
So, I punched in “Bill Collins” on a search engine and came back with 7,555,000 hits. I added “Austin, Texas,” and narrowed the list down to a mere 358,000 hits.
Leaning back and stretching my arms, I prudently decided I would wait for Eddie.
I wandered out on the balcony. Despite the shade cast by the porch, it was still hot. What little breeze there was did nothing but take your breath away. At the end of the balcony, I peered down at the swimming pool. Karla sat in the shade of the tall hedge reading a book.
She glanced up. When she spotted me, she waved. “The water’s great. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
I waved back. “Later.”
Back in my room, I pulled a soft drink from the refrigerator and downed half. Slipping in at my desk, I pulled out my note cards and jotted down the details of information I had picked up that morning.
A yawn caught me by surprise. I stretched my arms, glanced at the bed, and decided to take a nap. Just then, I noticed the door was not closed. I frowned, swearing I had shut it. “Probably not, Tony,” I muttered, tapping it shut with the toe of my running shoe.
I’ve always believed boredom created more stress that just about any emotion, maybe with a couple of exceptions, one being the main course on an alligator’s menu and the other a bull’s-eye for two killers up in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Those, I have to admit, were a tad more stressful than boredom.
Still, I was tired from doing nothing, or at least, very little of nothing. I plopped down on the bed.
Moments later, I was asleep.
I dreamed of cats, all kinds of cats, and they blurred into the library, and into that library came a man who I knew was Herbert Adam Watkins III.
Next thing, he was on the floor, and then Karla came down the stairs in her white terry-cloth robe, and in slow motion, I took her proffered hand, and we headed for the swimming pool leaving the poor guy bleeding on the library floor.
Her hand tickled my arm.
I brushed at it, and then she laid it on my chest. I pushed her arm away and jerked awake.
When I looked down, two large black spiders with legs at least ten feet long were bouncing on my chest.
CHAPTER EIGHT
They say levitation is only a magician’s trick, but I have news for whoever “they” is. I levitated from that bed, flailing my arms and legs and screaming manically. I hit the floor running, not stopping until I reached the door.
When I turned back, the two fuzzy black spiders were still on the bed. Now, their legs weren’t really ten feet long, but those huge beasts each looked the size of a coffee cup. I shivered, hastily checking my arm and chest to
He was joking, of course, but if he were standing at my side right now observing all those pampered cats, he might be laughing out of the other side of his mouth.
Eddie had not replied, so I sat at my laptop, figuring I would see what I could find.
When I started with Blevins Security, I hired in at the entry-level job, skips and traces. For some reason I liked the work. It was my third job after graduating from UT.
I started out teaching English at Madison High, in Austin, but parents, football, and ambitious administrators proved too much for me. I simply wanted to teach kids, but kids didn’t want to learn and parents didn’t want to displease the kids and administrators didn’t want to displease anyone.
Then I sold insurance for even a shorter time. I hated it.
Blevins Security was next.
And I guess you could say I blossomed there. I was familiar with computers and within a couple of years had discovered enough sites that, for a nominal fee, I could find 90 percent of those individuals I sought.
Soon, we gained the reputation in and about Austin as the agency to retain for skips and traces. The job was fine with me. I’m no strong-arm joker or gun toter, although I do have a snub-nosed .38 at my apartment.
So, I punched in “Bill Collins” on a search engine and came back with 7,555,000 hits. I added “Austin, Texas,” and narrowed the list down to a mere 358,000 hits.
Leaning back and stretching my arms, I prudently decided I would wait for Eddie.
I wandered out on the balcony. Despite the shade cast by the porch, it was still hot. What little breeze there was did nothing but take your breath away. At the end of the balcony, I peered down at the swimming pool. Karla sat in the shade of the tall hedge reading a book.
She glanced up. When she spotted me, she waved. “The water’s great. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
I waved back. “Later.”
Back in my room, I pulled a soft drink from the refrigerator and downed half. Slipping in at my desk, I pulled out my note cards and jotted down the details of information I had picked up that morning.
A yawn caught me by surprise. I stretched my arms, glanced at the bed, and decided to take a nap. Just then, I noticed the door was not closed. I frowned, swearing I had shut it. “Probably not, Tony,” I muttered, tapping it shut with the toe of my running shoe.
I’ve always believed boredom created more stress that just about any emotion, maybe with a couple of exceptions, one being the main course on an alligator’s menu and the other a bull’s-eye for two killers up in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Those, I have to admit, were a tad more stressful than boredom.
Still, I was tired from doing nothing, or at least, very little of nothing. I plopped down on the bed.
Moments later, I was asleep.
I dreamed of cats, all kinds of cats, and they blurred into the library, and into that library came a man who I knew was Herbert Adam Watkins III.
Next thing, he was on the floor, and then Karla came down the stairs in her white terry-cloth robe, and in slow motion, I took her proffered hand, and we headed for the swimming pool leaving the poor guy bleeding on the library floor.
Her hand tickled my arm.
I brushed at it, and then she laid it on my chest. I pushed her arm away and jerked awake.
When I looked down, two large black spiders with legs at least ten feet long were bouncing on my chest.
CHAPTER EIGHT
They say levitation is only a magician’s trick, but I have news for whoever “they” is. I levitated from that bed, flailing my arms and legs and screaming manically. I hit the floor running, not stopping until I reached the door.
When I turned back, the two fuzzy black spiders were still on the bed. Now, their legs weren’t really ten feet long, but those huge beasts each looked the size of a coffee cup. I shivered, hastily checking my arm and chest to
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