The Iggy Chronicles, Volume 2 by Spencer Quinn Page A

with her, of course—to give the marriage another try, as she told Bernie, or for another reason he found out later, something about prenup negotiations with the new guy, Malcolm, who made a pile of money in software and has very long toes. That was the period where I really got to know Charlie—“those two wild animals growing up together” as Leda said, although I didn’t quite get the reference. But that’s okay. Who has time to understand everything? Gotta live, too, right? Unless I’m missing something.
    I was going to make some second point, but now it’s gone, and anyway we’re already way off course. So back to me, Bernie, and Sherry, sitting outside Senor Breakfast, a place we like near Valley College, Bernie on account of the coffee—“hottest in town”—and me on account of a line cook name of Rodrigo, who sends out bacon that somehow gets too burned for human consumption every time I’m around. Why don’t they like it real crisp? Just one of those puzzlers you run into in the human world.
    Bernie set his coffee mug on the table. “What did Stine say?”
    â€œAbout the Hawaiian pants?” said Sherry. “Just that you’re a real good detective and you’re not in a position to—that you’re anxious for work these days.”
    â€œAnxious?”
    â€œHow about eager?”
    Bernie gazed at her.
    â€œWilling?”
    Bernie nodded. Were we still on Hawaiian pants? Bottom line: our self-storage in South Pedroia was stacked to the roof with them, not one pair in the initial order having found a taker. What else? The second shipment was on a container ship, due any day.
    â€œSo what I’d like is some proof, one way or the other,” Sherry said. “What will it cost?”
    â€œWe’re not cheap,” Bernie said.
    â€œWho’s we?”
    â€œMe and Chet, of course.”
    Sherry glanced my way. “The dog?”
    â€œCorrect.”
    â€œDid he just eat all that bacon?”
    Bernie checked the paper plate Rodrigo had sent out. It lay on the patio floor at Senor Breakfast, and at that moment I happened to be licking it clean. Bernie gave me a look. I gave him a look back, kept licking at the same time. Two things at once? I was on top of my game.
    â€œHis appetite, uh, sharpens a bit when the weather cools down,” Bernie said.
    How interesting! I’d have to think about that. Leave it to Bernie to come up with something so brilliant. What would I do without him?
    â€œHe’s just sort of your pal?” Sherry said. “Follows you around while you work?”
    â€œMore the other way around,” Bernie said.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œWe’re partners—let’s leave it at that,” Bernie said. “And it’s eight hundred a day, plus expenses.”
    â€œHow does six sound?”
    â€œDoable.”
    Bernie agreed to that real quick, meaning six must be bigger than eight. Sherry was learning what so many had learned before her: namely, that Bernie was always the smartest human in the room.
    â€œHis name’s Ric—no K —Teitelbaum. He owns a recycling business in Mesa Negra.”
    â€œRecycling what?”
    â€œOh, all sorts of stuff. I don’t really know. But it’s, like, worldwide, literally. I’m talking China and everything.”
    Bernie nodded. He has all kinds of nods, meaning way more than we have time to go into at the moment. This particular nod was one you saw when he was having a good time. So we were having a good time? Start me up!
    â€œHow long have you been together?” Bernie said.
    â€œGoing out, you mean?” said Sherry. “About two months.”
    â€œNot very long.”
    â€œMaybe not in time. But in feelings. We’re serious, or at least we were until he started cheating. If he did, which is the whole point of this meeting.” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that look on your