The Money Bird (An Animals in Focus Mystery) by Sheila Webster Boneham

my chest was guilt or anticipation, but realized with a flush that I was glad the big black dog was here with his man, and not just because I wanted to hear about Tom’s trip to the lake with Detective Jo Stevens. I said goodbye to Goldie, rolled off the bed, and limped to the front door.
    thirteen

    As you might expect, I often do have my camera handy when I need it, but not this time. Drake stood on the front porch with my evening paper in his mouth, tail waving and eyes gleaming. Tom stood beside him balancing a container of salad on a pizza box, eyes gleaming, my mail in his mouth.
    “Are you two related?” I asked, taking the slightly damp paper goods from them and ushering them toward the kitchen. I limped along behind and tossed the mail and paper onto the pile that had sprouted on the table. “Let’s eat outside.”
    Tom was already elbowing the back door open and sending the dogs out. He winked at me and asked, “Buy you a beer?”
    “By all means.” He paused in the open door while I grabbed two Killians and a bottle of low-fat ranch from the refrigerator, then tucked the salad dressing between my arm and my ribs to fish a couple of forks and knives from the dishwasher. Good thing I’d run it last night. Note to self: pay more attention to the house. I glanced at the empty napkin holder on the table and ripped a length of paper towels off the roll beside the sink. This is getting to be a habit, I thought as I nodded at Tom to lead the way.
    We settled into our usual spots at my tangerine table, dogs lying at a discreet distance where they could maintain eye contact without being told to go lie down. As soon as he had slugged back some beer and stopped moaning about how good the pizza tasted, Tom wiped his mouth and began to speak.
    “Jo wasn’t too impressed with our crime scene.”
    “Did you take her to the island?”
    “Nope.” He took a big bite.
    “Why not?”
    “Mmm.” He swallowed and slugged down some more beer. “No boat.”
    “There is a boat. It’s tied to a tree behind where Collin stood to toss the bumper.”
    “Nope.”
    My brain was working on the boat’s disappearance as I asked, “Well, did you see anyone else out there?”
    “Nope.”
    “It was there yesterday.”
    “Maybe. I wouldn’t swear to that, though.”
    “I would. Hang on.”
    Two minutes later I held the viewer of my camera in front of Tom and showed him a photo of an aluminum bass boat bobbing in the late-afternoon sun. “I took that yesterday.”
    “Okay.” He watched me ease myself back into my seat. “You’re limping. And you don’t want to sit. Somebody bitecha in the ass?”
    “Who told you?” Tom was pretty good friends with our shared vet, Paul Douglas, but I was appalled at the idea that my vet had told anyone, even Tom, about my assault.
    “No one told me anything. I was kidding. You really got bitten?”
    “As a matter of fact …” I told him about my morning. Most of it. I didn’t tell him that my high school heartthrob had worked on my lacerated behind.
    By the time we’d finished our stories we had also finished the food and drink and the evening invasion of mosquitoes had begun, so we went inside. The dogs found a long rope toy and started a friendly growly game of tug, and Tom and I settled onto the couch. Tom wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close, clearly interested in another friendly game, but first I wanted to know more about what Jo had to say.
    “Already told you, Janet. Not much. Really. There just wasn’t much to see from where we were standing, and other than the bag and your creepy feeling …”
    “It wasn’t a ‘creepy feeling.’” I squirmed away from him and smoothed my hair. “But I’m sure there was someone out there, someone watching us.”
    He pulled me against him again. “I just meant that you had the creepy feeling we get when we know someone’s watching.”
    “And what about that car? Don’t you think that was