The Penguin Who Knew Too Much by Donna Andrews Page A

mouth.”
    Normally Randall wouldn’t have told me. Of course, normally he wouldn’t even have said as much as he already had. And even now, he frowned for a few moments before speaking.
    “You heard about Charlie's problem?” he asked.
    I pondered that for a moment. Like my family, the Shiffleys were a large and colorful clan, so I wasn’t at all sure who Charlie was, much less what medical, moral, legal, psychiatric, or other woes had befallen him.
    “Which one is Charlie?” I asked finally.
    “Vern's middle boy. If you haven’t heard anything about it—”
    “Then you’re in luck; you can tell me the real story, before I hear any unfair and distorted rumors.”
    Randall chuckled as if to say that he knew exactly what I was doing, but he launched into his story.
    “That Lanahan fellow from the zoo has filed charges against Charlie. For supposedly shooting one of his fancy gazelles.”
    “And Charlie didn’t shoot it?”
    “Well, yeah, he did, but it wasn’t his fault. Damned thing had gotten out of the zoo and was just wandering around the woods like an ordinary deer.”
    “I see.”
    “It wasn’t Charlie's fault!” Randall said, almost shouting. “Itwas hunting season—crossbow season—and Charlie had a permit, and he was hunting on his daddy's land, and it's not like he was careless.”
    “Of course not,” I said. “Did you say crossbow?”

Chapter 10
    “Yes, Charlie's good with a crossbow,” Randall said, with a touch of pride. “Takes more skill than hunting with a rifle.”
    “I’m sure it does.” I was trying to push away the memory of Patrick Lanahan's body, still half buried in our basement, with a crossbow bolt sticking out of the chest.
    “He could see it was a deer,” Randall went on. “He didn’t know till he shot it that it was one of Lanahan's fancy imported ones. Little bitty thing about fifteen, sixteen inches tall.”
    And Charlie had mistaken it for a full-grown deer? Maybe Lanahan was right to be suspicious.
    “What did he do?” I asked aloud.
    “Came and told his daddy and me, and we took the carcass over to Lanahan. Tried to apologize and make restitution, even though the confounded thing was trespassing at the time. Lanahan behaved like a total jackass.”
    “He didn’t understand that it was an accident?”
    “Lanahan insisted it wasn’t—he said Charlie must have made a hole in the fence and lured it out. Which was pretty damned stupid. Why would he deliberately shoot a scrawny runt like that? We’re not trophy hunters. We hunt to put meat on the table.”
    “And there wasn’t much meat on the gazelle?”
    “That evil little dog of yours would have a hard time making ameal of it,” Randall said. “But try telling Lanahan that. He's filed charges. Won’t listen to reason. That's why we’d appreciate it if you let us know if he shows up here—he's got to sooner or later, right? To do something about the animals.”
    I opened my mouth to explain how unlikely it was that Patrick Lanahan would show up to reclaim his animals, and then thought better of it. Chief Burke wouldn’t appreciate me spilling the beans. Especially not to someone who might be a suspect. Or at least the brother of one suspect and the uncle of another.
    “I hate to think of that miserable bastard ruining Charlie's future,” Randall said.
    “Surely once Chief Burke investigates the charges it will be all right? Charlie will be cleared.”
    “We can’t count on that,” Randall said. “And we sure as hell can’t count on it happening in time.”
    “In time for what?” I asked. But just then Vern appeared, and Randall frowned and shook his head, as if to warn me against continuing the conversation in front of Vern. Since Vern seemed his usual calm, unflappable self, I didn’t want to rock the boat. Randall and I both pretended to be keenly interested in the cage of rodents.
    “Pasture fence is fine,” Vern said. “Anything else we should do before we head off to