A Cold Copper Moon (The Cooper Series Book 3) by Richard Conrath

Author:Richard Conrath [Conrath, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gulf Shore Press
Published: 2021-02-13T22:00:00+00:00

The sun was starting to break through the clouds when we pulled onto Midnight Drive. Another long night. And we looked like it. Lucky nobody was at my house to see us when I pulled in—except...

Sammy who was sitting on the porch like a ceramic cat in a china shop, his eyes fixed on us. “Look at that guy! Should put him on TV—damn cat’s got ESP,” Richie said, his palms turned up like I don’t believe this.

I’m convinced Sammy does, in fact, have ESP, that it’s built into his DNA and informs him of my comings and goings. Either that or my secretary—whom I haven’t hired yet—calls and tells him I’m on my way and better clean up. Anyway, he’s always there—on the porch—waiting, when I get back from wherever I am. I stood there watching Sammy’s routine as he carefully stepped down each of the three steps from the porch, made his way circuitously toward me—stopping momentarily when Richie piled out of the back of the Volvo, slamming the door—and rubbed against my leg. That meant food.

Louise, who has known Sammy now for over a year, jumped in. “Let me,” she said, and climbed the steps. Sammy circled slowly behind her, as she headed for the fridge where I usually have an opened can of Friskies.

“Where do you keep the cans?” Louise called from the kitchen.

“In the cabinet near the fridge,” I yelled back, looking over at Richie who was glaring at me.

“She don’t know where you keep the cat food?” he complained. He could have said, What kind of a girlfriend don’t know where the cat food is? Because Richie does know: on the second shelf from the bottom of the pantry. And Richie, shaking his head in disgust (because, really, he wanted to feed Sammy), headed back to the Volvo to help Huck unload our gear. I grabbed the bottle of gunk we had gathered from Shark River, brought it into the house, and laid it on the kitchen table.

Louise gave me a look.

“You don’t know what kind of crud that is, and you’re going to lay it on the table?” she protested, shaking her head. “Where we eat?”

Louise dug out a spoonful of tuna and placed it in Sammy’s special bowl. “At least I know what this is,” she said, continuing her complaint.

“Good point.” And I carried the mysterious substance to the back porch and placed it on a table there where we could pore over the contents—talk about them really. No one was going to open the jar and take the chance. You know—maybe Kryptonite.

Then everybody joined me in staring at the jar—even Sammy. After a few moments Richie and Huck continued their story.

“Fuckin’ Chinese almost ran us down. So, this cowboy throws the boat into high gear—last minute—and they just miss us,” he said, nodding at Huck who was staring at the ceiling.

“Boat stopped about fifty feet from us, city boy,” Huck said, leveling his gaze at Richie.

“What did the boat look like?” I said, ignoring their crap.

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