The Otter of Death by Betty Webb

Author:Betty Webb [Webb, Betty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781464209901
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2018-05-02T05:00:00+00:00

That evening I tuned into some more Animal Planet reruns while waiting for Joe to call, but after watching the late edition of the local news, I realized it wasn’t going to happen. A smiling news anchor reporting from the scene of an accident said that sixteen-year-old twin brothers, thinking it was a great idea to drink and drive, had wrapped their father’s Lexus around a tree. The camera zoomed in on Joe and his blood-splattered uniform. He was holding one boy’s hand as the EMTs carried him toward an ambulance to join his brother. The boy was sobbing, and from the expression on Joe’s face, I could see he wasn’t happy, either.

Unfazed by this backdrop of misery, the news anchor chirped, “And in yet another accident on the PCH, but this one has a happier ending! The EMTs on the scene say the eighteen-year-old girl who was texting while driving suffered no major injuries from her drift into the water-filled ditch. She might even be released from the hospital tomorrow morning.”

I turned off the TV and asked Bonz if he wanted another “walkies.” Taking his tail-wagging for a yes, I grabbed his leash and off we went.

Usually Bonz and I take the Gunn Landing Park’s coastal pathway, but this time I chose the East Fork, which wound inland. Always well-lit by streetlights designed to look like carriage lamps, the path boasted gravel walkways lined with irregular-shaped rocks, most the size of softballs. Because of the area’s lush vegetation—chaparral, evening primrose, Pacific silverweed, and coyote bush—East Fork provided a nice break from the constant view of the ocean.

Tonight was no exception. As we ambled along under the moonlight, we met up with several of Bonz’s favorites, most importantly the tiny poodle he’d enjoyed a celibate romance with for the past year. Tonight, MiouMiou had on a pink rhinestone-studded jacket that matched her painted toenails. The two dogs sniffed and nipped and danced like old lovers, but for obvious reasons it came to nothing. Sara and Jake Montini, MiouMiou’s owners, who lived on the Rising Sun, a sixty-five-foot trimaran moored at the ritzy north end of the harbor, were volunteers at the San Sebastian County No Kill Animal Shelter. Both understood the need for keeping the dog and cat population under control.

All sweet assignations must end, so when the Montinis led MiouMiou back toward the harbor, Bonz and I continued our walk. It was a peaceful night, warm and pleasant, and other harbor-dwellers had turned out in full force. We even ran into Kenny Norgaard, taking a rare off-boat amble.

“Shurprised to see you, dear heart,” he slurred. “You too, Bonz.”

Not bothered by Kenny’s poor enunciation, Bonz wagged his stump of a tail and sniffed at Kenny’s Topsiders.

“Why surprised? I walk Bonz every evening.”

He gave me a tipsy grin. “Oh, you know, becaush of the murders, and you being a woman living all by yourshelf. Don’tcha think you oughta be more careful?”

“Thanks for your concern, Kenny, but Bonz and I are fine.

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