Read Online Shay O'Hanlon Caper 03 - Pickle in the Middle Murder by Jessie Chandler. - Free Book Online Page B

idea. Do you know where Coop and Rocky are delivering those phone books?”
    “Of course. When are you going to learn I know all? They’re over in Lyn-Lake, by that teeny weeny little bookstore on 26th and Lyndale near the French Meadow Bakery.” The teeny weeny little place was a mystery bookstore called Once Upon a Crime. Gary and Pat, the husband and wife proprietors, along with their wonder dog Shamus, were cool—often helping me find CSI-type forensic mysteries that Eddy chewed up and spit out faster than I could keep up. Too bad one of them couldn’t help us solve this whodunit.
    I cruised slowly down Bryant, cut over on 26th, and headed up Colfax. Plenty of cars lined both sides of the street, but I didn’t see Coop, Rocky, or Eddy’s rusty yellow truck that she said was serving as phone book home base. We circled a couple more blocks before finding it. The truck was parked between a red Honda Civic and of all things, an old rusty 1960-something Ford Galaxie that was dwarfed by a huge, expensive boat on the shiny silver trailer hitched to its rear end. It was hard to believe the car was still running in this day and age, much less pulling that behemoth. It was a strange world.
    The back end of Eddy’s pickup hovered inches above the asphalt under the weight of the books, and the front was practically lifting off the ground.
    I parallel parked a few cars away and we scanned the area for the phone book boys. It was still overcast. A downright chilly breeze prickled my skin as we exited my truck. What a difference from yesterday. But then, that was weather in Minnesota. You might be wearing short sleeves in January and shoveling snow in May.
    Curled brown and orange leaves crunched underfoot as we stroll-
ed toward the phone book pile. A few of the trees that lined the street stubbornly hung onto the last of their leaves, refusing to give in to the inevitable pull of the season.
    Eddy said, “They’ll be along shortly, I’m sure.”
    “I hope so.” I shivered and jammed my hands in my pockets.
    “Hey, Shay! Eddy!” Coop’s voice echoed behind us.
    “Hurry your butt over here,” Eddy hollered at him.
    Coop closed in, dragging a noisy Radio Flyer wagon behind him. Time for another load. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. He kept trying to quit but hadn’t yet managed to conquer
his addiction. He was wearing a Green Beans for Peace and Preservation hoodie with blue hockey-skate laces at the neck and faded jeans honestly worn at the knees. He had to stoop to reach the wagon’s handle. I didn’t envy him the backache he was going to have after this.
    He said, “I knew you’d hear my psychic plea for help. I’m going to kill whoever gave Rocky the idea to deliver phone books for cash.” Coop tossed shaggy, ash-blond hair out of his bloodshot eyes. He looked exhausted. “Oh, wait,” he grumbled. “That was me. Go ahead and shoot me now.”
    I propped my hands on my hips and scanned the uneven mound of various-sized telephone books that nearly spilled over the sides of the truck onto the street. “Where did you come up with this looney idea?”
    “Back in the day, I did this to make my rent payment when it was phone book delivery season.” For a long time—years in fact—Coop had struggled to keep a job and pay his bills. He didn’t starve to death because both Eddy (through cooking) and I (through a donation of lunch money) helped supply him with grub when he needed it. Between his fight for peace, preservation, and environmental activism as a member of the Green Beans—and an equal if not even more powerful craving to spend his days in computer game oblivion—holding down a steady source of income was something of a challenge. Things changed in a big way about a year and a half ago.
    Coop had been a supervisor on an old bingo boat on the Mississippi River between Minneapolis and St. Paul. The giant rust bucket, better known as Pig’s Eye Bingo, had recently been sold down the