Dog in the Manger: An Eli Paxton Mystery (Eli Paxton Mysteries)
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
A dog is missing. Not just any dog. The number one Weimaraner in the country and current Westminster winner.
Down-on-his-luck private eye Eli Paxton is hired to find him. Not exactly an elite assignment, but better than nothing. Maybe it will help him pay his rent. It turns out to be anything but a routine case. People start dying in mysterious ways, a cargo plane goes missing, and someone is taking shots at him. It makes no sense. Even a top show dog isn't worth that much.
Now the hunt is on. Paxton needs to find this dog to save his own skin. The trail leads to Arizona, then Mexico, and finally back to his hometown of Cincinnati-- where he finds the startling solution.
With a new introduction by the author and including the bonus short story "Even Butterflies Can Sting."
secrecy. He shrugged, hung up the phone, and turned back to me. “You’d really be much better off in a hospital,” he said, starting to examine my facial wounds. “Out of the question,” I replied. “I know that sooner or later you’re going to have to report this to the police. How much of a head start can you give me?” “A few hours,” he replied, probing my nose gently with his fingers. “Don’t worry about it. And don’t try to speak—I’m going to have enough trouble patching up that lip as it is.”
her ex wasn’t inclined to pay surprise visits early in the day. She got my clothes sizes from me and went out to buy me a couple of shirts, some shorts, and a pair of slacks while I was making myself some coffee. When she got back she remembered that she hadn’t bought any socks, but I told her I would just wear the ones I had come with. “They can practically walk around by themselves,” she snapped, tossing them into a washing machine that was hidden behind a sliding panel in her hallway. For
her they were just going to smoke cigarettes. Finally I figured there was just no use trying to sleep, so I walked out of my cell, much to the amazement of the drunk, who started complaining that it was a denial of his civil rights that his door wasn’t unlocked, too, and walked over to Pratt’s office. He was sitting at his desk, going over a huge computer readout sheet. “Haven’t you been home yet, Mike?” I said as I took a seat. “Oh, hi, Eli,” he said, looking up. “No, I’ve been here all
with New York or any of the other megalopolises that Cotter avoided. Federated had set Universal back some two hundred million dollars, and was carrying almost half the company’s debt. From what I could tell, Universal’s major sources of income came from building and leasing oil and cargo ships, and from importing fruit from Central and South America. Cotter didn’t seem to have any links with organized crime, he didn’t overtly support or own any politicians (though it was hard to believe he
weather, and escorted me back to his reception room. “Nice seeing you again, Eli,” he said cordially. Before I could reply he had turned and disappeared into his suite of offices. I was so goddamned hot when I left his building that I picked a tin can out of a trash container on the corner and hurled it at the Lincoln, which was following me very slowly in the curb lane. It bounced off the hood, leaving a nasty scratch, and rolled into the gutter. The Lincoln came to a stop, but the driver