The Yorkie Yapped at Midnight: A Sam Scoop Mystery
Sam asleep on the floor, dreaming...
There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot, dry Santa Ana’s that come down through the mountain passes and curl your fur and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands' necks. Anything can happen. You might even get a goat to squeal like a fat monk in an earthquake if you lean on him just right…
Dammit, I can’t believe I’m back. Back where I grew up, the yard I left so long ago. A hot and rocky place I never wanted to see again this side of the veil. I’m Sam Scoop – hard-boiled doggie detective. My breed is Golden, and so is my heart…as long as you don’t get on my “ruff” side, anyway. Tread there brother and you’ll find that not even your owners can save you. But fate has pulled me back to this burg, with me clawing and growling in protest the whole way.
Did I say fate? Not unless Fate’s earthly form is six pounds of rhinestone studded smarminess. I’m here because of the Yorkie.
The Yorkie…now there’s one feisty femme fatale. Sure, on the outside she’s all sugar and spice. But on the inside? Not so nice. She has a taste for expensive collars and other dog’s dinners. Ten minutes alone with her and even a Cardinal would be tempted to “kicka’ dat tiny backside.” She has to be the reason I’ve been sent back…I’m sure of it.
But that’s all I’m sure of. I need to get to the gist behind this; who hired me, what do they expect, what’s the payoff? And who do I gotta lick up to in order to get back home?
I’m walking into this without a scent to follow. And unless I want to find my nose rubbed in someone else’s stink, I think I’d better pay a visit to the Mayor.