Copenhagen Cozenage Read Online Free

would have gone right in to see the jewels. I could glimpse the castle in the distance. It rose up out of the horticultural grandeur of the garden like an elegant matron. Over four hundred years old, the structure remained stately, beautiful, and strong. Rosenborg Castle was protected by a half moat around the front. A narrow little bridge spanned the water so onlookers could view the indoor splendors without laying siege.
    If I could get Leroy and my suitcases across the bridge, I had a chance of finding August and reuniting him with his slobbery pet. I stood and lurched forward with my luggage. The little wheels were made for tile and concrete, not the rustic trails of Rosenborg’s gardens. Instead of rolling smartly behind me, my suitcases dug a swath through the dirt as I yanked them along. A small cloud of dust followed in my wake. I needed to get rid of this dog.
    Leroy looked up at me and wagged.
    I stared down at him. “Yes, you are a pretty boy. And I suppose you’re snuggly enough. But you need to understand that not everyone can handle all the hair and oozing drool.”
    Leroy snuffled off toward a little bird that hopped and pecked in the grass on our left. Had I insulted the shaggy beast? What if he set his mind on revolt and yanked the leash from my hands? I patted his head in what I hoped was a conciliatory manner.
    Leroy bounded toward my face and slobbered on me with great enthusiasm.
    I sidestepped and wiped the moist trail off my cheek. Ugh, I was forgiven. But had it been worth it?
    Leroy yanked me out of my shoes as he spotted a squirrel scolding passersby from a tall leafy oak.
    I wrangled the fierce squirrel hunter away from the tree and crammed my feet back into my dusty heels. This dog was incredibly strong. Why should I fight him when I could put his power to good use? I took the Newfoundland’s leash and looped it through the handles of both my suitcase and carry-on. Then I put out a hand to steady them, and directed Leroy away from the squirrel and toward the bridge.
    Leroy snuffled at a strip of red tulips and nibbled a few strands of grass.
    I nudged his shoulder with my hip and pointed at the bridge.
    Leroy’s head came up and his tail thumped against the suitcases.
    “The bridge Leroy, we need to cross that bridge.” I pointed again. “It’s right there, by the water.” At the word “water” his ears pricked slightly.
    Leroy stared at the bridge. His body trembled and his gaze became deeply intent.
    The velvety lawn curled down toward the moat where a few stones set into the bank kept the soil from sloughing into the murky water. Our little path cut across the lawn and meandered through a few lazy turns before reaching the bridge.
    “Let’s go, boy, to the bridge,” I urged.
    Leroy launched himself toward the bridge. He did not meander with the path.
    I was left standing alone in the path, clutching a few silky black hairs in one fist.
    My luggage bounced along behind the dog like cans tied to a newlywed’s car. I suppose the simile only works if those newlyweds had been speeding and swerving and intent on ending their lives before they even made it to the honeymoon.
    Leroy thundered past the regal forms of twin bronze lions lying on pedestals of stone, smashed by a guy with sunglasses and a cane taking pictures of the garden, and then barreled through an iron gate and onto the bridge itself. But Leroy did not cross the bridge. Oh, no, he made right for the railing, his gaze set upon the moat.
    Everything slowed down into agonizing snapshots of horror. Leroy was leaping toward the rail, my suitcases bounding along behind.
    The camera guy snapped a picture of me, and then spun to take photos of the crazed animal’s demise. He kept clicking even as he twisted an ankle and fell to the path.
    Leroy, hair flying, launched off the railing, his front paws stretched over nothing but open air. The suitcases slammed against the railing bars and got wedged. Leroy plunged down toward the