Mint Cookie Murder Read Online Free Page A

they're all like this.
    "Nope. I don't like it," he repeated gravely as if asking a giant board if there was a letter M and waiting for Vanna to make her move.
    I glared at Riley before turning to the vet. "You keep saying that. What do you mean exactly?"
    Dr. Rye looked over his glasses at me, arching his right, very scary bushy eyebrow. Maybe he kept gerbils in there. "He's obese. That's bad."
    "That's not why we brought…" I really couldn't name him Hitler. "…Philby here." I heard Riley snort behind me. I ignored it. "Can you scan him for a chip?"
    The vet nodded like a deranged bobblehead for a minute solid before leaving the room. He returned a couple of minutes later with a green, hand-held device and held it over the cat's neck.
    "There is something there." The doc frowned and began to feel around Philby the Fat Cat's neck. The beast did nothing. He'd behaved like an angel the whole time we'd been here. What a con artist.
    "I'm not getting a reading. Must just be an anomaly. If it was an identification chip, we'd have the info. He's got some sort of fatty buildup in his neck. That must be it."
    Riley stepped forward. "Thanks Dr. Rye." He lifted Philby as if the animal had always been his. The cat purred and would've probably snuggled up if he could've bent his midsection. However, it's impossible to fold a basketball in half, so Riley just had to settle for the idea that the cat liked him.
    "I want you to schedule a full checkup for Philby," Dr. Rye said before walking out the door and leaving us standing in the room.
    As I paid the bill, the nurse handed me a card for an appointment. I slid it into my back pocket and joined Riley and the cat in Riley's rented SUV.
    "Philby?" Riley asked as he started the car. "You named him after a Communist double agent who betrayed Great Britain? Why?"
    "Hey, it's better than Hitler," I grumbled. "Besides," I said as I gave the cat a look, "I don't really know whose side he's on now, do I?"
    Philby was sitting on the floor between the two seats. He looked up at me and gave me a loud meeeoooooow , then began to lick his front paw, which was all he could really reach.
    We pulled into the garage, and the three of us made our way back into the house. Riley set the beast down, and Philby trotted over to his litter box and went in. I thought about what Riley had said earlier about me checking his crap for clues. The hell I would.
    It was getting late. I supposed I should be thinking about dinner, but I was wondering how to do that with a guest in the house. I didn't really have anything besides junk food. And we still hadn't sorted out the fact that Riley mistakenly thought he was moving in.
    "Are you selling Girl Scout Cookies?" Riley's voice brought me back to reality.
    Damn. I'd forgotten. "Yes, and I'm putting you down for a dozen cases. Go ahead and pick the kind you want because that's what you're buying."
    He frowned as he looked at the forms. "Oh my God! Look at these ingredients! You can't expect me to eat these! Don't they make any that are all natural?"
    I shook my head. "Nope. And if you don't pick a flavor, I'll do it for you."
    "What the hell am I going to do with a dozen cases of chemicals?" Riley asked.
    "I have a few ideas…" I mumbled.
    Riley ignored me and started going through my cupboards, ending with the refrigerator. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
    "You have no food here," he said to me as he waited.
    "I have plenty of food here," I protested.
    He shook his head. "No, you have crap here. Chemical particles loosely held together by what used to be food. Tomorrow, we're going shopping. I can't live like this."
    "You aren't supposed to." I put my hands on my hips in an attempt to look threatening. "This is my house. You do not live here," I said, emphasizing each word independently so he'd know.
    Riley shook his head and turned away from me. In perfect Mandarin Chinese, he ordered a complete takeout dinner, sans the MSG. When he hung up, he