The Cane Mutiny Read Online Free Page B

it’s a darn good imitation.”
    â€œWynnell, what should we do?”
    â€œCall the police.”
    â€œYes, but the odds are they’ll send you-know-who out to investigate.”
    â€œYou mean Tweedledum and Tweedledee?”
    â€œExactly.”
    Charleston’s police force is one of the finest in the world, headed as it is by Chief Greenburg, but not everyone on it is up to par. Officers Tweedledum and Tweedledee seem to share a brain that has, alas, been misplaced. They have, however, managed to keep track of their personalities, which are as abrasive as a bar of Lava soap. Those sad facts, along with their clear dislike of me, ensure that I avoid contact with them at all cost.
    â€œThen you should call Greg,” Wynnell said, stating the obvious.
    â€œAnd he’ll just tell me to call them.”
    â€œLooks like you have no choice, Abby. But just remember, I’m here for you, no matter what.”
    But as soon as I hung up with the dispatcher, Wynnell remembered that she had left her coffeemaker on and there was very little of the beverage left in the pot. If the liquid evaporated entirely, the element could overheat, cause a short, and burn down the Crawford house. I couldn’t very well have that on my conscience, could I?
    I said that I could, but she abandoned me anyway. It was either face the Dum-Dees alone or ask C.J. to close the shop as soon as she could herd the last customer out, and then join me for moral support. My employee and future sister-in-law was all too glad to be of service, which was exactly what I was afraid of.
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    â€œOoh, Abby, can I hold it?”
    Seeing as how I’d stupidly allowed Wynnell to get her prints all over the skull, what harm could there possibly be in letting C.J. amuse herself until the police arrived? The brain that arrived at this conclusion is the same brain that designed a transatlantic bridge for my Seventh Grade Science Fair project. The model was almost four feet long andbroke into a dozen pieces before I could get into the auditorium.
    Anyhow, C.J. seemed even more at home with the skull than Wynnell had been. She whipped out a miniature caliper—you’d be surprised what that gal keeps in her pockets—and measured various things, grunting each time she switched to a new location. After what seemed like an hour, she put the skull reverently back in the bag.
    â€œIt’s not human, Abby.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œIt belonged to a female gorilla. She had an abscessed tooth. Probably died of blood poisoning, which is just as well, because otherwise she would have starved to death. Gorillas eat tough vegetation that requires a lot of chewing. She wouldn’t have been able to do that with this tooth.”
    â€œC.J.! It’s not respectful to joke about the dead.”
    â€œI’m not joking, Abby.”
    I stared at the big galoot. The cheese may have slipped off her sandwich, but hers was an awesome mind that could think circles around even Marilyn Vos Savant, reputedly the world’s smartest woman. C.J. spoke seventeen languages fluently, and solved differential equations during TV commercials.
    â€œC.J., how could you possibly—I mean, how do you know it’s a gorilla skull, as opposed to anorangutan skull? And how do you know it’s female?”
    â€œOoh, Abby, gorilla and orangutan skulls look nothing alike. And the females of both species look nothing like their male counterparts. You can tell this one was a female because her skull lacks the prominent bony ridge that a male would have, as well as those formidable incisors.”
    â€œI suppose you can tell me how old she was and how many baby gorillas she produced.”
    Sarcasm is lost on someone as sweet as C.J. “I’d say she was about thirty-five, which is old for a gorilla living in the wild, but not so old for one living in a zoo. And she had seven babies, give or take one. You can see how much calcium