Hooked on Ewe Read Online Free

all there is to it.”
    Lily and Andrea ignored the exchange, making busy rather than getting involved. I’d learned my lesson moments earlier inside the shop, so took a page from them and kept quiet, too.
    Isla, realizing that Oliver was hopeless, turned on the women. “Couldn’t one of you have managed this bloke?” Then her gaze found me. “And you! A fat lot of good you’ve been. Useless Americans.”
    “Let’s get on with it,” Lily said, while I stood dumbstruck by Isla’s audacity. “Save yer breath to cool yer broth.”
    Which was one of the few Scottish phrases I was actually familiar with, having heard Kirstine use it on occasion, prompting me to seek a definition from Vicki. Lily had just told Isla to quit complaining and get to work. Good for her.
    It was bad enough trying to referee Vicki and Kirstine, but having to withstand Isla’s bickering with the welcoming committee members over every little detail was going to do me in. I had to find a way out.
    But just when I thought all was lost, and I had no choice but to suffer through the day next to the parking lot, two welcome additions arrived (separately but almost simultaneously):
    Detective Inspector Kevin Jamieson and Special Constable Sean Stevens.
    To the inspector’s continuing chagrin, the local powers that be had decided to incorporate volunteer cops into the main corps of professionally trained police officers. Odd, but true. When I first learned of it, I thought my leg was being pulled. It wasn’t.
    Scotland’s new volunteer police force draws citizens from all walks of life, giving them the opportunity to work side by side with experienced law enforcement officials. After a brief training course, these special constables wear similar uniforms and have the same powers as regular officers. My mind still boggled at the concept.
    Anyway, Sean Stevens, a former security guard, had eagerly signed on, and since he was from the Glenkillen area he had been promptly assigned to Inspector Jamieson, bringing the inspector’s long and happy history of working solo to an abrupt end.
    Since that fateful day, the inspector has spent much of his time dodging Sean or, when all else fails, creating busywork to keep his “special constable” occupied elsewhere. To his credit, Sean has countered those efforts with some pretty fine tracking techniques, managing to hound the inspector pretty much wherever he goes . . . though the inspector’s Honda CR-V is simple to tail once one has it in sight. Its horizontal yellow stripes framed by blue and black checkers give it away easily.
    Today Sean, driving his red Renault, was hot behind the CR-V. They both parked in the restricted area, inside the parking lot designated for customers. The inspector pulled in near the shop, while the rookie headed for thefar end, maneuvering and backing in for a quick dash if the inspector managed to get a few steps ahead of him.
    Neither of them acknowledged Kirstine’s warning sign. At least there still were a few individuals out there who she couldn’t control with her threats. I smiled at that.
    As they approached, I couldn’t help comparing the two men. The inspector was a widower in his late fifties, graying at the temples. He wore a blue button-down shirt with the top button open, a solid tie knotted loosely, and a pair of beige trousers, his hair a little mussed. Sean, a bit younger than me in his early thirties, wore his standard police uniform—white short-sleeved shirt, black tie tight and perfect, his peaked cap with insignia perfectly aligned over his buzz cut, his carriage erect, his chin held high. He was right behind his boss, having to hurry since his shorter legs had to do double the work of the long-legged inspector.
    “Vicki’s inside the shop,” I called to Sean, and smiled as he turned on his heels and headed for the porch leading into Sheepish Expressions. The special constable had been giving Vicki special attention. “He’s a young pup,”