A Whisky, Tango & Foxtrot Mystery 04 - A Deadly Tail
Page 30
HOLMES: No! It can’t be!
MORIARTY: But it is, my dear Sherlock. Your beloved Watson, back from the dead. Aren’t you glad to see him?
WATSON lurches to his feet. HOLMES staggers backward, his face struggling with disbelief and horror.
MORIARTY: “When you eliminate the impossible, whatever’s left—no matter how improbable—must be the truth.” Have I quoted you correctly, Mr. Holmes? But what happens when the impossible decides to eliminate you? (By the way, this is the tagline for the movie. But you probably knew that the second you read it.)
ZOMBIES begin to erupt from the other graves. HOLMES keeps backing up.
MORIARTY: Come, Mr. Holmes. The earth is vomiting up its dead; where is your logic now? How does your vaunted intellect respond when confronted by the sight of your deceased comrade, on his feet and hungry for your still-living flesh?
The ZOMBIES lurch forward, WATSON at the forefront. HOLMES turns and runs.
MORIARTY calls after him.
MORIARTY: Yes, Mr. Holmes, run! Run as far and as fast as you can, for it is Death itself that nips at your heels!
END OF SCENE
(Okay, that’s it. For real, this time. Go read something else.)
Read on for an excerpt from Dixie Lyle’s next book
PURRFECTLY DEAD
Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
A war.
A supernatural war.
A war where one side tossed around tornadoes, blizzards, and thunderstorms, and the other could take on anyone’s appearance and control your mind. Sort of like Vietnam, if you replaced the guys in helicopters with multiple clones of Thor and the Viet Cong with the cast of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. And threw in some hypnosis, just for fun.
The Vietnam conflict hadn’t gone so well for the guys in the helicopters. Even without the evil-Jedi mind tricks.
“So,” I said to my phone. “Why are you telling me? Is this a declaration of hostilities? If you want me to choose sides, I’m pretty much already committed.”
“No, Foxtrot. I don’t want this war to happen any more than you do,” said Lockley Hades.
“Okay. I guess that opinion qualifies you as A) not insane, and B) a potential ally. Tell me more.”
“I will, but for a more productive discussion we’re going to need more than just words. Skype would be better. I’ll contact you tomorrow and we can continue this face-to-face.”
He didn’t ask for a number, but anyone that could pull that hidden area code trick probably didn’t need to. I wouldn’t have been terribly surprised if he’d pulled my Social Security number from his belly button—though I doubted that was why he wanted to see my face. “Hold on. If Maxine is an Unktehila, I’m going to need more information than just a warning. Is Ben in danger? Is Teresa? Why is she here?”
“Tomorrow.” He ended the call.
I put my phone away. Both Whiskey and Tango were staring at me with worried eyes. I took a deep breath, and relayed what I’d just been told.
When I was done, there was a moment of silence. Tango was the first to respond.
[That’s your response? We’ve just been informed of a potential battle between two immensely powerful supernatural forces—with us in the middle—and the most vital information you have to offer is your own lack of common sense?]
“Yes, Tango, we get it. You’re completely over your fear of snakes. Now, can we—”
Whiskey growled in exasperation. [Fine. If we postulate that you are not now, nor have ever been, frightened in any degree by any sort of reptile that has ever existed, including but not limited to dinosaurs, mythical nine-headed monsters of the Underworld, world-devouring Ouroboros serpents or ninja turtles, then can we move on to a productive discussion of our options vis-a-vis surviving the approaching apocalypse?]
Tango sniffed in a disapproving way.
Whiskey shot her a look sharp enough to shave with. [Indeed,] he growled.
I’m a multitasker. I get things done at the same time I’m doing other things, and the process works like this: thing one is important, thing two is very important, thing three is something I do all the time, and thing four doesn’t matter much at all. I start doing thing three immediately because I can do it without thinking about it, and start thinking about thing two. If any of the things can be done simultaneously with thing three, I do that, and at the first possible opportunity I tackle thing two, now that I’ve had time to plan a course of action. While doing these things, there are always gaps, little moments where I have to wait for something to happen—a phone to ring, a file to load, a fuse to burn down—and during these gaps I work on thing one if possible and thing four if not. Got it?
Thing two, at the moment, was the impending war. Thing three was listening to the verbal sparring between my two partners, which I can pretty much tune out by now because I’m so used to it. In fact, while they’re trading insults, I’m actually thinking hard about good old thing the second.
“We need to talk to Eli,” I said.
[I agree,] Whiskey said.
[You have a different opinion? What a shock.]
It was Tango’s turn to glare at him.
[How tragic.]
“This can’t wait,” I said, already hurrying down the path. Whiskey and Tango trotted to catch up with me. “Only…” I stopped abruptly, and so did my partners. “Something smells.”
[Everything smells, Foxtrot. Well, almost everything.]
I smiled. “Good point, doggy. But what I mean is that the phone call I just got—and what we learned from it—has a decidedly peculiar aroma. When someone drops a piece of information right in your lap like this, they always have an agenda. They’re pushing a button and expecting a response. A predictable response.”
[Such as immediately rushing off to inform your superior of your news?]
“Exactly. Eli’s hard to pin down sometimes, but he always shows up when I really need to talk to him. Maybe this is a way to draw him out in the open.”
[In which case it’s the last thing we should be doing.]
I held one hand up in the air and the other to my forehead. “Stop. This is how it starts—don’t you remember what happened last time? The paranoia, the second-guessing each other, the mistrust?”
[You’re describing a cat’s natural behavior.]
“We’ve got to be smart about this. We talk to Eli, but not directly; Whiskey, you get a message to him via afterlife channels, then come right back. We should have code words to ID each other that we only use telepathically—I don’t think the Unktehila can read private thoughts.”
I switched to thought mode myself. My word will be, um, Whirligig.
[Mine shall be A Total Lack of Surprise.]
[How observant of you. Are those blinders custom-made, or do you buy them in bulk?]
“Whiskey, we’ll talk to Ben. Come back as soon as you can, and meet us in the kitchen. Go!”
Whiskey didn’t even bother with a parting shot—when there’s a job to do, he’s all business. He took off into the darkness.
ent our muscle sprinting for the horizon.>
“Whiskey can take care of himself. In a fight between him and another shapeshifter, my money’s on the one who faced down an electric elephant. Which is him.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Well? I’m waiting.”
She puffed herself up like a Halloween cat, but I wasn’t falling for it. “Nice try. Come on, let’s go talk to Ben.”
She deflated and trotted along behind me, muttering,
I bit my lip, and refrained from answering.
About the Author
Dixie Lyle loves animals, mysteries, books, reading, words, bad puns (are there any other kind?), and once had a torrid summer romance with an entire library. Did I mention the books? Oh, and definitely doesn’t believe in the supernatural. Nope, not me. Hey, what was that sound? Where’s that spooky green glow coming from? Oh, hello, didn’t see you standing there in the corner, what with you being all see-through and everything. Want a cup of tea? Moan once for yes, twice for no.
Allegations that Dixie Lyle has a goofy sense of humor are entirely unfounded, and should be forwarded to the unfounded and unlost department. You can sign up for email updates here.
ALSO BY DIXIE LYLE
To Die Fur
A Taste Fur Murder
Marked Fur Murder
PRAISE FOR DIXIE LYLE
A Taste Fur Murder
“A delightful, funny mystery filled with eccentric and colorful characters, be they humans, animals, or spirits. Dixie Lyle will entertain the reader page after page!”
—Leann Sweeney, New York Times bestselling author of the Cats in Trouble mysteries
“A clever new series that deftly blends cozy mystery with the paranormal, and that is sure to please readers of both genres … A Taste Fur Murder is original and witty, with a twisting plot that contains more than a few ‘shocks’.”
—Ali Brandon, author of the Black Cat Bookshop mysteries
“An enjoyable read for cozy fans.”
—RT Book Reviews
To Die Fur
“Blends pet cemeteries, animal spirits, and a cast of zany human characters … those who read paranormal mysteries will enjoy.”
—RT Book Reviews
Marked Fur Murder
“The sort of wild and wacky mystery that could only come from the pen of Dixie Lyle … I think you’ll enjoy the ride.”
—Bookwyrm’s Hoard
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Special Sherlock Zolmbes Excerpt
Teaser
About the Author
Also by Dixie Lyle
Praise for Dixie Lyle
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A DEADLY TAIL
Copyright © 2016 by Dixie Lyle.
Excerpt from Purrfectly Dead copyright © 2016 by Dixie Lyle.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN: 9781466890633
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / February 2016
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.