The Girl With the Dachshund Tattoo Read Online Free Page B

pajamas, who pointed a handgun at a perfectly normal-looking man and his dog.
    I half expected to hear gunshots over the frightened screeching any second. But by the time I reached Betty, she was alone. Everyone was gone.
    And Betty’s gun along with them.
     
     
     

Chapter Three
    SO MUCH FOR keeping a low profile.
    I pulled Betty behind the corn dog trailer. It smelled like fear and hot grease.
    “Where in all of Texas did you get a gun?” I bellowed, sounding like a mixture of Grey and my Grandma Tillie.
    Betty blinked. “My son-in-law, Duane. After that crazy broad tried to kill us at Christmas.”
    An older couple stared at us as they walked past. I flashed a smile, as I pulled Betty further away from the pathway.
    I lowered my voice. “So he thought the answer was to give you a firearm? Do you have a permit?” Forgive me for my ageism, but what I really wanted know was if it was legal for someone her age to carry a weapon.
    She tilted her head. “Of course. Weren’t you listening to me? I took a class.”
    “A self-defense class. Not target practice to carry a concealed weapon.”
    She sighed dramatically. “Cookie, you need to pay more attention. I took that self-defense course months ago. The same one your sneaky cousin, Caro, took. By the way, she was pretty good. You better not let her get the drop on you. Anyway, after I learned all those self-defense moves, I signed up for a gun safety class. Once I passed that, I applied for my permit. It arrived in the mail a few days ago.”
    “That’s it? You get a piece of paper and suddenly you’re allowed to carry a gun?”
    “It’s America,” Betty stated, as if that explained everything.
    I took a deep calming breath, and pushed the bangs from my eyes. “Why did you aim it at Richard like a hoodlum?”
    “He attacked me.”
    “No, darlin’. He wasn’t attacking you. He wanted to get away from you.” Not that anyone would blame him.
    She pondered that for a minute. Her narrow fingers tapped the outside of her purse in what sounded like an SOS signal. Any other time, I might have found her antics amusing. Not today.
    “Where’s the gun?” I asked.
    “She took it.”
    “Who’s she?”
    “The girl with the dachshund tattoo. The one making the dogumentary. She recorded everything.”
    I rubbed my eyes. Bad, bad, bad. “I don’t understand. Why in Sam Hill did you give her your gun?”
    She reached up to pat my shoulder. “Cookie, are you okay? You’re not keeping up with the conversation. It’s not mine. Remember, the gun belongs to my son-in-law? Um, you wouldn’t mind telling him you lost it, would you?”
    “Hell, no. You’ve got to find, that girl—the girl with the dachshund tattoo—and get that gun back.”
    I’ve been known to be impulsive and make some decisions that have turned out less than spectacular, but I would never let someone, especially a stranger, take my firearm.
    When had I become the responsible one?
    “Betty, you don’t know what she’ll do with it. We have to get it back.”
    “What do you think she’d do? Hold up a group of doxies and demand their prize money?” She rolled her eyes.
    I didn’t want to think about the ramifications of that whole episode being filmed by someone with an unknown agenda. And I certainly didn’t want to dwell on the possibilities of what a dishonest person might do with someone else’s firearm.
    The look on my face must have communicated my seriousness.
    Betty held up her hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay. She can’t be that hard to find. She’s got a camera. And a dachshund tattoo on the back of her neck.”
    That did narrow it down. “Describe her. In detail,” I ordered.
    “You aren’t paying attention today. I already told you what she looked like.”
    Wonderful. I was looking for a sweaty rock star with a dog tattoo and smeared eyeliner, carrying a gun and an oversized camera. “You take the east side of the field and I’ll take the west. If either of us sees