Double Booked For Death
- Автор: Брэндон Али
- Серия: A Black Cat Bookshop Mystery #1
- Год: 2011
- Язык: английский
- Год: Penguin
- ISBN: 0425244970
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Double Booked For Death». Краткое содержание книги:
“Don’t even go there,” Jake countered. “I’ve lived in apartment buildings all of my life, and believe me, I know what someone walking on the floor above you sounds like. This isn’t one of those Valerie Baylor books, and those weren’t little ghost-y footsteps.”
“Okay, scratch the poltergeist. But maybe it’s time I get a security camera installed.”
The idea had just come to her, and she couldn’t help but think it was the only solution to the problem. Jake obviously agreed, for she gave a vigorous nod.
“Good idea, kid. I know a guy named Ted who’s in the security business. I’ll call him for you tomorrow and see what kind of deal he can cut you on some cameras. I think that’s the only way we’re ever going to put this one to bed. Speaking of which, I guess we both might as well head back to ours.”
“Sure. Thanks for checking things out. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
She let Jake out the front and locked the door after her before setting the alarm and leaving through the side door, as usual. Her mood was thoughtful as she made her way back upstairs. Hamlet was waiting for her inside the front door, having apparently decided that the middle of the night was as good a time as any for a little snack.
She topped his kibble with some fresh but passed on anything for herself. Instead, she settled at her desk and turned on her computer. She hesitated a moment once she’d brought up the search engine; then, feeling only a bit foolish, she typed in the word “poltergeist.”
Instantly, the results popped up—well over five million results. Staggered, she sat back in her chair. Talk about information overload! Cautiously at first, and then more rapidly, she began to click on the links, skimming the pages.
“Well, Hamlet,” she told him after half an hour of reading, “all the so-called experts say that if I have poltergeist activity, it should stop as quickly as it started, and shouldn’t last more than a few months. On the other hand, if it’s a ghost hanging out in the building, I’m pretty well stuck with it unless I get one of those paranormal teams in to run it off. They also say that there can be plenty of non-supernatural explanations, like high electromagnetic frequencies, mold, and animal infestations. So what do you think? Do we bring in a team, or tough it out on our own with a security camera?”
Hamlet apparently had no opinion on the subject, for he looked up from where he’d settled on the couch, gave her a cold green stare, and then went back to napping.
Darla snorted and started to shut down the computer again, when another unsettling thought occurred to her. Jake had seemed more than a little upset at the idea that she could have imagined the sounds, or that Darla might have thought she had. Maybe the ex-cop had encountered some similar situation during her career that made her sensitive to the likes of ghosts and mysterious footsteps in the night.
Fingers on the keyboard, she hesitated. Then, feeling equal parts determined and unaccountably guilty, she typed her friend’s name into the search engine.
By inputting all variations she could think of, Darla found herself with several pages of entries about Jake. Some were but a sentence or two mention. Jake had been on the building committee at Mary Queen of Peace Catholic Church five years earlier and had taken part in a fund-raiser for the Big Sisters. Others were police accounts where she’d been the arresting officer. Nothing, however, about ghosts.
Finally, Darla found a news story recounting the circumstances of the shooting that had led to Jake’s retirement from the force. She clicked on the link and read with interest. The report was straightforward and echoed the story she had pieced together herself via offhand mentions from Jake.
Authorities are charging the man who shot at a New York City police officer this morning with attempted capital murder. Martin Edward Rose, 52, remains at City Medical Center in good condition after he and the officer exchanged gunfire Tuesday morning in the 300 block of West Olive Street.
Police officials say Rose allegedly fired first, wounding Detective Jacqueline Martelli, a 20-year police veteran. Despite a bullet to the upper thigh, she was able to fire back, hitting him in the torso. Other patrol officers arriving on the scene pulled Martelli to safety and subdued her shooter. Both were taken to the hospital.
Martelli was attempting to arrest Rose on a previous charge of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. Her condition was upgraded this morning from critical to serious, and she is expected to recover.
A follow-on story from the day after reported that the suspect had been released from the hospital and subsequently denied bail on all charges, while mentioning that Jake’s condition was now “good” and that she would be released in a few days. No alarm bells in any of that, Darla thought in relief. She had been afraid she might find something untoward, like, Crazed police officer claims to have shot undead suspect.
“See, Hamlet,” she exclaimed, glancing over her shoulder at the cat. “You were worried for no good reason.”
But barely had the words left her lips when she noticed at the bottom of the screen a link to a story dated a few weeks after the shooting. Jake’s name was highlighted as a keyword, and the stark headline said it all.
POLICE OFFICER ON DISABILITY LEAVE CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER
SEVENTEEN
“HOW ABOUT THIS ONE, DEAR?”
Mary Ann held up a length of gold fabric with a faint stripe pattern that gave it a vintage tone-on-tone look. When Darla admired it and ventured aloud that it resembled organza, the old woman smiled and shook her head.
“Very similar, yes, but this is called grenadine,” she explained. “It was considered a dress fabric as far back as the eighteenth century, but it fell out of favor right about World War I. Of course, everything old is eventually new again, and it was reborn sometime in the 1920s as a curtain fabric. If you look at old dry goods catalogues from the 1930s through the 1950s, you’ll see listings for just that—curtain grenadine. I think this example would look lovely in your foyer.”
“I’ll take it,” Darla agreed, stifling a yawn as she handed over her credit card.
Since Wednesdays were James’s day off, she had left the bookstore in Lizzie’s care this morning while she did a little shopping at Bygone Days Antiques. After last night, her primary motivation had been to find something to cover the glass door leading up to her apartment. But it had also been a handy excuse for her to take another look at The Hat.
For it had occurred to her that a vintage picture hat would be the ideal thing to wear to a celebrity funeral. She already had a decent black dress, so it didn’t make sense to buy a new one just to impress people she’d never again see after tomorrow. Splurging on some one-of-a-kind headgear, however, seemed a perfectly justifiable expense.
“Do you have a curtain rod to hang the fabric?” Mary Ann asked, breaking in on her thoughts. “If not, we have some reproduction hardware that would be quite appropriate for the era. And, I’m sure Brother wouldn’t mind popping over to install it for you, free of charge.”
Darla smiled. The old woman definitely had mastered the art of the up-sell. Maybe she should ask her if she wanted a few paid hours at the bookstore . . . that was, assuming things ever got back to normal.
Her smile faded. So far that morning, the only person besides her and Lizzie to set foot inside the store had been a reporter from a tabloid magazine looking for a new angle on Valerie Baylor’s tragic death. Feeling certain that if she didn’t provide a few pithy quotes, the reporter would make up his own, she’d agreed to a brief interview.
Much to Darla’s dismay, Lizzie had been eager to get in on the act and spin her own dramatic take on events. As she’d launched into her version for the reporter’s benefit, however, Hamlet had leaped on the counter and knocked over a display of bookmarks. In the confusion to recover the scattered inventory, Darla had managed to escort the reporter out the door before Lizzie realized in disappointment that he’d gone.