2 Murder Most Fowl Read Online Free PDF

Socrates before that date.”
    The gardener bent lower over the lavender bushes, clearly not interested in Colin Palmer’s words. Cressida waved to them, but Colin Palmer was too busy telling the gardener about Socrates, and the gardener was doing his best to get away.
    “Poor David Bilderbeck,” Cressida said to me in a stage whisper. “As if he’d care less about philosophy. I don’t know why Colin is so intent on speaking to him about it. It’s not like Colin to talk about academic matters to the public.”
    We were met by Lord Farringdon waddling down the pathway. Cressida picked him up and held him to her ear. “What’s that you say?” Cressida turned to me. “Lord Farringdon just said that David Bilderbeck knows more about Socrates than Colin Palmer does. Now, Lord Farringdon, that’s not a very nice thing to say. There’s no need to be catty.”
    I could only shrug at that remark, while Lord Farringdon ran off to chase a bee.
     
     

"You may have a dog that won't sit up, roll over or even cook breakfast, not because she's too stupid to learn how but because she's too smart to bother."
(Rick Horowitz, Chicago Tribune)
    Chapter Six .
     
    I was sitting in my small dining room. Opposite me sat Mr. Buttons, who was fidgeting nervously. “Are you okay?” I asked. He didn't look at me, but sat where he was, still fidgeting. “Do you think it was Alice?” Mr. Buttons asked, still avoiding eye contact.
    “Of course not,” I replied. “She's still in jail, and she'd have no reason to come back and murder somebody she's never met. This murder was unrelated - though I'm not sure that makes it any better.” I sighed as I said it. Two murders in as many months had to be some kind of record, and it's one the boarding house probably wasn't interested in holding.
    “I'm going to do a tarot reading,” Mr. Buttons stated flatly. I wasn't sure it would make him feel any better, but it was worth a shot. He brought the cards out from his pocket - a standard Rider-Waite deck - and laid them flat down on the table, after first scrubbing at it with a white linen handkerchief.
    Despite the last few hours, the atmosphere in my house was quiet and relaxed, though I began to feel quite nervous. Mr. Buttons spent some time shuffling the deck before cutting it. He lay three cards face down on the table in front of him – a normal three card spread. I was no expert on tarot, but I knew that one card represented the past, one represented the present, and the final card represented the future.
    Mr. Buttons flipped the first card over, a card which was to represent the past. The image on the card was of a man on a throne holding a sword in his right hand and scales in his left. It read, Justice .
    I looked up at Mr. Buttons. “That’s the card you drew the other day. You said someone would be falsely accused.”
    Mr. Buttons grimaced. “Yes, and again, the card is reversed. This is not looking good. While it can mean other things, it seems obvious what this card is referring to.” As he said this, he leaned down and flipped the second card, representing the present.
    It was The Fool ; it showed a man on a cliff, holding a staff and a flower, with a dog looking up at him. Again, it was reversed. “The Fool often represents challenges,” Mr. Buttons said, more to himself than to me. “The Fool is in search of something; however, it can also be a warning that significant change is coming.” Mr. Buttons swallowed nervously, and flipped the final card.
    The image was of a large burning tower being struck by lightning, as people jumped from the windows. Fittingly, it was called The Tower . Mr. Buttons was staring at it intently.
    “What's wrong?” I asked. I knew it wasn’t the best card to draw, and I'd seen him scared or nervous, but never this serious. “This isn't a good card, Sibyl. Not now, at least. This card represents chaos, crisis, and ruin. I think somebody else is going to be murdered.” Mr. Buttons said