A Mew to a Kill Read Online Free PDF Page B

sighed. “Come on, Willa. If you saw something you have to tell me. A dangerous person could be out there and if it was something innocent, then you won’t be getting anyone in trouble.”
    “Okay. I guess you’re right. When I left here last night, I saw George Witt over in Paisley’s shop.”
    Gus’s forehead wrinkled. “So? What’s unusual about that?”
      “Nothing, really. Except it looked like they were arguing. But that must’ve been way before the fire was started.” I gestured toward the window. “I mean, that was at six thirty last night and the fire couldn’t have been burning that long or the whole building would be gutted by now.”
    “Do you know how long George was in there? When did he leave?” Gus asked.
    “I have no idea. I was on my way home when I saw them. They were still there when I left.”
    Chewing the inside of her cheek, Gus's gaze drifted across the street to Paisley’s shop. “Hmmm. Okay. Was there anything else?”
    I shook my head.
    “All righty, then. You know the drill. This is an ongoing investigation. You are not to get in the middle of it.” Gus fixed me with her sternest look before turning toward the door. “I mean it, Willa. I know how hard it is for you to mind your own business, but this time I’m going to have to insist.”
    And with that, she pulled the door open and disappeared out into the street. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I realized she’d never told us who the unlucky person being carried out on the gurney was.

Chapter Five

    Despite appearances, Gus and I got along pretty well. It was only when it came to on-going investigations that we argued. It wasn’t like I tried to get in the middle of these investigations on purpose. But for some reason or another, I always seemed to end up there.  
    It rubbed Gus the wrong way because she didn’t like amateurs meddling in police work. Never mind that I had spent most of my adult life as a crime journalist—she still didn’t like me getting involved.  
    The regulars cleared out soon after Gus left and I found myself alone in the shop … well, almost alone.
    I was behind the counter trying to catch up on my book cataloging activities when I noticed Pandora acting strangely at the end of one of the bookshelves. First, a silvery gray paw snaked out into the aisle then Pandora leapt out sideways, spinning around and rolling on her back. A cloud of swirling mist followed her. That swirling mist indicated the other side effect from my car accident—a ghost.
    That accident had left me with more than a damaged leg. It had also left me with a strange ability to see ghosts. At first it had been quite disturbing, but now I was getting used to it, especially since two of those ghosts were regulars in my bookstore. And not just any ghosts, either. The ghosts that haunted my bookstore were the poet Robert Frost and the fourteenth President of the United States, Franklin Pierce.
    I watched the swirl grow bigger, becoming less misty and more solid and finally forming into a ghostly version of Robert Frost standing in the middle of the aisle with his hands on his hips.
    “Can’t you do something about it?” he pleaded.
    “About what?”
    “She’s ruining the store.” Robert could be overly-dramatic at times.
    I stepped out from behind the counter. The ghosts like to play practical jokes on me and I wasn’t sure if this was one of their antics.
    Usually, the jokes were aimed at the customers, though. They’d do things like push books off the shelf in front of people, drip water onto the book pages people were trying to read and pass through people, giving them a cold chill. But there weren’t any customers in the shop right now. Maybe this was some kind of a new joke.
    “What are you talking about? I don’t see anyone in the store,” I said as I looked around guardedly.
    “Oh, she’s here,” Robert Frost said. “And she’s getting ectoplasmic vapor all over my poetry!”
    Franklin Pierce