Beach Town Trouble (A Port Grace Cozy Mystery Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Rolls-Royce.
    “Yep.”
    “Appropriately spooky,” said Ryan with approval. “The dead tree is a nice touch. You think she has a pet vulture that lives in it?”
    “Knock it off,” said Georgia with a laugh.
    “What do you call a pet vulture?” said Ryan. “It would have to be something sort of spooky. You couldn’t really call it Cupcake.”
    “How about ugly beyond belief?” said Georgia. “Those bald, red heads gross me out.”
    “Hey, you could call it Curly!” said Ryan.
    Georgia threw him a narrow-eyed look.
    “You know, like the Three Stooges,” said Ryan. “You get it? Because vultures are bald; Curly is bald.”
    “I get it,” said Georgia. “I’m just wondering why we’re still talking about this.”
    “Well, I’m asking her what she calls her vulture,” said Ryan with a smirk.
    “You do that,” said Georgia, rolling her eyes as she knocked on the door.
    After a full minute had passed with no answer, Georgia knocked again and put her ear to the door.
    “I don’t think she’s home,” she said, her shoulders slumped in disappointment.
    “Does she have a garage? Or does she ride a broom?” said Ryan.
    Georgia smacked him on the shoulder and said, “Why don’t you go find out, Sherlock?”
    Georgia waited on the porch while Ryan went around the back of the house.
    “There’s no car in the garage,” he said when he returned. “She’s not here.”
    Georgia sighed and looked up at the clouds. “I don’t have time for this. My client is getting antsy. I had to tell him about the murder. If I can’t resolve this fast, or if Matthew can’t find a house that equals Skimmerhorn’s, the client’s going to pull out. We need the business right now more than ever. The branch is still recovering from the damage Bruce Fowler did.”
    Ryan pulled a small, black leather case out of his pocket and got down on one knee in front of the door.
    “Uh, what are you doing?” said Georgia.
    “Dashing P.I. Ryan Yates at your service, doll face,” said Ryan, unzipping the little case to reveal a collection of thin, silver tools.
    “Is that what I think it is?”
    “If you think it’s a lock picking kit, then yes.”
    “We can’t!” said Georgia.
    “We need to find evidence,” said Ryan. “The cops aren’t helping. It’s time for some P.I. work.”
    “I did some P.I. work with you a few times, and we never broke into a house,” said Georgia.
    “Yeah, well, I knew you’d react like this,” said Ryan with a shrug, inserting two tools into the key hole.
    “Ryan! Cut it out! That’s illegal.”
    “No one will ever know. Calm down. We’ll get in, look around, hopefully find something useful, and get out.”
    “We won’t even be able to use anything we find. We can’t go up to Crimbleton and say, ‘Hey, look what we found when we broke into Camila’s house.’”
    “That’s why we use what we find as a starting place to legally find some evidence we can turn in to the police,” said Ryan. “Or, you know, we lie.”
    There was a click, and Ryan turned the knob. The door opened, and Ryan got to his feet with a cocky smile.
    “Ladies first,” he said.
    Georgia stared at the open door. Her conscience was screaming at her not to do it, but there was another voice in her head that asked, If you don’t, who’s going to investigate? What if the killer gets away with it?
    Georgia walked straight and steady through the door.
    “Breaking the law, breaking the law,” Ryan sang under his breath, earning himself another whack to the shoulder.
    The house had a sharp, medicinal smell that stung Georgia’s nose. The black curtains on the windows blocked out the bright sun, darkening the home’s earthy-toned furniture even more. Georgia flipped on a light and saw that the couch and even the kitchen chairs were draped with shawls and scarves in rich, dark colors like burgundy, hunter green, and navy. The kitchen counter was covered with plants—in bundles, in bowls, and in