Colm & the Ghost's Revenge Read Online Free PDF

bleedin’ classic.’
    â€˜So you’re not going to hurt me because I made you laugh?’ Colm asked, his voice crackling with hope, his jaw sore and tender.
    Buzzer extended a hand and hauled Colm to his feet.
    â€˜Nah, kid, we’re not goin’ ta hurt ya,’ he said.
    Well, Colm thought, when he was up to his shoulders in rotting food and dirty nappies, it could have been worse. Buzzer had been as good as his word. They hadn’t hurt him. All they’d done was dump him in the wheelie bin. Upside down. It had been quite stomach-churning at first, but he’d got used to the smell and the waves of nausea more quickly than he’d expected once he’d righted himself. His bag of library notes was in pretty poor shape though.
    He wiped some semi-solid sour milk from the face of his watch. The ten minutes they’d told him to stay inside the bin were almost up. It had been one really bad day. At least I’ve learned a valuable lesson, he thought, trying to look on the bright side, which, when you’re sitting in the dark in a wheelie bin with six days’ worth of other people’s rubbish soaking through your socks and shoes, is something that requires a glass-half-full mentality.
    â€˜Isn’t that right?’ Colm said to the black rat that was scrabbling its way up his trouser leg.
    The rat stopped at the sound of Colm’s voice. It looked at him and swished its long tail, waiting for the boy to explain what lesson he’d learned. But Colm didn’t elaborate. He just looked at the fat-bellied rodent and sighed.

Four
    T
he moment Kate Finkle opened the front door of her flat she knew something was wrong. It wasn’t the torn newspapers on the floor, the blaring TV or the half-empty cans of cat food lying on their side on her threadbare two-seater couch; her flat was exactly as she had left it. No, what set off the alarm bells in her head was the fact that Mr Gilchrist, her favourite cat, didn’t immediately leap from whichever corner he was hiding in and wrap himself around her ankles, as he did every single evening when she returned home.
    Kate wasn’t your average person. For one thing, she worked as an assistant to a private detective, the much disliked Cedric Murphy. For another, she was a large woman who took no pride in her appearance. Makeup, new clothes, dyeing her hair, none of these things meant anything to Kate. They took up too much time, time she would rather spend working or tending to her cats and goldfish (to be fair, the goldfish didn’t need much minding, but the cats were a demanding lot). She loved being tall and heavy. It intimidated people and intimidating people was fun for Kate. Especially when someone was acting the fool. One glare from her and they’d shut up. She couldn’t charm the birds from the trees, but she could certainly scare them off the branches.
    She stepped over the empty crisp packets and into the living room just as the man who had been hiding behind the sofa stood up. He was thin and wiry and the scars on his face told of previous battles.
    â€˜Prepare to die,’ he said.
    That was his first mistake. Kate Finkle grabbed him by the collar and lifted him into the air until his feet dangled six inches above the bright blue carpet. He kicked wildly against her shins, but if this bothered her, she didn’t show it.
    â€˜What have you done to my cats?’ she roared. It wasn’t the time for diplomacy.
    The man took a swing at her, but Kate’s reach was longer than his and his fist didn’t even brush the tip of her nose. She slammed him against the living room wall and heard the air leave his body with a little whoomph sound.
    â€˜Your cats are safe in the bathroom,’ the man spluttered, wondering if his ribs were broken in two or three places.
    â€˜Lucky for you. Who are you and what are you doing in my flat? I’ve got nothing that’s worth robbing,’ she said.