Dead Man's Rules Read Online Free PDF

toward the bar.
    “You okay, babe?” Freeda leaned toward Cere.
    She nodded, though her smile dissolved. Audrey deserved a chance, but so did she. “I just need a big story to get noticed.”
    “We should do that story from the newspaper. Didn’t you say Alan loves cold cases and ghosts?”
    Scope did a combination of unique stories—from Hollywood gossip to undercover reports, unsolved mysteries and investigations of the occult. Alan Dunn, the executive producer, was always begging for something new.
    “Who cares about some old suicide in New Mexico?”
    Freeda tapped her arm. “Hey, according to that article he might not have committed suicide. The story hints at murder. Where do you think the ghost stories originated? He was accused of some crime, sent to jail but swore he was innocent. He said he’d come back and prove it. Maybe that’s why he’s haunting your dreams.”
    Cere hadn’t thought about Marco Gonzales all day. She waved a hand. “At least my dreams make sense now. I bet I saw his picture when I opened the email and it brought back those scary memories.”
    “Maybe.”
    She knew why Freeda was so enthralled. Her cousin’s earliest memories were of New Mexico and it still fascinated her. They’d also recently heard rumors that Freeda’s father might be living there. Joe Ferguson was constantly on the move, though he turned up every so often to visit Freeda. He’d been doing that ever since leaving her at a New Mexico commune after her mother died. Freeda hadn’t remained there long. Nena dispatched Cere’s dad to get her granddaughter. During the trip, Cere and Freeda bonded, in part because of their visit to the Palladium.
    Freeda reached into her bag and pulled out a sheaf of printed pages. “I don’t know… You’ve been dreaming him for a while.”
    “Oh, stop it. Show me the damn thing already.” She shivered as she viewed the photo of the man in her dream. The caption read, “ Saint or Sinner?” Had she seen that picture before the dreams started?
    The man’s face was thin but arresting, with high cheekbones and a determined jaw with the wisp of a goatee. His dark eyes seemed to burn off the page despite the age of the photo. He stood with his fist in the air, a symbol of protest. His dark beret and Army jacket painted the same picture. Cere could not take her eyes off him. Even now that unreal voice echoed in her ear.
    “Help me.”
    Flipping the page, another blurred picture caught her eye. She studied it—a smudged outline of a palm print, the sort a child might make in finger painting class. Her stomach did a funny jiggle. She didn’t need to read the caption to know the hand print was supposedly made with the dying man’s blood.
    Freeda’s voice seemed to come through a fog. “See that? The hand on the wall. It’s still there.”
    The bloody handprint was what she, Freeda and her cousins set out to see at the Palladium. Marco’s ghost was only part of the allure.
    “What are you guys reading with such interest?” Audrey asked as she swung back into a seat at the table, carrying a fresh bottle of champagne. She refilled glasses as Freeda explained.
    “When Cere’s folks came to get me, we stayed with her mom’s family for a few days. One night a friend of her cousins told us about a ghost that haunted this old building. He offered to drive us out there for five bucks.”
    Cere touched her wrist to interrupt. “Correction. He invited the boys. They didn’t want to take us. Scared little girls, you know.”
    “Naturally Cere pulled her weight and…”
    “Not weight. Money. They didn’t have enough, so I volunteered two dollars from my allowance.” She didn’t add that her hand trembled as she gave them the bills. She’d felt like a scared little girl as they crammed into the boy’s Ford.
    She gazed at the picture of the Palladium. Was that dilapidated building really the place that haunted her? As a child, she viewed it as a looming skyscraper in the