Dizzy Spells Read Online Free PDF

for Madam
Dianne.
    “Detectives Harrison and Sassafras,” the
taller one said, nodding to me. “Ms. Amelia Spelled.” He was
staring at me as if I were an insect under a microscope. “Could we
sit and talk?”
    I felt a pang of dread. No good news ever
came from sitting to talk with the cops.
    As soon as we reached the back room,
Detective Harrison wasted no time coming to the point. “The
victim’s name was Thomas Hale. Does the name ring a bell at
all?”
    “No. I’ve never heard of anybody by that
name. Well, I’ve heard of him now, of course, because it’s all over
town. I had never heard of him when I found him, though; that’s
what I mean.”
    “He was a new resident. He arrived in town
in last week to work as a realtor for Bayberry Creek Realty. Do you
recall ever having the company approach you about the house while
you were settling in? Did you maybe see a letterhead or a business
card in your aunt’s belongings?”
    I shook my head. “Sorry, no. Dianne Longley
did tell me that she’d hired him to approach me about the
possibility of selling my house. He died before he could get in
touch with me, obviously.”
    The second cop studied me with concern. “Mr.
Hale had a notebook of your work hours as well as photos of you and
your house in his motel room.”
    “He had my what?” I felt my voice tighten
into a sharp squeak as a wave of anxiety overcame me. I could
understand him having photos of my house, but of me? Some strange
man had a photo of me in his motel room. I hated having my photo
taken. I would twist, run, crouch, and crab walk sideways to avoid
a camera. I had chased down friends to delete ill-gotten selfies
from their phones. What was this man doing with photos of me?
    “They were likely provided to him by the
company. Maybe from your social media pages.”
    “No,” I said sharply. “I have no photos of
myself online. None.” A cold chill passed down my spine at the
thought. Had people taken photos of me without me knowing? What in
the world was going on? “A strange man has photos of me—what does
this mean?”
    “Likely nothing, Ms. Spelled. He was
probably assigned to approach you about selling your house, or he
might have been acting independently, given that Ms. Longley had
engaged him to approach you.”
    “But he had my photos.” I was concerned.
    “I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Ms.
Spelled. He can’t use them where he’s at.” He paused and removed
his glasses to wipe them clean. “You could always file a complaint
with his office, if you feel the photos were in violation of your
privacy.”
    “No. No, that’s all right.” As creepy and
weird as it was to have perfect strangers keeping notes about me
and my house, a dispute would go nowhere given that the man was
deceased.
    The man also had a note of my hours. If I
hadn’t gone shopping with Thyme, I likely would have been there
when the man collapsed. Madam Dianne’s face came to mind as the
cops droned on about the various formalities, asking me to sign a
statement to affirm my claims.
    “There is great trouble coming your way.”
Her voice echoed in the back of my mind as I tried to focus on the
forms in front of me.
    Why did the dead man have photos of me?
     
     

Chapter 7

    Ruprecht Foxtin-Flynn’s shop, Glinda’s , had a way of making a person feel welcome, even on
a dreary, overcast day. The air was heavy with rain that refused to
fall. The trees seemed to droop in depression from the sun’s
absence. Not even the birds were out in this weather.
    Yet Glinda’s was completely
unaffected by its gloomy surroundings. In fact, it was the most
cheerful looking building on the street. The ‘Open’ sign beckoned
in an inviting handwritten script.
    The red brick stones and the heavy burgundy
curtains in the window made the rest of the street look drab and
lifeless by comparison. I could not help but wonder if the shop had
some sort of life of its own, like my house. Well, a more social
one of