Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet Read Online Free PDF

me.”
    I narrowed my eyes, took in her appearance. Long dark hair. Tall and curvy, full figured
     in a very pretty way. Soft features. Neat clothes. She had a baby blue scarf tied
     loosely at her neck, the ends tucked into her dark blue coat. Her eyes were large,
     warm, and captivating. All in all, she didn’t look crazy. Then again, neither did
     most crazy people.
    “You’re looking for a PI?” A girl could hope. I hadn’t had a job in two months. Apparently.
     I glanced up toward Cookie’s apartment.
    “Yes. An investigator.”
    I took a deep breath and holstered Margaret. “I’m kind of in between offices at the
     moment. We can talk in my apartment, if that’s okay.”
    She nodded briskly, fear evident in every move she made. Poor thing. She clearly didn’t
     deserve my surly side.
    With head hung in shame, I started back upstairs. They were much easier to climb than
     to descend. That wasn’t usually the case. Especially after a two-month veg-a-thon.
     My muscles should have atrophied by now. “Can I get you anything?” I asked when we
     reached my apartment. I was only slightly out of breath.
    “Oh, no, thank you. I’m fine.” She was eyeing me warily. Not that I could blame her.
     My people skills needed a good honing. “Are you okay?” she asked.
    “I’m fine. The wheezing will go away in a minute. It’s been a while since I took those
     stairs.”
    “Oh, does this building have an elevator?”
    “Um, no. You know, I’m not sure it’s wise to go into someone’s apartment who just
     pulled a gun on you.”
    She’d been busy perusing the mess that was my office-slash-apartment-slash-ballroom-area-when-the-dancing-bug-hit.
     She dropped her gaze in embarrassment at my words. “I guess I’m a little desperate.”
    I offered her the chair and I took the couch. Thankfully, Aunt Lillian still wasn’t
     back from Africa. After picking up a notepad and pen, I asked, “So, what’s going on?”
    She swallowed hard and said, “I’ve been having strange things happen to me. Bizarre
     things.”
    “Like?”
    “Someone has been breaking into my house and leaving … things.”
    “What kinds of things?”
    “Well, for one, I found a dead rabbit on my bed this morning.”
    “Oh.” Taken aback, I crinkled my nose in disgust. “That’s not good. But I’m not sure—I
     mean, maybe it was suicidal.”
    She rushed in to stop me. “You don’t understand. A lot of things like that have been
     happening. Rabbits with their throats cut. Brakes with their lines cut.”
    “Wait, brakes? As in car brakes?”
    “Yes. Yes.” She was starting to panic. “The brakes on my car. They just stopped working.
     How do brakes just stop working?” She was scared. It broke my heart. Her hands shook
     and her eyes filled with tears. “And then my dog.” She buried her face in her hands
     and let the emotions she’d been holding at bay rush forth. “She disappeared.”
    Now I really felt bad about the Margaret thing. I chastised her with a glare. Margaret.
     Not Harper. Sobs racked her body as all her fears spilled forth. I scooted forward
     and put a hand on her shoulder. After a few minutes, she began to calm, so I started
     my questions anew.
    “Have you called the police?”
    She pulled a tissue from her coat pocket and dabbed at her nose. “Over and over. So
     much so, they actually assigned an officer to vet my calls.”
    “Oh, really? Which officer?”
    “Officer Taft,” she said, a hard edge leeching into her voice. Definitely no love
     lost there.
    “Okay, I know him. I can talk to him to get—”
    “But he doesn’t believe me. None of them do.”
    “What about your brakes? Surely they could tell if they’d been tampered with?”
    “The mechanic couldn’t say it was foul play specifically, so they just dismissed that
     like they did everything else.”
    I leaned back and tapped my notebook in thought. “How long has this been going on?”
    She bit her lip, glanced away in