Mischief in Mudbug Read Online Free PDF Page A

not in person. For the life of him, that’s all he could remember. Given the sheer number of photos he’d viewed when he was an FBI agent, God only knew when he’d seen a picture that resembled the man in the drawing. Hell, there was nothing to say he’d even seen it while working at the FBI. Raissa had claimed she thought the man looked familiar, too, so for all he knew it could have been a likeness in a local newspaper.
    But for some reason, that didn’t feel right.
    He took another glance at the drawing and frowned. Somewhere buried in the depths of his mind was the answer. He slipped the drawing back into the folder and concentrated on the road ahead of him. As soon ashe got back to his apartment, he would pull out his journals from his FBI years. Maybe something in them would spark his memory. Beyond the basics of background searching, the drawing was his best lead for now.
    Unless, of course, Raissa or Sabine could call up more spirits to give them an address.
    Sabine opened the tiny window in the corner of the attic of her store’s building and stuck her head out, hoping for a breeze. She coughed once, wheezed a couple more times, then pulled her head back inside and stared at Maryse, who was already tugging on boxes tucked in the far corners of the room.
    “I can’t believe you haven’t looked at any of this stuff since last time,” Maryse said.
    “Please, you act like my aunt stored the secrets of the world in those boxes. We’ve been through this before and didn’t find a thing.”
    “We were eighteen. What might be important now is something we might not have noticed or understood then.”
    Sabine sneezed and tugged another box from its hiding spot. “I guess so. But if all I end up with is a cold, you’re making me soup every day.”
    Maryse waved a hand in dismissal. “You live across the street from every restaurant in town and they all deliver. Besides, I burned the toast this morning. Luc won’t even let me use the microwave.”
    Sabine laughed. “Smart man.” Her scientific-minded friend gave a whole new meaning to the term “nondomestic.”
    “I don’t have to take this abuse from both of you.And if I find an anti-aging formula in here or a Farmer’s Almanac for 2015, or something equally as cool, I’m not letting you in on it.”
    “Who the hell reads the Farmer’s Almanac ?” Helena’s voice boomed from the doorway.
    “Farmers,” Sabine shot back. “What do you want, Helena?”
    “I saw the ‘Closed’ sign for the shop and thought I’d come see what you were up to.”
    “We’re cleaning out the attic,” Sabine said.
    “Hmmmpf,” Helena grunted. “Looks like this shit’s been here for a hundred years. You’re not much of a housekeeper, are you, Sabine?”
    Sabine stared at the empty doorway. “I guess your attic was spotless?”
    “Of course. I paid people to clean it twice a year.”
    “Never mind.” Sabine rolled her eyes, and Maryse grinned. Sabine turned around and opened a box of ancient clothes. She pulled out the first couple of garments, then waved one in the air. “Hey, Maryse, you think one of the playhouses in New Orleans would be interested in these?”
    Maryse looked up from an old steamer trunk that she was struggling to pull into the middle of the room. “Cool! I think they’d be thrilled.”
    “Some of this material is fantastic, and so well-preserved. I might keep a couple myself and make something of them.”
    Maryse nodded. “If anyone can make it wearable, you can. That pink would look good on you.” She pointed to a pretty calico dress.
    Sabine held up the dress and studied the color. “I don’t know. This is the same color as that T-shirt Iwore to that breast cancer walk in New Orleans last month. A picture of me, Mildred, and a couple others ended up in the newspaper and the shirt made me look all washed out.”
    “None of you look good in the newspaper,” Helena said. “Look at that shot of Maryse the local paper had. Maryse