The Scum of All Fears: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 5 Read Online Free PDF

town, crammed with the gridlock of morning rush hour traffic.
    “See what?” I was trying not to seethe. Really. I was.
    “On that sign post back there? How could you have missed it? It was a flyer for Zombie Fest. Zombie Fest!” Her pitch rose with each word.
    I bit back a sharp retort and tapped my fingers against the steering wheel. “Zombie Fest?”
    “That sounds like the bomb. I can’t wait to tell my friends.” She held out her arms, limp at the wrists, and crossed her eyes. “Zombies. I’m a zombie. Brains!”
    Oh my goodness. How was I going to survive a whole day of this? By the end of our first job, I’d be begging for a zombie to come and eat my brains.
    She grabbed my arm and nearly had me jumping out of my skin. “You’re totally going to go, aren’t you, Gabby?”
    Certainly she was n’t asking me if I was going to . . . “Zombie Fest?”
    “It’s this Friday. You’ve got to do it! Everyone who’s anyone will be there.”
    I was n’t quite so sure her words were true. “Zombie Fest doesn’t sound like much fun.”
    “It’s zombies, for goodness sake! What’s not fun about that? Except maybe monkey ninjas.” She paused and turned her head sharply toward me. “You’re not too old for it, are you?”
    “Too old ?” I wasn’t even thirty yet. “Of course not.”
    “You’re acting too old.”
    Too old? Some kind of survival instinct ignited within me. I was not some old stick in the mud. No way. I was young. Hip. With it. “I’d love to go to Zombie Fest. It would be the highlight of my week. Maybe my month. When I said it didn’t sound like much fun, I meant it didn’t sound like much fun—it sounded like the bomb-diggity of fun.”
    She grinned. “See! Auntie Sharon was right when she said I’d get along great with you. We’re totally on the same wavelength.”
    Oh, p lease. Never. Ever. Shoot me.
    I kept driving, wondering what I’d just gotten myself into. Clarice talked about it for the rest of the ride until we pulled up to our crime scene. The place was a small little bungalow located in an older but well kept area of Norfolk called Larchmont. Some larger homes here backed up to the water, but many were moderately sized. This house was painted olive green with white shutters and immaculate flowerbeds.
    I cut the engine and prepped Clarice a moment. “There was a shooting inside. I’m fairly certain it was a drug deal gone badly. I’ll spackle the wall where the bullets got lodged, scrub down everything, remove anything that would remind the family of the crime.”
    “Got it.”
    I met a man on the porch. He wasn’t the same person who’d been here when I came out to give my estimate on Saturday. He had a curly gray beard, oversized glasses, and wore a trucker hat. His skin was pale and wrinkled, and he had an over abundance of ear hair.
    “Thanks for coming,” he mumbled, tugging at his hat.
    “I’m sorry for your loss.” I meant it. I never wanted to become immune to death’s sting or the life-altering impact it had on the lives of the deceased’s loved ones.
    He nodded solemnly. “We all are. If you could make it look like this never happened, we’d sure be appreciative.”
    “I’ll do my best,” I told him.
    He unlocked the door for me before walking to his car and making me promise to lock up after I left. I hauled out my equipment, including an industrial vacuum, an air scrub, and lots of cleaning products. We drug it all inside and paused for a moment.
    I almost always paused first thing when I arrived at the scene. Maybe it was my subconscious way of paying respect to the dead. Every life, no matter whatever series of events that defined it, deserved a moment of honor. If God had created all of us, then it only seemed fitting to mourn the passing of one of His creations.
    My cell phone rang. I glanced down and saw Riley’s number. Hopefully he was calling to tell me that Milton Jones had been located and taken back into custody. At least I