Thomas Prescott Superpack Read Online Free PDF Page A

white hair was styled soft serve vanilla, making her look closer to eighty than sixty. Margery told me she didn’t have any copies of Eight in October at the, “Pres-ant mom-ant,” but was expecting another shipment in the next couple days.
    These mom and pop stores are all the same and I told Margery if she could somehow find it in her heart to rummage up a copy of Eight in October , I would buy at least two other hardback novels. Five minutes later, I left the Bookrack with a bag containing Michael Crichton’s latest novel, I got a 1550 on my SAT’s! What’d you get stupid ; Sailing for Idiots ; and Eight in October .
    Back in the car, I took Route 1 northbound to the town of Surry. I passed the legendary Lighthouse Museum (Historical side note: The Lighthouse Museum houses the largest collection of lighthouse lenses in the world), and turned onto a small street leading to the Surry Woods. The houses in Surry Woods are separated by miles of oaks, maples, and firs, and if you’re going out to your mailbox, you should think about packing a lunch.
    I drove for a half mile, went down a steep hill, found the dirt entrance to 14 Surry Woods Drive, wound eastward for a short par three, and parked in an immense leaf-strewn yard.
    My sister and I moved into the large three story Colonial about ten months ago, Christmas Eve to be exact. The house was built in the late 1950s, but was completely restored in the last couple years. The majority of the house was comprised of copper brick and the trim was a ghastly pea green I’d had on my to-do list for, well, the last ten months. I’d had a run in with the house a year ago and fallen in love with the location. Ten miles of woods to the north, south, and west. Three thousand miles of ocean directly east. 14 Surry Woods Drive was literally one of the few places in the world where dense woods visibly met white sandy beach.
    The previous owners gave me a good deal on the house for bringing their daughter’s killer to justice. Who was I to argue?
     
    Walking around the car, I took a gander at my front bumper. The collision with the guardrail was more serious than I’d let on and the bumper looked a little loose. Okay, it was hanging on by a thread.
    I marched the seven stones to the front door and was reaching for the doorknob when the flap to the doggie door flew open and something shot through my legs. Unless Baxter stood still it was impossible to distinguish if he was a dog, a cat, a hamster, or a racquetball. I mean I love dogs, but not dogs that are smaller than cats, that goes against everything God intended. I once saw Baxter get beat up by a rabbit. I’m not kidding you, a little white rabbit beat the piss out of him. He wouldn’t leave the house for a month.
    I walked through the front door and set the cooler on the kitchen counter, then remembered the sandwiches. I went back out to the car and grabbed the Angelini’s off the passenger seat and noticed, at some point, Baxter had jumped into the car and was fast asleep on the driver’s seat.
    Did I mention Baxter was narcoleptic?
    He could fall into the deepest of sleeps at a whim. It took the vet four visits before they diagnosed him with the sleeping disorder.
    I nestled the pug with my hand, watched him stir, then vanish in a puff of smoke. I’d come to the conclusion Baxter was half pug, half poltergeist. He was a pugtergeist .
    When I walked back into the kitchen, Lacy was emptying the contents of my cooler into the refrigerator, her dark brown hair visible over the top of the refrigerator door. Her voice boomed from behind the stainless steel, “How were the sandwiches?”
    “Great. I ate the egg salad and the bologna.”
    “You didn’t eat the turkey?” Lacy was world famous for her turkey sandwiches and she stood up, her right hand heavy on her hip. She smiled, “Good. We can eat them tomorrow when you take me painting.”
    Painting? Oh, right. “What time do you want to get going?”
    “I want to see