Where's Hansel and Gretel's Gingerbread House?: A Gabby Grimm Fairy Tale Mystery #2 Read Online Free PDF

room.
    “At least the place is clean,” said my cousin
as she disappeared in one of the two stalls. I took the other. “If
there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a dirty bathroom.”
    “Tell me about it,” I agreed.
    Moments later, I came out of the stall and
washed my hands. The glare of the fluorescent lights at that time
of night was scary. As I looked at my face in the mirror, I could
see bags under my eyes. It had been a tough couple of days.
    “Not the most flattering light,” I noted as
my cousin ran a brush through her hair at the sink beside me.
    “I told you you look like crap, Gabby.”
    “Gee, you’re too kind,” I laughed. She had a
point. That tumble off the roof of the Kinsey Building had left me
feeling ancient. The first thing I was going to do when we got to
Black Forest Farm was to drop her off at Gerhard and Ervina’s. The
second thing would be to take a long, hot bath. I could already
imagine how good it would feel to soak away the aches and pains in
all that lovely water. And then I would climb into my nice, comfy
bed and pull my down comforter over my exhausted body, shutting my
eyes for a hundred years. At least I was still on disability leave
from that fall, so I wasn’t expected back at the sheriff’s office
until Monday at the earliest. I followed my cousin out the door of
the restroom, down the short hall, and into the store, where we
gazed at the coffee carafes lined up on the counter.
    “Snickerdoodle.” Nettie grabbed a paper cup
and helped herself.
    “That sounds Christmas-y,” I decided,
following suit. As I was putting the lid on my cup, I noticed the
outside door open and two men stumble in. I let my eyes take in the
details. Caucasian teenagers, wearing knit caps, dark jackets,
acting twitchy. The cop in me reached instinctively for my Glock as
they leaned over the counter, where the clerk was suddenly
cowering. That’s when I remembered I locked it in the glove
compartment of Annette’s Toyota. “Crap.”
    I left the cup on the counter and grabbed my
cousin’s elbow to move her out of the way, even as I dialed
911.
    “What’s your emergency?” the operator
asked.
    “Robbery in progress. The Mobil station on
Central Avenue, just off I-87. Two suspects. They’ve just
threatened the clerk,” I announced quietly. Even as I gave my name,
I pulled Nettie down behind the store shelf, out of sight. A lot of
good it did me. They must have spotted us in the circular security
mirror at the front of the store.
    “Hey, there’s two customers!” an excited male
voice shouted as he came around the corner. I cringed, knowing what
that meant. “Give me your purses!”
    “No!” said Nettie firmly.
    “Hurry up, lady! I’m not kidding around!”
    “Tell them, Gabby! Tell them you’re a
deputy!”
    “Annette, that’s not really a good idea...,”
I started to say.
    “She’ll bust your butt!” said the defiant
crime-buster. Even as I pulled her up to her feet, I raised my
hands in the air reluctantly. The rule of survival is that when
you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun and you’re unarmed,
consider cooperating until you run out of options, your back is
against the wall, and there’s no other way to avoid an untimely
death. There are few purses in this world that I would surrender my
life to save. After all, a handbag is only a few pieces of leather
stitched together. Better not to aggravate the hopped-up thief with
a drug problem, because impulse control is one of the first things
to go on an addict.
    “They don’t care if I’m a deputy sheriff,” I
said in an even tone, hoping to figure out how I was going to
prevent these two idiots from stealing my purse, and the evidence
with it.
    “This one’s a cop!” the young man in the dark
jacket hollered over his shoulder.
    “Damn!” grunted the second man holding the
frightened store clerk. “Shoot her!”
    “What?” the three of us asked at the same
time. I could feel Nettie’s fear as the