Death of a Batty Genius (Stormy Day Mystery #3) Read Online Free

like two people who’ve been friends their whole lives.
    Franco said to his buddy, “I only got here a few minutes before you, man, and I didn’t see anyone.”
    Dion shrugged, then said to me, “We haven’t seen her, sorry.” He got an impish grin. “Then again, I wasn’t looking out for your redhead friend because I was too excited about my secret meeting with my lover, Franco.”
    Franco cuffed him on the back of the head. “You idiot. Don’t joke about that. Customers can never tell if you’re serious, plus it’s rude to people who actually are gay.”
    “Which we are,” Dion deadpanned.
    Franco cuffed him again. “Idiot.”
    Dion rubbed the back of his head. “Actually, we’re just up here to take some pictures of the gang’s old treehouse for a reunion.”
    “Sure, you are,” I said with a smile as I shifted my weight to exit the treehouse. The old wood groaned under my movements. “Have fun, guys. I’m off.”
    Dion called down after me, “Tell your friend she’s welcome to use our treehouse any time, even though she’s a girl with girl cooties.”
    I replied, “It’s not your treehouse. This structure is on town property, and you shouldn’t volunteer to take responsibility. It’s probably a hazard.”
    “Probably? More like definitely.”
    I heard another whack, then Franco giving Dion grief for embarrassing both of them.
    I was stepping off the ladder when a business card fluttered down past me.
    “We’re not just treehouse squatters,” Dion called down from the trapdoor. “We run a legitimate business, and there’s a voucher for a free drink on the back of that card.”
    The card was for the town’s English-style pub, the Fox and Hound. Both men were listed on the card as the owners, and the back side really did have a voucher for a free drink.
    I thanked him and tucked the card into my pocket.
    A wave of anxiety washed over me. I’d barely been in the treehouse a few minutes, but time was wasting, and I still had to find Jessica.

    There were no signs of her in the ravine or the park. I jogged back toward home, calling Jessica’s name.
    I rounded a corner and nearly bowled over a woman walking her fluffy Pekingese. She put her gloved hand on my arm and asked, “What breed is your Jessica?”
    “She’s a person.”
    The tiny woman, who appeared to be in her eighties, smiled, her whole face wrinkling with joy. “Aren’t they all, dear? Miss Molly won’t eat dinner until she’s got her little bib on. People say that Pekingese are willful dogs, but who wants to spend their days with a pushover? Not me. My dear Harold, bless his heart, might have preferred someone with fewer ideas of her own, but I’ll tell you one thing: I kept that man on his toes, right up until the day he departed, and then I got Miss Molly, and life goes on. Where were we? Yes, you were about to tell me the breed of your Jessica. If she’s not a purebred, that’s okay, because there are plenty of mutts and strays who need homes, too.”
    “Actually, Jessica is a human person. I’m worried she might be wandering around the neighborhood, lost and confused, from… food poisoning.”
    “Food poisoning?” The woman wasn’t buying my story, but she didn’t seem any less concerned. “Miss Molly and I have been on our walk for the last forty-six minutes—I plan to see my hundredth birthday, so I keep up my fitness routine, and tomorrow is aqua aerobics—but I haven’t seen your human person tonight. Should we call the police? I hear they’ve got a young whippersnapper on the force now, a cute one who could be on one of those calendars the ladies have up at the hair salon. The girls always apologize when I come in for my perm, but I tell them that just because my courting days are over, that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a peek.”
    I laughed. “You must be talking about Officer Dimples. I mean Officer Dempsey. I will give the police a call right away. Thanks for the idea, ma’am.”
    “Olivia