Grave Doubts (A Paranormal Mystery Novel) Read Online Free

“You okay?  I could stick around awhile.”
    “No,” she replied, reaching for the
door. “Amy is still here, and I’m going over to Robin’s for dinner.”
    “Going to see Detective Grady, are
you?”
    She turned to him with a narrowed
glance. “I said I was going over for dinner.”
    “Yeah, but you really want to talk
to Alan.” Patrick’s green eyes sparkled, undeterred. “You don’t think Diane
killed herself. How could you?  Diane was the toughest broad I ever met. I used
to think she was a man with tits.”
    “Patrick!” Lee stared at her
brother shocked.
    “I don’t mean she didn’t have
feelings, but she always acted with such purpose, such focus. You know what I
mean?  I picture people who kill themselves as being, I don’t know, kind of
lost. Like you.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” Lee
demanded.
    “Lost, you know, cut off from the
rest of the world. When was the last time you had a date?”
    “What does that have to do with
anything?”
    “When was the last time you took a
vacation?”
    “Who the hell cares?” she snarled.
    “When was the last time you did
anything for yourself?”
    He snapped this last question like
a wet towel, and she responded by opening the door and attempting to close it
in his face. He pushed it open and followed her around the base of the
staircase and down the narrow hallway to the kitchen.
    “You know, Roger what’s-his-name
wasn’t such a bad guy,” Patrick prattled on behind her. “He really liked you.”
    “No,” she spat. “He liked you.” She
threw her keys onto an old roll-top desk that sat against the wall in the big
farm-style kitchen. “He spent more time watching soccer matches with you than
he did with me.”
    “So?  He liked sports. What’s wrong
with that?”
    Lee placed the bag of groceries
onto the white-tiled counter and pulled down a glass from the cupboard before
going to the refrigerator. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that.” She grabbed
a liter bottle of cola, while she talked over her shoulder. “I don’t like
sports. That’s what’s wrong with that. ‘Good guy’ Roger, as you put it, didn’t
like anything I like. That’s why I stopped seeing him. He was a bore.” She
poured herself a drink and took a long gulp.
    “You have to be kidding. You think
he was a bore because he didn’t like Cary Grant movies and the junk you buy at
yard sales?  Give the guy a break!”
    Patrick snorted with self-righteous
indignation. That was so like Patrick, Lee thought. He never assumed he might
be wrong.
    “You know, it wasn’t yard sale junk
that he didn’t like. He thought valuable antiques, like that typewriter, were
dusty and smelly.”
    “Okay, I get it. He wasn’t your
type. But I don’t think they’re dusty and smelly,” he said, patting the
typewriter lovingly.
    “Good thing,” she said with a
smile. “Or you’d be looking somewhere else for your stage prop.”
    “Never!” he grinned. “You are my
antique dealer-of-choice whenever I need some piece of lost art or treasure.”
    Lee chuckled and returned to her
drink in hopes the caffeine would refuel her engine and wipe away the headache.
    “What’s this?” Patrick asked.
    Lee turned to find him holding a
card that had arrived in her mailbox the day before without a stamp.
    “A poorly crafted condolence,” she
grunted.
    “Pretty strange if you ask me,” he said,
reading the inside copy. “What do you think this means…’ things aren’t what
they seem’?  Sounds like either a threat or a clue.”
    Lee walked over and snatched the
card from his hands. “No, it’s a poorly crafted condolence, like I said. Now go
back to your play.” She waved the card in his face and then went back to the
counter. She was reaching up to put away the cereal when Patrick continued.
    “Hey, Lee. Can I ask you a question?”
    “Ask,” she replied without
enthusiasm.
    “Do you think Diane all of a sudden
hit a wall that night and decided that