Petticoat Detective Read Online Free

had never had any luck picking locks, but she could try. Just as she pulled a hairpin from the back of her head, an ear-piercing scream sent chills down her spine.
    Reaching in the false pocket of her skirt, she pulled out her gun and darted down the hall. In her haste, she practically stumbled down the stairs.
Oh, God, please, not another body
.
    The scream grew louder as her slippers hit the ground floor. Mr. Beavers, the cat, streaked past her as she dashed into the parlor.
    She practically fell over the back of an upholstered settee in her haste. Miss Lillian looked up from the piano, curved fingers poised above the ivory keys. Next to her a tall man with a pencil-thin mustache sent a gargling shrill note into the stratosphere before falling silent.
    Miss Lillian was the first to speak. “Good heavens, child. What are you doing with that gun?” She looked tired today, and even the thick coat of paint failed to hide her pallor. Amy wasn’t the only one who got little or no sleep last night.
    Amy hid the weapon behind the folds of her skirt. “I thought I heard a scream.”
    “A scream?” Miss Lillian’s eyes widened. “I didn’t hear a scream. Did you, Mr. Studebaker?”
    “No ma’am,” he said. Considering the high-pitched volume he’d managed moments earlier, his speaking voice sounded surprisingly normal.
    “You must be hearing things,” Miss Lillian said, turning back to the piano.
    Studebaker stared down his long, thin nose at Amy, as if resenting the intrusion and straightened his bow tie. With his patent leather hair and carefully waxed mustache, he bore a striking resemblance to an embezzler she had recently helped put behind bars.
    “My mistake,” she said, backing up. No sooner had she left the room than a piano chord sounded, followed by what could only be described as a blaring foghorn.
    The music abruptly stopped. “Stand up straight and breathe!” Miss Lillian ordered. “Okay, again, one, two, three …”
    SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!
    Amy slipped her weapon through her false pocket and into the holster at her thigh. After the unfortunate incident with Mr. Colton the night before, she’d ripped open a seam in her skirt so she could more easily retrieve her weapon. She was still miffed for allowing the man to wrestle the gun from her hand. Something like that would never happen again. Not if she had anything to do about it.
    But Mr. Colton wasn’t the only reason she was riled. A murder had been committed beneath this very roof, and no one saw anything suspicious. The room was in terrible disarray, yet no one heard a thing. Either someone was lying or …
    Somehow she had to get into Rose’s room. Where did Miss Lillian keep the keys?
    The volume of Mr. Studebaker’s voice increased, and Amy clapped her hands over her ears and looked up. Prisms of the crystal chandelier rattled like a bunch of old bones. A man caught in a bear trap couldn’t sound worse.
    That morning over breakfast, Miss Lillian had announced that no “guests” would be allowed for three days out of respect for Rose. Too bad the woman’s regard for the deceased didn’t extend to singing lessons.
    “Breathe, breathe!” Miss Lillian thundered.
    SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!
    Fortunately, the man either ran out of breath or passed out, and blessed silence followed. With a sigh, Amy studied the door leading to Miss Lillian’s office. Maybe the key to Rose’s room was in there.
    “Psst.”
    Amy whirled about. One of the girls—Coral—stood next to the staircase, motioning to her.
    “I want to show you something,” she said, her voice hushed. She was a tall, slender woman with a broad nose and full lips. As was the fashion for dark-skinned women, her black hair had been straightened with a hot metal comb and piled on top of her head.
    Motioning with her hand, Coral led the way through the dining room and into the kitchen. A cookstove filled one wall and a tall icebox and baker’s cabinet