Skeletons in the Attic (A Marketville Mystery Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

taller of the two, Marty according to the name tag on his coveralls, came up to meet me. The other, a heavily tattooed guy, went to the back of the truck and began unloading.
    “I shouldn’t take me ’n Tim more than a coupla hours,” Marty said. “You don’t have much stuff.”
    That was true. My rental had been a 550 square foot one-bedroom with a miniscule balcony. I suppose I could have supplemented my new digs with things from my father’s townhouse, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. In the end, I’d donated what I could to the Salvation Army and ReStore and hired a company to take the rest to the dump. The only thing I’d kept was his filing cabinet—jam packed with paperwork I’d have to go through and shred—and his toolbox, which was bound to come in handy. Until now, my screwdriver had been a bread knife and my tape measure had been my feet.
    Marty and Tim worked in harmony, neither one showing the slightest sign of strain. After about ninety minutes, Marty handed me the release paperwork to sign and asked for cash or a credit card. I suppose given the state of the house, I didn’t look like a good bet for a personal check. I looked at the invoice and decided I’d been in the wrong business all these years. I was just about to hand over my Visa when I noticed that tattooed Tim looked a tad squeamish.
    “Is everything alright?”
    “Sure, of course,” Marty said. “It’s just that Tim here thought he heard noises in the attic. Bit of a little girl when it comes to mice, Tim is.”
    “Weren’t no mice,” Tim said, the freckles on his pale face standing out like fireflies. “I’m sure I heard footsteps and then something like a lady crying. It was ever so soft, but—”
    “Well, I didn’t hear anything, and I was standing right there beside you.” Marty sniggered. “You’d tell us if you were hiding someone in the attic, now wouldn’t you Ms. Barnstable?”
    I folded my arms in front of me and tried my best to look annoyed, but the truth was Tim hearing things made me nervous. What was it Leith said? Something about one of the previous tenants getting out of her lease because of noises in the attic. And I had heard that creaking sound earlier. Not exactly footsteps and a lady crying, but still disconcerting.
    “Do you mind taking a look inside the attic? I have to admit the idea of mice sort of freaks me out.”
    “We’re on the clock,” Marty said, shaking his head. “Boss only pays for the hours we invoice.”
    “Fine, I’ll pay you another fifty dollars each.”
    Tim and Marty shrugged in unison.
    “Very well. Seventy-five dollars each. Cash. Just do me a favor and take a peek.”
    A furtive look passed between Tim and Marty, one that suggested I’d just been the victim of a scam, though I couldn’t be certain.
    “I’ll look. Tim can stay down here and protect you.” Marty gave Tim a not-so-playful punch on the arm. “Show me where the entry to the attic is.”
    I led them to the master bedroom and opened the closet door. “I noticed the laddered footstool earlier today.”
    Marty pulled out the footstool, folded down the stairs, and reached up. “There’s a padlock on the entry way. Who padlocks an attic?” For the first time he sounded suspicious.
    I didn’t much care for his tone. “My father, that’s who. He rented this place out for years. I guess he didn’t want folks snooping in areas that didn’t belong to them. Hang on a sec.”
    I came back a minute later with the key ring Leith had given me. “Has to be one of these.”
    Marty stared at the keys and the lock and somehow managed to select the correct key right off. He pushed open the wooden door, sticking his head and shoulders inside the opening.
    “So far no evidence of rodents,” he said, his voice getting increasingly muffled as he clomped through the space. Tim, the gutless wimp, went outside under the guise of needing a smoke.
    “What is it?” I asked as Marty climbed back into the