Strange Things Done Read Online Free

rubber kitchen glove and washed one.The water from the kitchen tap had a mysterious murky quality to it. As she took another sip, she felt her stomach turn. To hell with it. She emptied the rest of the water into the sink and annexed a bottle of gin from the bar instead. She poured liberally, then opened the freezer door of the refrigerator to look for ice, revealing a landscape of Tupperware and steaks labelled “moose.” An ice-cube tray had frozen to the appliance.
    Sally shuffled into the kitchen, wearing a leopard print bathrobe and blinking like some nocturnal creature. “There’s an ice pick in the top drawer.”
    “Good to know if I need to leave town in a hurry,” Jo said.
    “You’d better not, if I heard correctly.” Her housemate’s blonde hair stood up at odd angles and there were dark circles below her eyes.
    This was a different Sally than Jo had first been presented with: the one with the carefully pencilled lips and brows, the modern Marlene Dietrich. With her make-up on, Sally could pass for being still in her twenties, perhaps only a little older than Jo. At a generous guess, she was about five and a half feet tall—if you counted her customary six-inch heels. But now, without her make-up and stilettos, Sally looked small, thin-lipped, and cynical. Jo decided that she liked this Sally better.
    “ Shame less eavesdropping!” Jo said.
    Sally’s voice was quiet but cutting. “I am a little worried you may not last the winter.” The look she gave Jo had a seriousness about it, like a scientist assessing the results of an experiment gone horribly wrong.
    Jo took a sip from the glass. The soapy gin had a pleasantly antiseptic flavour. “What’s it to you?”
    “Your rent money.” Sally put her hands on her hips, blocking the doorframe.
    “What do you need it for? You’ve got a job.”
    “The tourists are leaving, if you haven’t noticed. Gertie’s will close soon.” Her lips formed a firm line.
    Jo had the distinct impression that Sally was leaving something unsaid. Normally Jo would have pressed further, but as she’d just been caught red-handed drinking Sally’s booze, she let it go for the time being. “About last night …”
    “Yeeesss …” Sally smiled, and Jo noticed that one side of her mouth lifted more than the other, giving the impression that even she didn’t quite believe the smile.
    “You don’t happen to know … what time I got home …?”
    “No, dear. But I did see Christopher Byrne’s truck parked out front, as bold as daylight when I came in. And the door to your … boudoir … was closed.”
    “Ah.”
    Sally cocked an eyebrow, sizing Jo up. “By the way dear, don’t let all the attention go to your head. I mean, you’re cute and all, but Dawson is a pretty small dating pool, especially in the winter, and you’re fresh meat. Everyone has already slept with anyone they’re interested in sleeping with.”
    “Did I …?”
    Sally wore a quizzical expression, a cat with her paw on the tail of some small creature. “I haven’t the slightest, darling. I didn’t talk to Chris.”
    “Oh.”
    “Of course, it’s everyone else you have to worry about in this town. Particularly anyone else who saw you getting into the cab of his truck.”
    Jo felt her stomach lurch again.

2
    Jo Silver closed her eyes tightly. It felt as though a meaty taiko master were using her head as a drum. When she opened them again, the Dawson Daily was still a tiny, one-room office. Stacks of newspapers the colour of tobacco-stained teeth lined every available counter space, making her feel decidedly queasy. Fortunately (for her head), the room was dim, illuminated by a metal desk light and a dented floor lamp. The windows of the Dawson Daily were still coldly black.
    “Whose body?” Doug Browning, outgoing editor of the Daily , blinked behind 1970s aviator-style prescription frames. The glasses seemed to magnify his pale eyes, hedged by bushy, apologetic eyebrows. His long,