The Death Catchers Read Online Free

winks at me, smiling devilishly, and says, “Rita, you’ve simply outdone yourself this time. Just divine!” Later, Bizzy whispers something in my ear like, “Those green beans should press charges against your mama for what she did to ’em. Mutilation!”
    It would be one thing if Mom only inflicted her cooking on the immediate family. But she loves doing things for other people. This includes dropping off books and baked goods on a weekly basis for Jodi and Miss Mora at their apartment, which is on the floor above the market.
    Now, Miss Mora was staring at me curiously.
    â€œHoney,” Miss Mora said, “Jodi tells me you’re feeling under the weather.”
    â€œHer head is hot,” Jodi said.
    â€œYou should probably go home and rest,” Miss Mora said sympathetically. “It may be a touch of the flu.”
    â€œMaybe,” I said. Physically, I felt absolutely fine. Mentally, I was a mess. I couldn’t get the harrowing figure of Vivienne out of my head. I looked at Jodi. I didn’t know if I was imagining it, but she seemed different somehow.
    Miss Mora took the fresh-squeezed orange juice out of Jodi’s hands and placed it in mine.
    â€œTake this with you,” she said. “There’s nothing better in this world than a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.”
    I reached into my pocket, pulling out some single dollars to pay for the orange juice.
    â€œOh, no, no, honey,” Miss Mora explained. “It’s on the house.”
    I hesitated, clutching the quart of orange juice. Mom had told me over and over again that I was never to accept any freebies from Miss Mora. “It’s hard enough being a single mother in this world …,” I overheard Mom explain to Dad after she chided me for bringing home a free loaf of olive bread, “but Miss Mora, bless her heart, would give away everything in that store of hers if she felt someone was in need.”
    No matter what I said, Miss Mora wouldn’t take my money. I put the wad of singles back in my pocket.
    â€œCan I ask you a question, Miss Mora?”
    â€œAnything,” Miss Mora replied.
    â€œYou know Agatha from the cemetery? Is she crazy like everyone says she is?”
    Jodi rolled her eyes and then smiled at me. “Lizzy is convinced that we saw Agatha talking to a witch.”
    â€œI am not,” I defended. “I just wondered if the rumors about Agatha are true.”
    Miss Mora put both her hands on the counter and leaned toward me. “Agatha Cantare may be a little eccentric, Lizzy, but she’s no more unhinged than half the people in this town.” Miss Mora reached behind her into a wicker basket lined with a red kerchief. She held a foil-wrapped dark chocolate square in her hand.
    â€œI feel sorry for the poor woman,” Miss Mora said, frowning. “The only person I’ve ever seen even talk to her is your grandmother.”
    â€œBizzy?”
    â€œSure, in the past couple weeks, I’ve seen Bizzy coming and going from Agatha’s cottage a lot. I think they’ve recently become friends. They’re about the same age, aren’t they?”
    Questions spiraled through my head. Bizzy … friends with Agatha from the cemetery? Did she know that awful Vivienne woman? Was Bizzy a witch, too? It seemed ridiculous. Jodi raised an eyebrow at me suspiciously. I wondered if she could tell what I was thinking.
    Miss Mora unfolded my hand and placed the dark chocolate square inside it. “Insurance in case your mother makes her legendary tuna casserole tonight,” she said, smiling brightly.
    â€œThank you,” I responded.
    Jodi turned to her mother. “How come you never give me chocolate?” she whined.
    â€œBecause you were blessed with a mother who can cook,” Miss Mora said, winking at me. “Not to offend you, Lizzy. Rita is wonderful, but the woman can’t cook canned soup.”
    I laughed.