The Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum (A Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum Mystery) Read Online Free Page A

darted around the room, landing on the metal door in front of me. I willed someone—anyone—to walk through it. If Laurel was playing bad cop, where was the good cop? Unless Laurel was the good cop, in which case Adele was in real trouble.
    “I’m not covering for anyone,” I said. “We met for drinks with Harper Caldarelli at seven o’clock. We were at the Bell and Brew until nine. Then Harper went home, and Adele and I walked to the Chicken Shack. I mean the tea room.”
    “Why?”
    “Adele wants me to run the Paranormal Museum. Taking me there was her way of talking me into it.”
    “Must be nice to have a friend give you a business.” Laurel’s eyes narrowed with dislike. “Most people have to work for it.”
    My voice hardened. “She isn’t giving it to me.”
    “Right. Nakomoto said you bought it for a dollar.”
    “I’m not buying it. I don’t want it. I’m doing a favor for a friend.”
    “Like covering for a murder?”
    “Of course not.” I ground my teeth into a smile. High school was more than a decade ago. I’d changed. Laurel had changed too, at least on the outside. She was doing her job.
    “Let’s go over this again.”
    “I’ve already told you—”
    “And I’m asking nicely. Let’s go over this again.”
    And we did. And again.
    I rubbed my eyes. “Detective Hammer, I can’t tell you anything more.”
    “Don’t tell me what you can’t do.”
    The door clanked open, and her partner with the remarkable golden eyes entered the room.
    “She’s free to go,” he said.
    Laurel jerked to her feet. “What? Slate, I’m in the middle—”
    He silenced her with a look.
    Her hands balled into fists.
    “Thanks,” I muttered. Heart thumping, I scuttled past him.
    He touched my arm, his expression impassive. “By the way, the mayor wanted me to tell you that you can reopen on Saturday.”
    I stared, taken aback. The mayor? Was the Paranormal Museum that important? And how had the mayor found out about the murder so quickly? But the answer was obvious: Adele and her connections.
    My stomach bottomed out. It was the worst sort of favoritism. If I were Laurel or her partner, I’d despise us.
    I fled the station before they could change their minds.

three
    Slumped on Adele’s snow-white couch, Harper stretched out her legs, bumping the briefcase near her feet. It wobbled but didn’t fall. She wore gray wool slacks and a starched white blouse, and I assumed she had an appointment later with a client. As a financial adviser, she set her own hours. I knew they were long.
    “I can’t believe someone killed Christy,” Harper said. “San Benedetto hasn’t had a murder in at least a decade. What happened?”
    “It looked like someone bludgeoned her to death.” I rubbed my eyes, gritty from lack of sleep. I gazed past her, through bay windows overlooking rows of grapevines, shrouded by morning mist. The living room of Adele’s Victorian was a study in white—white chairs, white shag rug, white-brick fireplace—as if the fog had made its way inside.
    Adele was a contrast in black: black turtleneck, black pencil skirt, and black tights in black Jimmy Choos. I think she was going for a mourning look, but she looked chic. “They’re going to arrest me,” she said. Her voice was flat, defeated.
    Adele’s pug, Pug, snuffled my ankles, and I bent to scratch behind his ears. “No, they won’t,” I said.
    Harper ran a hand through her loose mahogany hair. “What was Christy Huntington doing in your tea room?”
    “In the Paranormal Museum,” Adele corrected. “She was clearly attacked in the Paranormal Museum. It’s not my fault her body fell into my tea room.”
    “That’s sort of a moot point, isn’t it?” Harper asked. “You own the whole building. What was Christy doing inside?”
    “I don’t know.” Adele gnawed her lower lip. “I don’t know how she got inside, or why she was there. The police said she had a key on her. They asked me if I’d given it to her