To Catch Her Death (The Grim Reality Series Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

bit about her life.
    “You know after Doug shot the robber?”
    I nodded.
    Roger swallowed hard. “I could have sworn I saw his ghost.”
    To cover my shock I play dumbed. “Who? Doug’s ghost?”
    “No.” Roger’s tongue darted out nervously to moisten his lips. “The gunman’s ghost. It was only there for a few seconds and faded when you went to the bathroom.”
    I kept my face passive. “Really?”
    “Yeah, he was standing right in front of you and he looked really pissed.”
    Pissed was putting it mildly. I gave him a strained smiled. “Whew, glad I didn’t see him. I would have lost it big time.”
    Roger clutched his hands to his chest. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
    “No.” I shook my head. “I think some people are more susceptible to the spirit world.”
    That wasn’t a lie. I’d always fancied myself sensitive to things like ghosts and haunted houses, whether it was a sense of being watched or a feeling of foreboding when I walked into a room. If I really was a grim reaper, that might explain my experiences. Maybe Roger’s native upbringing connected him to the spirit world. Heck, maybe he’d taken a hallucinogenic before work. Besides the robbery, I couldn’t explain anything else that had happened.
    “Well, I need to get going. Are you guys okay? Did you call the owner?” I asked.
    “Yeah,” Doug nodded. Through all the hoopla, his plastic comb had remained firmly in place at the side of his fro. “He’s on his way.”
    “Maybe you’ll get a bonus for preventing a robbery.” They looked at each other, their eyes lighting at my mention of money. I smiled. “Mind if I grab a soda?”
    Doug shook his head. “Take anything you want, Mrs. Carron. Anything.”
    “Thanks.” I slipped between a police officer and the stand of postcards, trying to be as discrete as possible. If I could get my soda and leave, I wouldn’t have to talk to crazy Nate again.
    I opted for the forty-four ounce jug and made a break for the front door. A cop still questioned him, but Nate glanced in my direction. Our gazes locked for a few seconds. Then he flicked his head toward me, indicating our business wasn’t finished. I silently groaned. A slick ditch would have been too easy.
    Despite the crowd gathered beyond the yellow police tape, I pushed open the glass door and stepped outside. Cameras clicked and questions were shouted at me, but I kept my head down and walked briskly to my van. Why couldn’t the robbery have happened after I’d gotten my hair done?
    I drove to the Northway Mall, where Vella’s Star Power Salon resided. I parked, grabbed my soda and purse, and locked Omar. The brisk breeze registered but the shivers running through me were not caused from the cold. I was still trying to wrap my head around everything, but not having much luck.
    At least I’d be able to relay all the events to Vella. Her quirky outlook on life was one of acceptance and what-ifs. Hopefully, she wouldn’t suggest I seek psychiatric help or up my meds—which I did not take. Vella thought everybody should be on happy pills , as she referred to them. Not me, I preferred to suffer through my pain.
    The mall was quiet for a Saturday morning. Then again, it was usually quiet. Situated in the not so posh section of town, the stores in the Northway Mall came and went. There were a few steady merchants and personally, I liked the smaller crowds. But I’m sure the store owners would disagree.
    The smell of hair color hung in the air and Elvis Presley crooned over the speaker system when I entered the salon. She was a diehard Elvis fan and even owned a motion activated, life-size cutout of him in her house. The damn thing scared me to death one night when I stayed with her. Stumbling down the dim hallway for a midnight pee, I’d passed her Elvis room . From out of the darkness I heard, “Thank you, thank you very much.” When I screamed Vella’s husband, Bud, ran out of their bedroom in his tidy whities, wielding a