Better Read Than Dead Read Online Free Page B

long to redo the roof, so I’m probably going to have to take down about three-quarters of the rafters and replace them.”
    I groaned as I set Eggy’s food down on the floor, then stood back up and closed my eyes as I asked, “How much?”
    “Good question. The short answer is, I’m not really sure. It might not be as bad as I think, and it could be only the one small section I’ve uncovered so far. . . .”
    My radar buzzed in and I said, “No, it’s bad. Trust me, it’s bad.”
    Dave looked at me with compassion and sighed. “Why don’t I go to Home Depot in the morning and see if I can’t work out some deal on the wood? I’ll try to cut you a break on the labor too.”
    I forced myself to smile then; Dave worked for fifteen paltry dollars an hour, and was always trying to shave time off the clock. He was a generous, good-natured man who had also become a close friend, so for his sake I put on my acting face. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s no problem, really. Besides, I’m working a big party tomorrow night, and that should go a long way toward helping out with the repairs. Really, it’s fine. I was just curious.”
    “All right, then, I’ll get started on that tomorrow. I’ll have to take down all the insulation in the attic, so your bedroom could get pretty cold until I’m finished.”
    “No problem. I’ve got plenty of comforters and blankets. I’ll be fine.”
    “Okay, then,” Dave said, rocking on his heels and looking for a way to drop the topic. “I should be shoving off. Don’t want the old lady to throw a fit if I’m late for dinner.” His casual remark about his common-law wife didn’t phase me. I knew Dave was completely devoted to her.
    “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as I walked him out.
    After he’d gone I went back to the kitchen and opened up the fridge, checking the contents for something edible. I had a carton of eggs, soy milk, ketchup, half a jar of sweet pickles and bagels. Cathy wasn’t the only one who put off grocery shopping. Sighing, I got out the frying pan and scrambled some eggs. Eggy stood at attention by my feet while I cooked. His love for eggs had been the inspiration for his name, so after I’d shoveled some eggs onto a plate for me, I gave him a small portion, and we ate in companionable silence.
     
    Later that night I checked in with my sister, Catherine, who called me from her swanky hotel room in New York City. Cat is the female alternative to Donald Trump. She’s a savvy businesswoman who started her own company and is now worth a gazillion dollars, lives fast and furious, and has no patience for stupid people. She typically plays the role of surrogate mother to me, often worrying over her little sister like a frantic hen. She lives in an affluent suburb of Boston but was in New York on a business deal that seemed to be going well, given her excitement and rapid rate of speech. I didn’t have the heart to bring her down, so I declined to inform her about Black Thursday.
    Finally she paused and asked, “So are you excited about your dinner tomorrow night with Dutch?”
    There was way to avoid it now. “Actually I had to cancel.”
    “Cancel? Why would you cancel?”
    “Do you remember Kendal Adams, my friend who took some of the overflow off my hands when I was in the hospital?”
    “Vaguely . . .”
    “Turns out he’s calling in his favor. He needs a fellow psychic to help him with a wedding reception tomorrow.”
    “I don’t understand,” she said.
    “Apparently the bride wants Kendal and another psychic to read tarot cards as part of the entertainment for her wedding reception.”
    “But you don’t read tarot cards,” Cat said.
    “Try telling Kendal that.”
    “So does that mean you’re going to fake it?” she asked.
    “No. Kendal’s going to give me a lesson tomorrow an hour before the reception.”
    “You can learn to read tarot cards in an hour?”
    “According to Kendal it’s really easy; anyone can do