Read Online A Scrying Shame by Donna White Glaser - Free Book Online

deep breath and forced herself to stuff it deep into a large red biohazard trash bag. She moved to the dresser, a modernistic black-lacquered monstrosity. Its surface was so shiny, her face loomed out of the black depths when she peered down at it. Suddenly, a red haze misted over her reflection. An atonal chorus sang, “Holy, holy, holy . . .” Arie gasped and pulled back as though from an abyss.
    The blood cries to Me . . .
    Teeth chattering, she cleared the dresser, tossing a hairbrush and a deodorant stick into the bag as she went. When she came to a jewelry box, she set it aside. There wasn’t any blood on it, but it was covered in fingerprint dust and needed to be wiped down.
    Arie moved to the nightstand beside the bed. Sprays of blood streaked across the top, and it looked as though it had been shoved to one side. A drawer was open a few inches. Had the victim been trying to reach into it? Some people kept guns in their nightstands for home protection. A can of mace, maybe? Or had the killer rifled through it, looking for something? Arie glanced at Grady. She knew he was right about the dangers of speculation, but she found it nearly impossible to resist.
    She glanced at the small pile of books on the stand. Romance novels. Something stirred inside Arie. She bent over and picked one up.
    Not a romance this time. This was a hardcover in a paper jacket. The title, Rich Bitch , was embossed in a glittery gold font. A wedding ring set with a rock the size of Gibraltar sparkled just below the title. In fact, the set looked a lot like . . . My engagement ring—so large it weighs my hand down. It sparkles like sunlight reflecting off a crystal-clear lake .
    Arie dropped the book, and it slid under the bed.
    Grady glanced at her. “You all right?”
    “I’m fine. I just, uh, dropped a book.” Arie picked it back up and waved it at him.
    “Dude, you left your gloves on. That’s cross-contamination. Now you gotta toss her book.”
    “Damn. I’m sorry.”
    “It happens, but you really gotta watch it. And make sure you never, ever forget and touch your face when you’re wearing them. So gross.” Grady turned back to his task.
    Arie grabbed the nearest bio-bag, but the photograph on the back of the book caught her eye. She looked closer. It was a slightly older version of the girl in the mirror. Something about the woman seemed familiar but Arie couldn’t chase down the connection, if indeed there was one. She flipped the book back around to verify the author’s name. Marissa Mason.
    “Didn’t Guts say that the victim here had written a book?”
    “Yeah,” Grady said. “Why?”
    Arie waggled the book again. “I think this is her. The victim. This must be the book.”
    Grady shrugged. “What’s the big deal? She wrote a book. Oh, wait. I get it. You want to read that book, huh? Gonna figure out how to catch a rich guy?” He turned back to the wall and resumed scrubbing. “Can’t say I blame you. It’s not like I want to be doing this job for the rest of my life, either.”
    Arie mumbled an agreement and, tucking the book under her arm, grabbed the trash bags. “I’m taking these to the van.”
    As soon as she reached the parking lot, Arie wiped the smear of blood off the book cover and hid it under the front seat of her car. As she bent over, she realized she’d forgotten to take off the outer layer of booties. Crap. She hoped Grady hadn’t noticed.
    She snatched them off and, intending to throw the bloodstained footwear inside, started picking at the ties on one of the trash bags. Then stopped. At some point, she was going to have to figure out what worked and what didn’t with this scrying thing. And for that, she would probably need blood.
    Grabbing a wadded-up fast-food bag from the back seat, Arie dumped a couple of straggler fries onto the ground and shoved the stained booties inside. The bag got stuffed beside Marissa’s book.
    After slinging the trash bags into the back of the van,