Read Online Charley Davidson 01Bis For I Have Sinned by Darynda Jones - Free Book Online
Authors: Darynda Jones
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Another wave of guilt wafted off him.
“They were close?”
“That’s just it. They’d went to high school together, but they hadn’t kept in touch. Mimi never even mentioned her name until she died, so I was surprised at how much it affected her. She was devastated, and yet…”
“And yet?” I asked when he lost himself in thought again. This was just getting interesting. He couldn’t stop now.
“I don’t know. She was torn up, but not really upset about losing her friend. It was different.” His jaw worked as he rifled through his memories. “I really didn’t think much about it at the time, but quite frankly, she didn’t seem all that surprised that her friend was murdered. Then I asked her if she wanted to go to the funeral, and my god, the look on her face. You’d think I’d asked her to drown the neighbor’s cat.”
Admittedly, drowning the neighbor’s cat didn’t really clue me in as much as I’d liked. “So, she was angry?”
He blinked back to me and stared. Like a long time. Long enough to have me sliding my tongue over my teeth to make sure I didn’t have anything in them.
“She was horrified,” he said at last.
Damn, I wished he could’ve remembered the woman’s name. And why Mimi wasn’t surprised when the woman was murdered. Murder is usually quite the surprise to everyone involved.
Speaking of names, I decided to ask about the one on the bathroom wall. Having found no foreign objects in my teeth, I asked, “Did Mimi ever mention a Janelle York?”
“That’s her,” he said in surprise. “That’s Mimi’s friend who was murdered. How did you know?”
I didn’t, but his thinking I did made me look good.
Read on for a preview of
DARYNDA JONES
Third Grave Dead Ahead
Third Grave Dead Ahead
Chapter One
Death comes to those who wait.
And to those who don’t. So either way…
—Charlotte Jean
Davidson, Grim Reaper
There was a dead clown sitting in my living room. Since I wasn’t particularly fond of clowns, and it was way too early for anything coherent to come out of my mouth, I pretended not to notice him. Instead, I let a loud yawn overtake me and was headed toward my kitchen when I was hit by a jolt of panic. Since nothing screamed awkward like greeting the dead in my birthday suit, I glanced down to make sure my girl parts hadn’t been compromised. Fortunately, I had on a white tank and pair of plaid bottoms. My girls, also known as Danger and Will Robinson, were safe.
I mentally made the sign of the cross as I padded through my humble abode. Trying not to draw attention. Wondering if the dead clown, with his gaze following my every move, had noticed me. My apartment was a comfy cross between a storage room full of pillows and a broom closet, so it wasn’t a long journey. Nor an especially enlightening one. Though I did come to a rather morbid conclusion in those few fleeting seconds. Better a dead clown in my apartment than a live one.
My name is Charlotte Davidson. Charley to some, Charlotte the Harlot to others, but that was mostly in middle school. I was born with a decent set of curves, a healthy respect for the male anatomy, and a slightly disturbing addiction to brown edibles. Other than that—and the fact that I’d also been born the grim reaper—I was about as normal as a surly girl with a private investigator’s license could be.
I strode toward Mr. Coffee with lust in my eyes. We’d had a thing for quite some time now, Mr. Coffee and I, and there was just enough of him left for one more cup. No need to make a fresh pot, to get him all hot and bothered. I popped the cup into the microwave, set it to nuke anything unfortunate enough to be caught within its grasp for 30 seconds, then raided my fridge for sustenance. Eating would keep me awake for at least another five minutes, and my one goal in life for the past couple of weeks was to stay awake at all costs. The alternative was exhausting.
After an epic search, I finally
“They were close?”
“That’s just it. They’d went to high school together, but they hadn’t kept in touch. Mimi never even mentioned her name until she died, so I was surprised at how much it affected her. She was devastated, and yet…”
“And yet?” I asked when he lost himself in thought again. This was just getting interesting. He couldn’t stop now.
“I don’t know. She was torn up, but not really upset about losing her friend. It was different.” His jaw worked as he rifled through his memories. “I really didn’t think much about it at the time, but quite frankly, she didn’t seem all that surprised that her friend was murdered. Then I asked her if she wanted to go to the funeral, and my god, the look on her face. You’d think I’d asked her to drown the neighbor’s cat.”
Admittedly, drowning the neighbor’s cat didn’t really clue me in as much as I’d liked. “So, she was angry?”
He blinked back to me and stared. Like a long time. Long enough to have me sliding my tongue over my teeth to make sure I didn’t have anything in them.
“She was horrified,” he said at last.
Damn, I wished he could’ve remembered the woman’s name. And why Mimi wasn’t surprised when the woman was murdered. Murder is usually quite the surprise to everyone involved.
Speaking of names, I decided to ask about the one on the bathroom wall. Having found no foreign objects in my teeth, I asked, “Did Mimi ever mention a Janelle York?”
“That’s her,” he said in surprise. “That’s Mimi’s friend who was murdered. How did you know?”
I didn’t, but his thinking I did made me look good.
Read on for a preview of
DARYNDA JONES
Third Grave Dead Ahead
Third Grave Dead Ahead
Chapter One
Death comes to those who wait.
And to those who don’t. So either way…
—Charlotte Jean
Davidson, Grim Reaper
There was a dead clown sitting in my living room. Since I wasn’t particularly fond of clowns, and it was way too early for anything coherent to come out of my mouth, I pretended not to notice him. Instead, I let a loud yawn overtake me and was headed toward my kitchen when I was hit by a jolt of panic. Since nothing screamed awkward like greeting the dead in my birthday suit, I glanced down to make sure my girl parts hadn’t been compromised. Fortunately, I had on a white tank and pair of plaid bottoms. My girls, also known as Danger and Will Robinson, were safe.
I mentally made the sign of the cross as I padded through my humble abode. Trying not to draw attention. Wondering if the dead clown, with his gaze following my every move, had noticed me. My apartment was a comfy cross between a storage room full of pillows and a broom closet, so it wasn’t a long journey. Nor an especially enlightening one. Though I did come to a rather morbid conclusion in those few fleeting seconds. Better a dead clown in my apartment than a live one.
My name is Charlotte Davidson. Charley to some, Charlotte the Harlot to others, but that was mostly in middle school. I was born with a decent set of curves, a healthy respect for the male anatomy, and a slightly disturbing addiction to brown edibles. Other than that—and the fact that I’d also been born the grim reaper—I was about as normal as a surly girl with a private investigator’s license could be.
I strode toward Mr. Coffee with lust in my eyes. We’d had a thing for quite some time now, Mr. Coffee and I, and there was just enough of him left for one more cup. No need to make a fresh pot, to get him all hot and bothered. I popped the cup into the microwave, set it to nuke anything unfortunate enough to be caught within its grasp for 30 seconds, then raided my fridge for sustenance. Eating would keep me awake for at least another five minutes, and my one goal in life for the past couple of weeks was to stay awake at all costs. The alternative was exhausting.
After an epic search, I finally
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