Read Online Death in the Cards by Sharon Short - Free Book Online Page B

tired of trying to figure out the maze, and had crashed on through. Several stalks of corn were bent backward, leaving a gap just wide enough for a person to edge through sideways.
    I went on through and trotted a few steps before stopping to look around and gain my bearings. We were right by the road, near the entrance to the Crowleys’ corn maze.
    And then I saw what all the hollering was about. “Oh, for pity’s sake, would you look at this, Owen?”
    Dru Purcell and a dozen or so others had gathered at the entrance with signs. The entrance was well lit, so I could make out the wording— HALLOWEEN IS EVIL! BE A-MAZED BY GOD, NOT CORN-MAZED BY THE DEVIL! JUST SAY NO TO PAGAN HOLIDAYS !
    I gasped.
    â€œThis is private property,” Hugh Crowley was hollering at Dru. “You have no right to be here, messing with our fundraiser and scaring our customers! What do you have against our corn maze, anyway?”
    â€œIf it were simply a corn maze, that would be fine,” Dru shouted back. “Or if it were populated by people dressed as Bible characters, say.”
    â€œJesus and Moses in a corn maze?” Hugh sounded incredulous.
    But Dru took his comment seriously. “Yes, my brother, yes, Amen! Young people dressed as Jesus and Moses, passing out Bible scriptures . . . what a testament of faith thatwould be . . .” His voice started to tremble with the wonder of a biblically populated corn maze until his wife, Missy, poked him.
    â€œBut instead, you have young people dressed up in costumes of the devil!” Dru shouted.
    â€œNow, look, Pastor, let’s go talk quietly as two men of God.” I recognized the voice of my own pastor, Micah Lamb, although I couldn’t see him. I had to smile. Pastor Micah had a gift for finding common ground among people. “We don’t want to disturb this fundraiser for these good people . . .”
    â€œI don’t recollect any of the volunteers dressing up as a devil.” That was Rebecca Crowley. I couldn’t quite see her, either. Her voice was trembling. “Just some ghouls and princesses and witches . . .”
    â€œIt’s the holiday of the devil,” Dru said, his voice stretching with infinite patience. Poor lost soul, his tone proclaimed. His followers shouted “Amen,” and Dru was off, sermonizing, shouting “tonight we protest this evil corn maze, tomorrow night the evil psychic fair!” His voice drowned out Hugh and Rebecca, and even Micah.
    â€œThis is ridiculous,” I said. “Owen, let’s go see if we can help Pastor Micah to get Pastor Dru and his cronies to leave the poor Crowleys alone.”
    Owen didn’t say anything. I turned back to look at him.
    And gasped again—but this time, not in consternation. In surprise.
    I’d hurried out through the split in the corn, my gaze focused straight ahead. Owen had sidled out more slowly and had seen what I had missed in my hurry: two feet, sticking out of the corn in the corner of the maze. Owen was shining his flashlight on the feet wearing hot-pink high-top tennis shoes.
    Where had I seen shoes like those before? And then I remembered. On Ginny Proffitt’s feet. Just that morning.
    I ran over to Owen’s side, stared into the corner of the corn maze, all sound—the ruckus just down the road, the night bugs’ chattering, the corn shocks’ dry papery rustling in the wind—giving way to a high buzzing in my head.
    I forced myself to breathe slowly, to focus on the body in the corn stalks, lit by our high-powered flashlights.
    â€œIt can’t be,” I muttered. “She’s—” my voice trailed off and I finished the thought silently: supposed to be at the psychic fair.
    But there was no mistaking that the body was Ginny Proffitt’s, swathed in her gold lamé robe, wearing her high-top hot-pink sneakers. Her crystal ball and its holder were by her