Read Online Oliver Twisted (An Ivy Meadows Mystery Book 3) by Cindy Brown - Free Book Online
Authors: Cindy Brown
Tags: Women Sleuths, female sleuth, amateur sleuth, cozy mystery, detective novels, Cozy Mystery Series, british cozy mystery
Ads: Link
now, Fagin and Nancy,” Jonas shouted over the intro music.
We did, arm in arm and laughing as if we’d just enjoyed a great joke.
“Ah,” Fagin said as he spotted Oliver. “And who have we ’ere?”
“A new pal. Oliver Twist,” replied the Dodger. Recorded music began to play.
“We are very glad to see you, Oliver, very,” said Fagin. “Aren’t we, Nance?”
“We are indeed,” I said, trying to sound like a Cockney putting on a posh accent.
“Indeed,” said the Dodger, whose accent was much more believable than mine. He started off the song. “Consider yourself…onboard.” He sang it to the tune of, yep, “Consider Yourself” from Oliver! “ Consider yourself…one of the barnacles.” A smooth-cheeked Asian boy, he had a strong tenor voice and a pitch-perfect Cockney accent.
“You don’t have to stow…away,” I sang. “It’s true, you…have landed a place to stay.”
Fagin put his arm around Oliver and sang, “Consider yourself…shipshape. Consider yourself…one of our happy gang.”
The blonde boy looked up at Fagin with doe eyes and sang, “It’s true that I’m in…your debt.”
“Not yet, but, whatever you take, we get,” sang Fagin.
I knew this number was about Oliver’s introduction to Fagin’s stable of young criminals, but still, I wasn’t sure it was the smartest choice for a theft-plagued cruise line. We finished the song and Jonas said, “Hold it. Nice job, Ivy. Let’s take five. When we come back, we’ll put the rest of the orphans into the scene.”
“Don’t worry, the boys just stand there during our song,” said the Dodger as we exited stage left. “By the way,” he stuck out a hand, “I’m David Hu.”
“Oh.”
He grinned.
“Jonas and David like that Hu joke. I don’t get it,” said the blonde boy. “I’m Oliver. It’s my character name and my real name. What’s yours?”
“Ivy Meadows.”
“Right.” The kid laughed.
Jonas joined our group. “Ivy,” he said. “I wanted to apologize about yesterday. I wouldn’t have pushed you so hard if I’d known about Harley.”
“Did you know her well?” I asked.
“I didn’t, but…” He glanced at David, who pulled in his bottom lip.
“She was nice,” David said.
“What’s wrong with Madame De-fart?” Oliver asked.
I wondered who came up with that nickname first, him or Ada.
“She’s dead,” said Timothy.
“Dead?” said Oliver. “She’s dead as a doornail!” he shouted to the orphan actors. Then to me, “It’s Dickens.”
“It’s also Shakespeare,” I said. “And not a very nice thing to say when someone’s really dead.”
“No wonder you were distracted,” Jonas said to me. “It had to be horrible, finding her.”
“Is she in the morgue now?” asked Oliver. “Hey boys, want to see a dead body?” Before us adults could say anything, he added, “Kids saw dead people in Dickens all the time.”
I ignored Oliver. “It was horrible,” I said to Jonas, “especially not knowing if her killer was still close by.”
“Her killer?” said, oh, the entire cast. “She was murdered?”
Oops.
CHAPTER 12
Troublesome Questions
“They’re calling Harley’s death natural causes,” said Uncle Bob, mumbling around the enormous stogie in his mouth.
“Like people naturally end up in closets when they die?” I waved away the cigar smoke, which smelled like a wet dog eating burnt sausage.
“That would be pretty convenient.” He puffed on his cigar thoughtfully. “You could make coffin closets. Just go in when you feel sick, never come out again.” He and Timothy and I sat in a back corner booth of the cigar bar, which was similar to the library in decor—dark wood and leather furniture—but done in shades of red, with burgundy leather, scarlet Oriental carpets, and an ornately carved bar lit by lamps with wine-colored shades. “Do you think she fell from somewhere?” Uncle Bob asked me.
“What? Why would you—” Oh. My text after
We did, arm in arm and laughing as if we’d just enjoyed a great joke.
“Ah,” Fagin said as he spotted Oliver. “And who have we ’ere?”
“A new pal. Oliver Twist,” replied the Dodger. Recorded music began to play.
“We are very glad to see you, Oliver, very,” said Fagin. “Aren’t we, Nance?”
“We are indeed,” I said, trying to sound like a Cockney putting on a posh accent.
“Indeed,” said the Dodger, whose accent was much more believable than mine. He started off the song. “Consider yourself…onboard.” He sang it to the tune of, yep, “Consider Yourself” from Oliver! “ Consider yourself…one of the barnacles.” A smooth-cheeked Asian boy, he had a strong tenor voice and a pitch-perfect Cockney accent.
“You don’t have to stow…away,” I sang. “It’s true, you…have landed a place to stay.”
Fagin put his arm around Oliver and sang, “Consider yourself…shipshape. Consider yourself…one of our happy gang.”
The blonde boy looked up at Fagin with doe eyes and sang, “It’s true that I’m in…your debt.”
“Not yet, but, whatever you take, we get,” sang Fagin.
I knew this number was about Oliver’s introduction to Fagin’s stable of young criminals, but still, I wasn’t sure it was the smartest choice for a theft-plagued cruise line. We finished the song and Jonas said, “Hold it. Nice job, Ivy. Let’s take five. When we come back, we’ll put the rest of the orphans into the scene.”
“Don’t worry, the boys just stand there during our song,” said the Dodger as we exited stage left. “By the way,” he stuck out a hand, “I’m David Hu.”
“Oh.”
He grinned.
“Jonas and David like that Hu joke. I don’t get it,” said the blonde boy. “I’m Oliver. It’s my character name and my real name. What’s yours?”
“Ivy Meadows.”
“Right.” The kid laughed.
Jonas joined our group. “Ivy,” he said. “I wanted to apologize about yesterday. I wouldn’t have pushed you so hard if I’d known about Harley.”
“Did you know her well?” I asked.
“I didn’t, but…” He glanced at David, who pulled in his bottom lip.
“She was nice,” David said.
“What’s wrong with Madame De-fart?” Oliver asked.
I wondered who came up with that nickname first, him or Ada.
“She’s dead,” said Timothy.
“Dead?” said Oliver. “She’s dead as a doornail!” he shouted to the orphan actors. Then to me, “It’s Dickens.”
“It’s also Shakespeare,” I said. “And not a very nice thing to say when someone’s really dead.”
“No wonder you were distracted,” Jonas said to me. “It had to be horrible, finding her.”
“Is she in the morgue now?” asked Oliver. “Hey boys, want to see a dead body?” Before us adults could say anything, he added, “Kids saw dead people in Dickens all the time.”
I ignored Oliver. “It was horrible,” I said to Jonas, “especially not knowing if her killer was still close by.”
“Her killer?” said, oh, the entire cast. “She was murdered?”
Oops.
CHAPTER 12
Troublesome Questions
“They’re calling Harley’s death natural causes,” said Uncle Bob, mumbling around the enormous stogie in his mouth.
“Like people naturally end up in closets when they die?” I waved away the cigar smoke, which smelled like a wet dog eating burnt sausage.
“That would be pretty convenient.” He puffed on his cigar thoughtfully. “You could make coffin closets. Just go in when you feel sick, never come out again.” He and Timothy and I sat in a back corner booth of the cigar bar, which was similar to the library in decor—dark wood and leather furniture—but done in shades of red, with burgundy leather, scarlet Oriental carpets, and an ornately carved bar lit by lamps with wine-colored shades. “Do you think she fell from somewhere?” Uncle Bob asked me.
“What? Why would you—” Oh. My text after
Similar Books
