Read Online Sixth Grave on the Edge by Darynda Jones - Free Book Online Page B

gnarly mouth. “And here I thought we were friends.” He snapped at me to make sure I understood the truth of it, so I quickly made my way past. Vicious little shit.
    No one in the building besides Cookie and Reyes, including the current manager, Mr. Z, knew I was a proud new owner of a run-down apartment building, so Mrs. Allen didn’t know she was talking to the person responsible for all the repairs.
    “No, ma’am, it’s not. See?” She turned on all the burners, and none of them heated up. “How am I supposed to make stew?”
    “Well, I’m not sure, but I’ll write that down and go talk to Mr. Z about it.”
    “Lazy good-for-nothing. He won’t do anything about it.”
    He would now. I’d make sure of it.
    “Okay, well, thanks. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
    “Thank you, honey. PP always liked you.”
    PP snapped at me again, barking until I could take it no longer. I rushed out the door and back to Cookie’s apartment. I knew that Duff had spent some time crashing there, too. I’d never told Cook. It’d only freak her out, and as fun as that was to do, I didn’t want to hear how every noise in the apartment was the dead guy. Her imagination would have run rampant.
    I went in without knocking, under the guise of checking on her. She was in her room, changing clothes, and from the state of her closet and drawers, she’d done that a lot.
    “I just don’t know what to wear,” she said, tossing aside a nice burgundy blouse.
    “That would have been great.”
    “No. I don’t like the way it fits.”
    “How does it fit?”
    “Wrong. What about this?”
    “You probably shouldn’t wear orange and purple together on a first date. Just thinking out loud.”
    “But it’s a fake date. Who cares?” She picked up a glass and downed half the contents before I smelled the alcohol.
    “Cookie, what the hell are you drinking?”
    “I made a frozen margarita with Amber’s slushy machine. Don’t judge me.”
    I stifled a giggle and looked at my watch. “Oh, my gosh. It’s almost six.”
    “Oh, good heavens. I haven’t been on a date in years.”
    Cookie put down the drink and started trying on blouses again while I looked for Duff, who was missing in action here, too. She tossed the fifth blouse aside when I walked back in.
    “What was wrong with that one?”
    “The color. You just said—”
    “Right, right. But at this rate, you’re going to be late for January. Get a move on, missy!”
    She glared at me. It was the alcohol talking. I could tell. “Hey, do you have any repairs you need done? I’m making a list.”
    “Oh.” She straightened and started ticking off a list with her fingers. “My refrigerator is making a funny sound. The faucet in the bathroom leaks.”
    “Hold on.” I ran back to my apartment and returned with a pen and paper. “Okay, fridge, faucet.”
    “Yes, and the floor in the living room squeaks. Amber’s window lets in a lot of cold air. The ceiling still needs to be painted after that disastrous pool party you tried to have on the roof.”
    “That wasn’t my fault. And it was a kiddie pool, for goodness’ sake.”
    “Oh, and those bar things in my closet need to be rehung.”
    “Bar things … in clos … et,” I said while writing. “Is that it?”
    “I’ll think of more. I forgot you’re now responsible for all that.” She blinked in thought. “That’s kind of scary.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    I hit the rest of the building, under the guise of making a list of demands for the new owner on what repairs needed to be made. Of those who were home, which was only about half—and excluding a woman on the first floor, who kept calling me Bertie and throwing ramen noodles at me—I now had a list of about seventy-two items that needed to be replaced or repaired. Seventy-two! This ownership thing could become a hassle. Luckily, I had a man who was apparently made of money. He bought the building for me in the first place. Making good on the