Read Online Southern Belle by Stuart Jaffe - Free Book Online
Authors: Stuart Jaffe
Tags: Fantasy, Paranormal, Magic, Mystery, Private Investigators, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, supernatural, Ghosts, Paranormal & Urban, Witches & Wizards, north carolina, winston salem
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you aren't innocent. So, let me give you this bit of advice — stay away. Everything, everyone connected with Matthew Ernest turns evil. You want to get my people off of you, then remember to stay away. Because pretty soon, I'll have to be interrogating you officially."
"I'll remember." Max yanked his arm free and stormed out of the ballpark. It felt good to stomp up the stairs, shoving out every bit of tension the conversation had created. By the time he reached his car, he was puffing and sweating. He slid into the driver's seat and glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Stevenson told him to stay away and the first thing he'll be doing that night was breaking into Matthew Ernest's home. "Well, I said I'd remember — not that I'd listen."
Chapter 7
As evening approached, Sandra and Max leaned back in their office chairs and bit into their slices of pizza from The Mellow Mushroom. The restaurant was only a few blocks away, yet Sandra preferred bringing the pizza in. "That place is always jam-packed and noisy."
Breaking the stringy cheese bridge between his mouth and the pizza slice, Max nodded. "That's because the pizza's delicious."
Drummond popped his head through the bookcase. "Are you two done yet? I've got to go over the plan."
"Then stop hiding in the walls and tell us."
Drummond soared out to the middle of the room, chest puffed out, arms crossed. "You know damn well that even though I can't eat any of that food, I can sure smell it. That's cruel. May even qualify as torture."
Max raised his arms. "What do you want from us? We're alive. We need food. I wasn't about to drive all the way home to eat just to turn around and come back here. Plus, we figured it would be worse for you to stretch all the way out to our house. You'd be complaining of a migraine long before we set foot in Ernest's house. This seemed like a fair compromise."
"Fine. Just finish up already." Drummond relaxed his posture and glanced at Sandra. "Sorry I swore. You're too refined a lady to have to put up with that."
Sandra smiled. "The fuck I am."
This tickled Drummond, and he barked out a series of laughs that nearly choked him.
Wiping his fingers clean on a paper napkin, Max wondered how long he could keep his cool. Drummond's lies, the FBI, Leed — it all swirled inside him like a ship caught in a squall. He wished he could tell Sandra, his close confidante. But he had to protect her, too.
He took a sharp breath. He could do this. Stay focused and find the way through. They had survived past calamities that way, and they would survive this one the same.
"Okay, I'm done eating," Max said. "Tell us the plan."
With a longing gaze at the pizza box, Drummond settled in a chair opposite Max. He had no need for chairs, of course, but Max appreciated his effort to seem human. "Matt's home is on Ebert, south off of Silas Creek Parkway." Drummond's enthusiasm for detective work cleared his mood. "It's got crime scene tape around it but no cops anymore. They're probably done with it and waiting for the release order. No need to waste resources watching over it now."
"Then we're too late?"
"We're fine until it's released. After that, somebody will hire a cleaning crew to make it look like nobody ever died in there so whoever owns the house now can sell it. That's why —"
Sandra washed down the last of her dinner. "We know. It has to be tonight."
Pausing to look from Max to Sandra and back, Drummond screwed up his face but eventually shook it off. Fine by Max. He had no desire to explain marital relationships to a ghost.
"The way I figure it," Drummond went on, "I'll go in first and unlock the door. You walk in, get the notebook, and we leave. Should be easy."
Max coughed. "When is this stuff ever easy? Heck, we don't even know where in the house the notebook is."
"I'm pretty sure I know. Most of the house is normal and unimpressive. But there's a room I can't get into. The door has a ward on it. It's a
"I'll remember." Max yanked his arm free and stormed out of the ballpark. It felt good to stomp up the stairs, shoving out every bit of tension the conversation had created. By the time he reached his car, he was puffing and sweating. He slid into the driver's seat and glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Stevenson told him to stay away and the first thing he'll be doing that night was breaking into Matthew Ernest's home. "Well, I said I'd remember — not that I'd listen."
Chapter 7
As evening approached, Sandra and Max leaned back in their office chairs and bit into their slices of pizza from The Mellow Mushroom. The restaurant was only a few blocks away, yet Sandra preferred bringing the pizza in. "That place is always jam-packed and noisy."
Breaking the stringy cheese bridge between his mouth and the pizza slice, Max nodded. "That's because the pizza's delicious."
Drummond popped his head through the bookcase. "Are you two done yet? I've got to go over the plan."
"Then stop hiding in the walls and tell us."
Drummond soared out to the middle of the room, chest puffed out, arms crossed. "You know damn well that even though I can't eat any of that food, I can sure smell it. That's cruel. May even qualify as torture."
Max raised his arms. "What do you want from us? We're alive. We need food. I wasn't about to drive all the way home to eat just to turn around and come back here. Plus, we figured it would be worse for you to stretch all the way out to our house. You'd be complaining of a migraine long before we set foot in Ernest's house. This seemed like a fair compromise."
"Fine. Just finish up already." Drummond relaxed his posture and glanced at Sandra. "Sorry I swore. You're too refined a lady to have to put up with that."
Sandra smiled. "The fuck I am."
This tickled Drummond, and he barked out a series of laughs that nearly choked him.
Wiping his fingers clean on a paper napkin, Max wondered how long he could keep his cool. Drummond's lies, the FBI, Leed — it all swirled inside him like a ship caught in a squall. He wished he could tell Sandra, his close confidante. But he had to protect her, too.
He took a sharp breath. He could do this. Stay focused and find the way through. They had survived past calamities that way, and they would survive this one the same.
"Okay, I'm done eating," Max said. "Tell us the plan."
With a longing gaze at the pizza box, Drummond settled in a chair opposite Max. He had no need for chairs, of course, but Max appreciated his effort to seem human. "Matt's home is on Ebert, south off of Silas Creek Parkway." Drummond's enthusiasm for detective work cleared his mood. "It's got crime scene tape around it but no cops anymore. They're probably done with it and waiting for the release order. No need to waste resources watching over it now."
"Then we're too late?"
"We're fine until it's released. After that, somebody will hire a cleaning crew to make it look like nobody ever died in there so whoever owns the house now can sell it. That's why —"
Sandra washed down the last of her dinner. "We know. It has to be tonight."
Pausing to look from Max to Sandra and back, Drummond screwed up his face but eventually shook it off. Fine by Max. He had no desire to explain marital relationships to a ghost.
"The way I figure it," Drummond went on, "I'll go in first and unlock the door. You walk in, get the notebook, and we leave. Should be easy."
Max coughed. "When is this stuff ever easy? Heck, we don't even know where in the house the notebook is."
"I'm pretty sure I know. Most of the house is normal and unimpressive. But there's a room I can't get into. The door has a ward on it. It's a
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