Read Online The Ghost and the Femme Fatale by Alice Kimberly - Free Book Online

baseball clinic for the regional Little League teams, and Spencer was eager to get tips on fielding and batting.
    “See you, Mom!”
    I waved to the coach and locked the door again. That’s when Jack finally made an appearance.
    Was that kid trying to sound like Little Caesar? ’Cause he sounded more like Spanky from Our Gang.
    “Edward G. Robinson has become one of Spencer’s favorite Intrigue Channel tough guys—second only to Jack Shield. I haven’t the heart to tell him his imitation is a little off.”
    Maybe Spence should wait until he gets a little hair on his lip, or at least until his voice changes —
    “Okay! End of conversation.”
    I glanced at my wristwatch. It was not yet eight, but with two hours remaining before we opened our doors, there was still plenty to do. I went back upstairs to shower and dress. After blowing out my shoulder-length auburn hair, I buttoned on a simple cream- colored blouse, stepped into pressed black slacks, and returned to the shop to open the register and boot up our computer system.
    For years, my aunt Sadie had run the Quindicott shop just as her late father had—that is to say, she received book deliveries and placed them on the shelves for loyal customers to wander in and purchase at their leisure. But as the store’s loyal customer base gradually died off and the town fell on hard times, Sadie prepared to pack it in, too. That’s when I offered an alternative, along with much of the check from my late husband’s life insurance policy.
    With the ready cash, we remodeled the dusty old shop, overhauled the inventory, opened the Community Events space in the adjoining storefront, and launched a marketing campaign and Internet site. Sadie had always been New En gland practical, so she’d been tense about spending the money, especially when it came to mortgaging her original store to expand our space for special events. But now our business was going gangbusters. And this weekend was shaping up to be an especially profitable one for us.
    I was just starting to tidy up the front display tables when Aunt Sadie finally made an appearance. She looked lovely this morning in tweedy brown slacks and a forest- green boatneck sweater, which nicely set off her short, newly colored auburn hair.
    Dyeing her hair was about the only vanity Sadie allowed herself. She had a few pieces of jewelry, but seldom wore them. Necklaces were “plain useless” and “a waste of money,” whereas a chain to hold reading glasses, now that had a functional purpose—which is why she had a serious variety of chains in her collection (today’s consisted of small pink seashells). But that was Sadie Thornton: as averse to unnecessary ornamentations as a Shaker chair.
    I noticed she was limping as she came down the stairs, which was unusual for my usually spry auntie.
    “Backache?” I asked, pushing up my black glasses.
    Sadie shrugged. “I woke up in the middle of the night with a sharp pain in my side. I thought it came from sitting so long in that movie theater seat, until I found my remote control underneath me on the mattress.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how the thing got there.”
    “I’m pretty sure I do,” I said with a sigh. “There was a Naked City marathon on TV last night—”
    “Spencer?”
    “I’m betting Bonnie sent him off to bed, not realizing there was another televi sion in the apartment.” My suspicions vindicated, I shrugged. “That’s one mystery solved, at least . . .”
    “What do you mean one mystery?” Sadie’s eyes met mine. “Is there another?”
    “Maybe,” I said, thinking about my dream. “But if I’m going to solve it, I’ll need your help.”
    Sadie raised her eyebrows, obviously intrigued. “What do you need, dear?”
    “I’d like you to check your old contacts in the out- of- print book market. I’m looking for any books published about the history of Gotham Features studio.”
    “Gotham Features?” Sadie said. “Just what