Read Online The Stiff and the Dead by Lori Avocato - Free Book Online Page A

really bright tonight to cause that phenomenon. I reached my hand up to cover my eyes and let out a satisfying moan. Then I pulled at my “wrinkles,” which were suddenly annoying me. Had to be from the pain caused by my head smacking the floor. Thank goodness I didn’t feel any warm liquid running down any part of me.
    A muffled sound came near. Footsteps!
    I opened my eyes to see a shadow standing above me. A scream flew through my lips.
    The figure leaned near. A flashlight blinded my eyes. I shut them again as if that would beam me out of there.
    â€œJesus. Is that you, Pauline? What the hell are you doing here?”
    I didn’t need to see who it was. The voice made it embarrassingly clear. I moaned again and managed, “You?”
    Then I remembered how bizarre I must look.

Five
    My “you?” filled the silence of Mr. Wisnowski’s kitchen and, despite the pain in my back, confusion filled my thoughts.
    I finally opened my eyes. Yep. I hadn’t been hallucinating. “Hi, Jagger.”
    â€œAgain, what the hell are you doing here?”
    I inhaled and remembered. Remembered his familiar scent and had to control my urges, despite his being a few inches away. You are a professional, I told myself and looked up.
    Dressed all in black, which wasn’t unlike him at all, he looked good. Yum. He even had a five-o’clock shadow. I figured it was to aid in his breaking and entering disguise, but it also made him look sexier than usual.
    And that was hard to do.
    Even in this dim light I could see his dark eyes, noticed his hair a tad shorter and windswept in a delicious sort of way. His jacket was suede, and beneath it he wore a knitted shirt that had to show off the definition of his arms.
    One could only hope.
    â€œMove that damn light out of my eyes.” I swatted in the air, but missed. “And, you could at least ask if I’m all right. I mean, I could have a concussion.” I tried to sit up and felt strong arms aid me.
    â€œYou landed on the braided rug, and you didn’t black out.”
    Hmm. He must have been watching me. Although a tantalizing thought, it also sent waves of embarrassment throughout me when I realized—I was still dressed like Peggy Doubtme—sans the wig and the Vaseline/super-glued wrinkles, which were now in my hand.
    I must’ve looked wonderful.
    I’m surprised he recognized me. I peeked at him staring at me. On second thought, no, I wasn’t surprised at all.
    His hand tugged on mine. “Get up.”
    He wore gloves, I realized. And I also thought he must have taken the key from under the mat. But why? Why would Jagger be snooping around here?
    And why hadn’t I thought of wearing gloves?
    â€œDon’t touch anything,” he said, as he helped me toward the door.
    So much for my golden opportunity to investigate.
    But then again, I was known for my persistence, even if it got me into trouble sometimes. Okay, lots of times.
    I shrugged free. “Ouch!” My head pounded.
    He stopped. “You all right?”
    I rolled my eyes. Even that hurt. “Yes, I’ll live. But I’m not moving from this spot until you tell me why you are here.” I even attempted to pull myself up straighter so that might make me look more formidable to Jagger. What the hell was I thinking? My five-foot-six body couldn’t hold a candle to his six three. “Well? What are you doing here? Remember, I’m not moving until you spill.”
    He grinned.

    I was surprised that he didn’t say, “Wanna bet?” I knew damn well that’s what his grin meant.
    â€œPauline—” He leaned near and his grin deepened. “The real question is, why did you come crashing through the door?” He touched my arm. “Spill.”
    â€œUncle Walt thinks Mr. Wisnowski was killed. Murdered.” Damn! Just ’cause he touched me didn’t mean I had to spill my guts.
    He leaned back against