Alice Kimberly_Haunted Bookshop_02 by The Ghost;the Dead Deb

Author:The Ghost;the Dead Deb
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Ghost, Women Booksellers, Ghost Stories, Mystery & Detective, Novelists - Crimes Against, Horror, Novelists, Fiction, General, Mystery Fiction, Women Sleuths, Ghosts, Rhode Island, Booksellers and Bookselling, Murder
ISBN: 9781597221566
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2005-09-06T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

Guesswork

Some time ago I read in a New York paper that fifty or sixty college graduates had been appointed to the metropolitan police force. . . . The news astonished me, for in my reportorial days, there was simply no such thing in America as a book-learned cop. . . .

—H. L. Mencken, 1942

I FOUND THE vending area easily enough. A short stroll past a dozen motel room doors took me to a recessed area under a wide orange-and-white striped awning that reminded me of the sherbet swirl bars Seymour sold out of his ice cream truck. I heard a humming before I turned the corner—but I rounded it so quickly, I walked right into seven feet of metal.

“Dammit!”

Whoa, baby, are you all right? What is that thing you just head-butted? asked Jack in my head.

“An ice machine.”

Excuse me?

“You’ve never heard of an ice machine? You just press the handle and freshly made ice comes tumbling out of a chute.”

The hell you say? I know a few bartenders would have loved that in their joints.

Next to the ice machine was a soft drink dispenser. “Five varieties,” I murmured, “Coke, diet Coke, iced tea, apple juice, and bottled water.”

Jack made a sigh of disgust. Bottled water, he muttered.

“Not again, Jack.” We’d had this discussion more times than I could count.

Really, baby, how much are they charging this time to resell you what’s free at every public drinking fountain?

“Let’s see . . . a dollar twenty-five.”

The biggest grift of your time yet.

Ignoring Jack, I continued to glance around. No food dispenser, no change machine, just a sign warning that the vending area was only for use by guests of the Comfy-Time Motel.

There wasn’t much to see beyond that. Smooth concrete floor mostly covered by a thick rubber mat so the customers didn’t call any slip-and-fall lawyers. There were also blobs of half-melted ice on the ground.

“The ice must come tumbling out so fast it sometimes misses the bucket,” I guessed.

Well, don’t you miss the bucket. You’ve got plenty of swift, so start casing the area.

“There’s nothing to case, but whatever you say,” I muttered, then bent low, trying to avoid contact with the melting ice on the rubber matting as I searched under the equipment for . . . what? I didn’t know.

A grill blocked any object larger than a dust mote from tumbling under the ice machine, but the soda dispenser was jacked up on three-inch legs. I saw dirt, gum wrappers, and bottle caps underneath. Far, far in the back, almost to the wall, a quarter twinkled. From its silvery gleam amid the filth, I deduced it had rolled there recently.

I rose and crossed the sidewalk. There was a three-inch drop from the paved concrete to a narrow swath of earth. On the ground I saw an outline of what looked to me like Eddie Franzetti’s size-twelve boot .

“If there was anything to be found here, Officer Franzetti found it,” I told Jack.

Don’t count on it. Buttons like him

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