Lies and Pumpkin Pies: Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Mitzy Moon Mysteries Book 10) by Trixie Silvertale

Author:Trixie Silvertale
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9781952739101
Publisher: Sittin' On A Goldmine Productions LLC
Published: 2020-11-16T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

The bookshop is closed for the weekend, and possibly even on Monday. Twiggy headed south to scoop up a treasure trove of rare books at an estate sale that she’s had her eye on for some time. When I pointed out that it’s morbid to circle like a vulture above a dying animal, waiting for a well-known book collector to pass through the veil, she assured me it was a common practice in our line of work.

Since I have zero knowledge about collecting rare books, and it’s more her line of work than mine, I’m in the unenviable position of needing her more than she needs me. So I nodded my agreement and offered to pay for her trip.

She scoffed away my generosity and hung a “Closed for Collection Trip” sign on the front door.

Generally, the empty bookshop feels safe and adventurous. The scent of possibility fills the air, and shelves and shelves of books speak of other worlds and other lives. However, amazing escapes at my fingertips don’t have the same frivolous intrigue with the possibility of Rory Bombay slithering around in the shadows—nothing is truly safe. I have to keep busy to prevent my mind from spinning out of control.

Today, I’ll head down to Grand Falls to see if Bombay Antiquities and Artifacts has had any recent visits from its absentee proprietor.

A scratch at the alleyway door flicks all of my senses into high alert. I tiptoe toward the door and press a hand to the cold metal. “Pyewacket, is that you?”

“Reow.” Can confirm.

I unlock the heavy deadbolt and push the door open a crack. “What are you doing outside? It’s freezing. Actually, let me rephrase that question. How did you get outside?”

Pyewacket struts past me and straight into the back room. He rests on his haunches, looks up at me, and tilts his head with an air of superior tolerance.

“Never mind. You go out when you want to go out. Who am I to question the activities of my feline overlord? Let me get you some Fruity Puffs.”

He waits patiently while I grab a bowl and dispense a portion of his guilty pleasure.

I have no idea what he does or eats when he’s outdoors, and I am perfectly fine keeping it that way.

Opening the cardboard flaps of a leftover container, I inspect the sweet-and-sour chicken. “Smells okay to me.” I pop the container in the microwave and brew some coffee while my breakfast reheats.

Ghost-ma drifts in, looking especially vaporous.

“Everything all right, Grams?”

“I had a breakthrough.”

This may be my first spectral existential crisis. “Care to share?”

“I was making some edits on my memoirs. As I read through several chapters, covering three different relationships, I was struck by the idea I may have been a tad self-involved.”

Thank heavens I don’t have a slug of coffee in my maw, because there would be a very large spray of java covering the back room on that spit take. “This is a revelation?”

Her apparition shimmers. “I was a busy woman, Mitzy.

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