Tattoos and Clues by Trixie Silvertale

Author:Trixie Silvertale [Silvertale, Trixie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781734022162
Publisher: Sittin' On A Goldmine Productions LLC
Published: 2019-11-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

After a shivery boat ride and a bumpy drive in my dad’s F100 pickup, the dried mud on my jeans is itch-tastically unbearable. I beg Jacob to drop me off at the apartment so I can take a quick shower before we go to Myrtle’s Diner.

I make it two steps inside the front door of the bookshop before Twiggy’s commanding voice bellows from the back room. “Take off the wet shoes.”

Don’t ask me how she knows, but I have no intention of disobeying a direct order from my mission-critical volunteer employee. I slip off the wet tennis shoes and tiptoe on my mushy socks.

A loud exhale and the endless spinning of the paper towel dispenser echo from the back room.

I hop over the “No Admittance” chain, circle up the wrought-iron staircase, and rush into the apartment to avoid confrontation. However, before the bookcase door can even slide shut behind me, my Ghost-ma is all over me.

“What happened to you? You are in a state! Did you fall off your horse?”

What is it with everyone thinking I don’t know how to ride a horse? I’m pretty sure I performed above average, but I don’t have time to debate the finer points of my equine skills. “I need to take a shower and meet Dad at the diner.”

Grams swooshes in behind me. “Not before you fill me in on the details of your muddy escapades.”

I left the wet slicker on the boat for future adventures, so I start by peeling off my slightly damp hoodie. It proves an ineffective signal.

“What did Diane say? Did she cooperate?”

“Grams, I have to shower. Shoo! I’ll fill you in after I’ve decontaminated myself.”

Grams vanishes in an angry sparkle.

Turns out, it’s far more difficult to remove wet, muddy skinny jeans than you may have imagined. After a great deal of tugging, wiggling, and unladylike exclamations, I am finally free of the filthy denim. I drag myself into the shower and regret that I don’t have time to fully enjoy the luscious steamy water. However, I rapidly change my mind as the hot water brutally stings the raspberry-thorn scratches on my legs. I wash my hair in haste and leap out of the shower like a cat who fell into a swimming pool. I yank on clean undergarments and call for Grams to return. As I fluff my hair into a publicly acceptable shape and apply the bare minimum of makeup, I bring her up to speed on the “Diane is not Diane” dilemma.

“Well I never! Who do you think that woman is?”

“That’s what we’re hoping Odell can figure out.”

A jarring thud comes from the bedroom, drawing both Grams and me out of the bathroom.

The ever-helpful Pyewacket has knocked a photo album off the bookshelf.

“Pye! Bad kitty! Bad!” I shake my finger in his general direction.

He grooms his whiskers as though he hasn’t a care in the world.

Grams swirls toward him. “It’s all right my sweet kitty,” she coos as she drags her ghost fingers down his spine.

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