A Steal of a Deal by Ginny Aiken Read Free Book Online Page A

but don’t get too far. I’m beat. “That, Livvy, is why you have to wake her up!”
    I want to sleep. And they want to wake me up. This is no dream. Might be a nightmare. It is the Daunting Duo I hear.
    Then it hits me: shaky voice, hiccuplike hitch, wailing— a scream ? I bolt up. “Why’d you yell?”
    “I didn’t—”
    “We didn’t—”
    “ Someone screamed.” I rub my sleep-foggy eyes, but nothing changes. Aunt Weeby’s still in her rose silk pajamas, and Miss Mona’s in a flowing, flowered nightgown. Trust me. You don’t want to know about the hair situation.
    When I look at the ladies again, I notice the fear in their eyes, the worry in their expressions, the lack of color in their cheeks.
    I leap out of bed. “What happened? Are you okay? Is everyone else all right? Did the government goons with the guns come get us?”
    Aunt Weeby gives a tight shake of the head. “Not yet.”
    Yet? My trouble-o-meter starts its deafening wee-uh, wee-uh, wee-uh . “Tell me what’s going on. Now!”
    Miss Mona reaches for my hand. “I’m afraid, honey, it’s worse than government officials and all that. Glory and Allison stayed in the lounge for a while after we went to bed. Then they went to their room. And that’s . . . that’s when they found . . . it. Him .”
    She sways, and for a moment, I’m afraid she’s going to faint. I run to her side, wrap my arm around her waist. “It’s okay, Miss Mona. Whatever they found, it’s going to be okay. Just breathe, breathe slow and easy—”
    “Sugarplum! A’ course she can’t breathe at a time like this. What are you thinking? Come on, now. Let’s go. You gotta get to getting.”
    “But if she doesn’t breathe, she’ll pass out and won’t get any-where—” I catch myself. Why am I trying logic on Aunt Weeby in the middle of the night? “Okay. Let’s go . . . wherever.”
    “To Glory and Allison’s room.”
    Here we go again. I’m resigned to my fate. “Lead the way.”
    But Miss Mona’s reluctance speaks volumes. Something’s really wrong here. This isn’t one of the Duo’s usual escapades. My heartbeat speeds up. The chill I feel doesn’t come from a breeze behind any silk draperies. I don’t think Glory’s found a mouse or a spider in her room.
    With every step I take, I shiver more. That’s when I start to pray. “Please, Lord . . . Father, help us. Keep us safe . . .”
    The door to the bedroom is open, but neither Miss Mona nor Aunt Weeby will go in. I look from one to the other. Each shakes her head. I close my eyes, call out to the Lord again, and take that final step over the threshold.
    “Oh, Andie!” Allison groans. “Look!”
    There, on the floor between the two beds, is Farooq, motionless, his head twisted and lolling in an unnatural way.
    I suck in a long, hard breath. “Not again . . .”

400
    Remember those essays way back in grade school: “What I Did on My Summer Vacation”? Yeah, you know. Most kids go to Disney. Me? I go to jail. In Kashmir.
    Trust me. Time in a Srinagar police holding pen is not something you want to do. Imagine five of us—plus Robert— in an eight-by-ten-foot cell: cozy.
    Not.
    Filth, stench, and nasty officers are about as good as it gets. It’s worse, much worse than being chased by angry government goons with guns drawn through the wilds of Myanmar. That time, at least we had a vehicle around us, and it was moving. Away from our hunters.
    Now, we’re sitting ducks. And until someone comes out and confesses to whacking poor Farooq, we’re stuck.
    Let’s face it; he had Allison’s backpack in his clutches when we found him. Even the somewhat dim cop doesn’t need too many mental lightbulbs to figure out Farooq got caught mid-theft and Allison took matters into her own hands—or broomstick, as the case may be. It looks like that’s what the killer used to choke the guy.
    Only problem is, Allison didn’t kill Farooq.
    She couldn’t have. Wouldn’t have.
    I know Allison.
    But how