Deadly Curiosities by Gail Z. Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

didn’t have any strange holiday customs when you were a kid.”
    “My family was strange enough without needing odd holiday customs,” he chuckled. He sobered. “I’m working on a list of original owners for the items at the B&B. None of my notes indicate any interesting stories about the pieces at all. They were all normal purchases: estate sale, auction, family member, even a couple of yard sale finds.”
    I sipped my coffee. “There’s got to be something that ties everything together. The people who sold us the pieces could have lied about them being haunted, but I would have picked up on it when I handled them. We wouldn’t have resold them if they had bad mojo.”
    “Maybe it’s like the opera glasses,” Teag said, leaning against the door frame. “Maybe they have to be in a certain setting to be affected, or be used in a particular way.”
    “We’d better figure this out quickly, before the whole store gets freaky.”
    “That would be bad,” he said, glancing around at the multitude of items on our shelves.
    I repressed a shiver. “That would be very bad.”

    A FTER WORK , I headed home with my thoughts still focused on the bed and breakfast dilemma. When my key turned in the lock, sharp, high-pitched barks welcomed me home.
    “Hello, Baxter!”
    Baxter bounced around like a crazed cotton puff, pouncing and running in circles. I grabbed a treat from the bowl next to the door, and he danced on his hind legs. He seemed to know that cuteness was a sure-fire antidote for a stressful day, and I couldn’t help chuckling at his antics. It’s hard to resist anyone who is that happy to see you.
    I put my purse down and scooped Baxter into my arms, getting a lick on the chin and then a play-bite to the tip of my nose. I blew a puff of air in his face, and he pulled back, only to return with more licks and wiggles.
    Reluctantly, I put Baxter down and went through the mail. It, too, was gloriously normal: a few bills, a couple of catalogs, and a magazine. I snagged the magazine out of the pile and carried it with me into the kitchen, promising myself some reading time later.
    But first, it was time for Baxter’s walk. Baxter might weigh in at under six pounds, but he walks with a hustle that proclaims to the world that he has things to do and places to go. It was after five, and past the heat of the day, although in Charleston, that didn’t mean it was cool. I tried to get my mind off of the B&B problem. Baxter can move surprisingly fast for a little dog, and he takes his nightly rounds seriously. He sniffed his way along the garden walls, tried to peer beneath the gates or look through the wrought-iron fences, and wagged a greeting to everyone we met.
    “Hello, Cassidy!” I looked up to see Mrs. Morrissey heading my way. Baxter saw her too, and began to dance on his hind legs.
    “Hello, Mrs. Morrissey,” I replied with a smile.
    “How’s Baxter today?” she asked in that tone people reserve for babies and small animals. I had never seen Mrs. Morrissey looking as if she wasn’t on the way to or from a dinner at the Country Club. Her hair was perfect, despite Charleston’s constant humidity. St. John suits looked as if they had been made with her slim frame in mind, and her minimal jewelry was all the more notable because the gemstones were, indubitably, real. Rumor had it that her late husband had left her quite well off, both monetarily and in the currency that really mattered in Charleston, social connections. And somehow, she had decided to take a shine toward me and Baxter.
    “You know Bax. He’s up for an adventure,” I replied. Baxter had finished wiggling all around Mrs.
    Morrissey’s stylish pumps. Now he sat looking up at her, blinking his black button eyes, expecting a treat.
    Mrs. Morrissey did not disappoint. From her small purse, she produced a single dog biscuit, which she ceremoniously held out to Baxter. He knew the drill, and jumped to his feet, happily dancing in a circle