Nail Biter by Sarah Graves Read Free Book Online Page B

over together.
    Blocking the one road to town . . . oh, fiddlesticks, I thought, still hoping against hope.
    But already more headlights were lining up on the causeway, nothing moving in either direction. So even if the cell phone had been working it was useless to me now.
    No one could get here past the crippled rig. Worse, until it was cleared, I couldn't get home. Instead, I was stuck with a dead guy, five witches, and—
    I checked around the dark interior of the truck. A hunting jacket of Wade's, a pair of his old boots, two sticks of Black Jack chewing gum, and a paperback price guide to American rifles, its pages dog-eared to mark the most important and/or valuable of the weapons.
    But—drat, no magic wand.
     
     
    Inside, the tenants had found the utility candles Ellie and I had left in one of the kitchen drawers, and lit them in the kitchen and living room. All the flickering flames made the place seem ready for an impromptu funeral, which considering the body out in the shed I supposed was appropriate.
    But Greg Brand's reaction to my return from the great outdoors wasn't. “What's the idea?” he demanded. “What's going on, and what if anything are you doing to take care of this situation?”
    It was the “if anything” part that got me. I was soaked to the skin, not to mention a little shaky from discovering the late Eugene Dibble, and Brand's attitude wasn't improving my state of mind.
    “Mr. Brand, I have no idea what ‘this situation' even is,” I retorted. “All I know is, there's a dead guy in the house. Somebody shot him and I gather that you all are the only other ones who've been in the place recently.”
    Their eyes widened at the implication; only Wanda seemed unmoved, silently tending the fire with her back turned.
    “Oh, now wait just a damned minute,” Brand replied. “None of us is even from around here, we wouldn't have any possible motive to—”
    “That shed door doesn't lock right,” Hetty Bonham pointed out with a toss of her blonde mane. “You should've repaired it before you rented this place. Anyone could have gotten in,” she added accusingly.
    True; the door from the shed to the outside was so crooked in its frame that it was a struggle to get it to latch, though once you did, you couldn't get it to open again. Besides, as I'd told Jenna, Eugene Dibble was such a scuzz that he might as well have lived on another planet from any of these people.
    And finally, with the exception of Jenna herself—although considering the company she kept I was having my doubts about her, too—my tenants had pretty well proven they lacked the ability to change a lightbulb, much less kill a guy.
    “Okay,” I conceded grudgingly. “A lot of things could have happened. And you're right, it probably has nothing to do with any of you, so there's no need to get upset.”
    I pulled my wet jacket off. “The police will be able to get it all figured out. But,” I added cautioningly, “not tonight.”
    I explained about the truck on the causeway. “So we'll just have to wait until the authorities can clear the road,” I finished.
    “You mean,” Hetty asked, “the body has to stay
here
? With
us
?” She touched her long scarlet-tipped fingers to her crimson lips in a theatrical gesture.
    Greg narrowed his eyes at her. “He's not going to get up and pester anyone, Hetty. Your virtue is safe.”
    Her answering tone was bitter. “Yeah, Greg, with you around, everyone's is.”
    Jenna rolled her eyes; from her expression I gathered this kind of bickering went on between Hetty and Greg pretty much nonstop.
    Then she went to kneel by Wanda, putting a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder. But Wanda shrank from the gesture.
    “Oops, sorry,” Jenna said. “I forgot you don't like being touched by people.”
    Great, a neurotic teenager; just what we needed to give this witch's brew of an evening another stir. Meanwhile Hetty Bonham and Greg Brand were already healing their quarrel at the drinks