Night of the Living Deed by E.J. Copperman Read Free Book Online Page A

dried compound from days before, and remembering fondly the jeans I’d worn that day, now forever at the bottom of a contractor’s trash bag. “You almost crush my skull with a fifty-pound bucket of compound, and then you think I should help you find out who killed you?” The fifty-pound thing was an estimate, but I thought I’d made my point.
    “Geez,” Maxie said, rolling her eyes. “Are you going to hold that against me forever ? I said I was sorry!”
    “Actually, no, you didn’t.”
    She sneered, probably involuntarily. I got the feeling Maxie sneered a lot, and it had become second nature.
    “It’s tremendously important,” Paul said. “And it seems you’re the only one who can help.”
    “Help you do what? Why don’t you know who killed you? Weren’t you there when they did it?” I closed my eyes. Another headache was coming my way. And I was pretty sure it wasn’t related to the concussion.
    Paul smiled in an ingratiating way. “It’s really very simple. Sit down.”
    “I am sitting.”
    “Right,” he began. “Here’s what happened, as far as Maxie and I can tell. Maxie here was the most recent owner of this house before you bought it,” he said.
    I stared at her. “ You’re the one who painted the walls the color of blood?”
    I thought—but couldn’t be sure—that I heard Maxie mutter, “It’s my house,” under her breath. If she had breath.
    “But as soon as she closed on the property and moved in, strange things started happening,” Paul continued, either unaware of Maxie’s comment or ignoring it.
    “Strange things?” I asked. “Like plaster walls that I can’t replace coming down all by themselves?” I glared at Maxie for a moment, but she didn’t flinch. And it was my best glare, too. My glare couldn’t beat her sneer.
    “No,” Paul jumped in. “She started receiving strange e-mails, phone calls, and . . .”
    “You don’t tell it right,” Maxie interrupted him. Paul spread his hands, giving her the floor. “So, some creep starts sending me messages about how I had to leave the house or I was gonna die.” She snorted. “Guess he was right.”
    I turned to Paul. “How did you get involved?” I asked him.
    “I am . . . I was a private investigator,” he said. “Maxie contacted me when the threats started getting serious.”
    “I wasn’t scared,” Maxie interjected. “I was pissed off.”
    “Of course,” I told her. “Who wouldn’t be?”
    Paul jumped back in. “Less than two days after I started investigating, we both ended up . . . like this.”
    “Yeah, good thing the retainer check never cleared,” Maxie said. “Some private dick you turned out to be.”
    “It wasn’t . . .” But Paul couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t know if it was his fault or not. I could see it clearly in his eyes. What bothered me was that I could see the window behind him just as clearly.
    I didn’t have time to answer because just then my phone vibrated (another unfortunately accurate metaphor for my romantic life). I looked down and saw Jeannie’s number. “I have to take this,” I said.
    Paul frowned. “Don’t you realize how . . .”
    “If I don’t answer, she’ll send the rescue squad. Besides, you’re not alive and I am, so I outrank you.” I opened the phone. “I’m fine, Jeannie,” I said.
    “That’s not what Tony told me,” she answered. “He just called me from the truck. He says you were too tired to drive Melissa home, and you’re talking like a crazy person.”
    “And how is that different than usual?” I asked.
    “Normally, you’re not that tired.”
    “Normally, I’m not just out of the hospital with a head injury,” I reminded her.
    Jeannie sighed. “Exactly. What am I going to do with you?” she asked.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “But let me get going, because I’m two days behind on my repairs.” Not to mention a lot of dried compound on the floor in the kitchen that wasn’t going to clean itself up.