Night of the Living Thread (A Threadville Mystery) by Janet Bolin Read Free Book Online Page A

have turned her to ice.
    Undaunted, she screeched, “How dare you!”
    He smirked. “How
dare
I what?” An amused undertone lurked in his deep voice.
    “Call your book
The Book of the Dead
.”
    He remained calm. “I’ll call my book whatever I want.”
    “But
my
book is
The Book of the Dead
.” The last word was especially loud.
    He drawled, “Last I knew, the Book of the Dead was not a book at all, but a collection of curses written in places like the inner walls of pharaohs’ tombs in ancient Egypt. You don’t look quite
that
old.”
    Isis ignored the insult. “And that’s why my complete title is
The
New
Book of the Dead
.”
    He demanded, “So what’s your problem?”
    She continued to hold her hands like claws in front of her. “Your thriller is cutting into sales of my book.”
    “I’ve never heard of your book,” he said.
    “See what I mean? You’re overshadowing everyone and everything.”
    He tossed a lock of hair off his forehead. “Can I help it if I’m a bestselling author?”
    Now I knew why Isis had recognized him. I also understood his ironic emphasis of the word “dare.” I’d seen his handsome face on posters in bookstores and in ads in Sunday supplements.
    Dare Drayton, the darling of booksellers everywhere, was with us in Elderberry Bay’s fire station.
    He looked down his hawklike nose at Isis. “No one’s going to confuse your psychic gobbledygook with literature.”
    I’d been wrong that Opal’s houseguest, Patricia, was timid. She walked right up to Isis and glowered down at the shorter woman. “I’m writing
The Book of the Treadle
. I suppose
that
will cut into your sales, also?” Patricia’s voice was harsh and trembling.
    With rage? Why? Was she trying to protect Dare? He seemed capable of looking after himself.
    Isis stared at Patricia blankly at first, and then her eyes widened. “You! You’re nothing but a copycat.”
    A patchy flush rose up Patricia’s neck and face. Clamping her lips together, she pushed her wide-rimmed glasses up her nose and backed away, into Juliette.
    Isis caught sight of Juliette. “A fortune-teller,” she scoffed. “You make things up!”
    Juliette challenged, “And you don’t?”
    Isis raised her chin. “The original Book of the Dead is older than time.”
    Dare laughed in a scornful way.
    For some reason, which I hoped had nothing to do with a desire to chomp on any of us, Floyd, the 1930s zombie, had come into the fire station. Leaning against a wall just inside the workroom, he appeared to be watching the drama. How did he manage that lackluster, dead look in his eyes—with contact lenses?
    Brianna surprised me by slouching up to Isis and announcing, “I’ll write a book and call it
The Book of the Thread
.”
    Isis taunted, “Copycat! You’re all a bunch of copycats without an original thought in your heads.”
    Brianna shrugged and slunk away, out into the garage where the fire trucks were.
    Floyd shambled toward us and sneered at Isis. “And I’m writing
The Book of the Living Dead
. It’s about zombies.”
    Slinging an almost triumphant glance my way, Isis brushed a hand against her throat. “Stop following me around. I can be dangerous. You knew that last night when you accused me of casting spells on you. My spells are potent.” Her previous night’s fright seemed to become more speakable by the moment.
    At his sides, Floyd’s hands became fists. “Then stop cursing people, alive or undead.”
    Isis taunted him, “I’ll do as I please. I have powers that none of you can guess at. Besides, zombies don’t exist. I know. I have studied the curses that usher the dead into the afterlife, and I have contributed new ones, also, and the available afterlives don’t involve zombies.”
    A pulse throbbed at Floyd’s whitened temple. “Then what am I doing here?” The streak of “blood” on his chin glistened wetly in the fire station’s bright lighting. “Zombies are real.” Baring his teeth, he lurched