Postcards from a Dead Girl by Kirk Farber Read Free Book Online

of an English police car.
    â€œJust watching the telly,” I say.
    â€œThe telly ?” she asks with a hard edge of sarcasm.
    Nothing gets by Natalie. It’s amazing how quickly I’ve assimilated into London culture, all the way down to their manner of speaking. I wonder if my own sister even knows it’s me. It’s possible she thinks this is an elaborate prank brought on by someone other than myself—a villain or criminal, a mastermind postal offender.
    â€œSid?” she asks. “What’s going on?”
    â€œOh I’m just calling to tell you I’m feeling much better. I mean, the smells stopped and all.”
    â€œThat’s good news.”
    â€œYeah.” I clap my hand over the phone again. The police car must be going through a roundabout because it’s headed back my way, bawling like a baby toward the hotel. Eeeh Aaah Eeeh Aaah. Natalie notices the gap in our conversation.
    â€œAre you sure you’re okay?”
    â€œOh, right. Yes. Brilliant.”
    â€œUh-huh. And why are you using a phone card?”
    â€œSorry?”
    â€œThe phone card number. It came up on my caller ID.”
    I think about this. I can’t tell her I’m in the London Hyatt that processed Zoe’s first postcards because she will either not believe me or, worse, she will believe me, and as I’ve said before, she would have me committed in a heartbeat. It’s best to keep things simple.
    â€œOh, the phone card thing,” I say breezily. “I just thought it might be cheaper to use one instead of paying all those long-distance bills.”
    â€œYou live two miles away.”
    â€œRight.” So much for simplicity. “I’m actually in the UK on a secret mission to uncover a mail-fraud criminal, and I thought a phone card would be cheaper.”
    â€œGood one. I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better,” she says. “What’s up?”
    â€œCan you take care of Zero for a couple of days? I’m visiting some friends, and don’t want him to panic.”
    â€œOf course. Why didn’t you just bring him over? Zero loves it here.”
    The truth is, Zero can’t stand it at Natalie’s house. Her husband, Jake, spends most of his time on the Internet and they have a Siamese cat that sits on the most comfortable furniture and stares at Zero with savage contempt for hours on end. Zero was shocked to be victim to such drawn-out hostilities. He thought cats slept sixteen hours a day. Not this one.
    â€œIf you could just stop by and make sure he has food and water, that’d be great. The key is inside the fake rock.”
    We wrap up our conversation and I stare out the tall windows of my hotel. The city of London allows itself to be gazed upon like a beautiful woman posing naked for a portrait: full of mystery, hungry for adulation, waiting for something magical to happen.

chapter 18
    First, it’s the yelling. The man behind the double-thick glass walls shouts something at me, but I swear it’s not English. I am in London though, and what else would they be speaking here? I’m at a currency exchange booth, so isn’t he required to speak several languages? He yells again and then he starts the pointing. Yelling and pointing. He never looks at me, only down at the sliding glass tray. Next he talks loud and slow, like I’m a dumb foreigner, and I realize he is speaking English, but with a strong accent. The people behind me in line don’t verbally complain, but a few shuffle their feet and cough. The man opens the sliding tray again, takes my money, and exchanges it for bills and heavy coins, then waves me out of the way. I’m not sure what just happened, but I’m glad I have money. I’m also glad that Zoe didn’t send any postcards from Tokyo or Dubai or Rio because I would really be screwed in a place like that.
    After the money confusion, I decide to skip the tube system for