Skeletons in the Attic (A Marketville Mystery Book 1) by Judy Penz Sheluk Read Free Book Online Page B

estate sale? Arabella’s reply raised as many questions as it answered. I sent her back an email thanking her for her quick response. I promised to set up a firm date as soon as I had a chance to go through the rest of my mother’s things in the attic. I finished up with, “There may be a few more things for you to look at! Dinner’s on me! Callie.”
    With that taken care of, I made myself a mug of vanilla rooibos tea accompanied by a couple of chocolate chip cookies. Not that I made a habit of eating cookies for breakfast, but my cupboards were pretty much bare, and without milk the bran flakes were even more unappetizing than usual.
    I remembered the Marketville Post and fetched it from the front hallway. Before long I was immersed in flyers and making a store-by-store list. I was almost starting to feel like a proper homeowner, instead of a daughter looking for clues into her mother’s disappearance.
    I headed out the door at nine, wandered up and down the aisles of four different grocery stores, and stocked up on essentials, non-essentials—note to self: never shop for food on a two-cookie stomach—and everything required for Saturday night’s dinner. I even found a nice six-bottle wine rack, perfect for the kitchen counter.
    My next stop was the Liquor Control Board of Ontario, known to everyone as the LCBO, and Ontario’s only option if you wanted hard liquor. Started in 1927 after prohibition ended to control the sale and distribution of alcohol, it amused me that almost ninety years later the government still didn’t trust the concept of privatization. Well, they were softening some on beer and wine, but the rules for selling either were arduous at best.
    The city snob in me was surprised at how swanky this particular LCBO was, as nice or nicer than any of the Toronto area stores I’d frequented in the past. Carefully laid out, there were aisles and aisles of liquor, liqueurs, imported and domestic beer, assorted fruity coolers, as well as wine separated both by country and color. There was even a huge Vintages section at the back of the store, though most choices were well outside of my rather modest budget. I made my selection of more affordable reds and whites from the Australia and Chile aisles. The man at the checkout counter was nice enough to put my purchases in a couple of boxes and carry them to my car. Civilized.
    My final stop for the day was at an office supply store, which, according to its flyer, just so happened to have some paper shredders on sale. If I was going to go through the papers in my father’s filing cabinet, I was going to need one.
    A serious young associate was more than happy to discuss the pros and cons of cross-cut versus strip-cut shredders. Apparently cross-cut paper shredders sliced paper into small squares or diamond shapes, whereas a strip-cut shredder cut paper into long strips.
    “The cross-cut is more expensive, but it’s also more secure,” the associate said, his expression grave. “The long strips created by the strip-cut shredder can be reassembled by someone with enough time and patience for the task.”
    I imagined Misty Rivers riffling through my garbage—anything to bolster her so-called “psychic” abilities—and opted for the cross-cut shredder. You couldn’t put a price tag on privacy.
     
    I got back to Snapdragon Circle just past noon, made myself a tuna salad sandwich, and prepared my first report to Leith. I’d already decided not to mention the envelope until I could find out more about the contents. Besides, it was week one. He wouldn’t be expecting much.
    To: Leith Hampton
    From: Calamity Barnstable
    Subject: Friday Report Number 1
    Discovered a PVC skeleton in a papier-mâché coffin in the attic. Police believe it might be a prank. Have not been back in the attic since. On the to-do list. Had locks and front door peephole changed. Met Royce Ashford, next door neighbor. Misty Rivers came by the house and offered her assistance. I