Spirited 1 by Mary Behre Read Free Book Online Page A

wave of nausea.
    Visions always did that to her. She lived or died each moment exactly as the victim had. Her body acted as a vessel into which a ghost poured her pain, physical and mental. And when the vision ended, the rush of reality crashed into Jules with enough force to leave her feeling ill. Sometimes for days.
    It was all the legacy of the Scott family crift of psychic abilities. A curse and a gift. While no two members had the same gift, each was rumored to be cursed with some form of it. Lucky Jules got to see ghosts. Ha, lucky!
    Her crift had cost her everything: her father, her sisters, even her marriage. Only Big Jim and April had ever stayed beside her, unafraid of her talents .
    Her thoughts drifted to the hum of tires again. She realized that unless the murderer put his hands around her throat—something she seriously didn’t want—Jules doubted she would ever be able to identify him.
    What am I doing? Three years ago, when she had tried to help another ghost, she’d ended up arrested as an accessory to kidnapping. She needed to remember that.
    Jules shook her head to clear it and stepped to her right, sidling around the table once more. No more ghosts. She’d never help another specter.
    Resolute, she reached for another flower and blinked in surprise. With the can in her right hand, she searched the table for a fresh carnation but none were left. She’d dyed them all.
    How long had she been lost in her thoughts?
    “Juliana, I spoke to Ernie,” April called out from around the corner.
    “April, I’m sorry about the keys,” Jules called back, sweeping stray leaves and broken stems off the worktable and into a trash receptacle.
    “It’s fine. I told you Ernie would take care of it.” Her voice grew louder and the floor squeaked as she waddled down the hall. “He’s called a locksmith to come to the shop but he needs to wait for the super to . . . Oh my!” Her blue eyes nearly as round as her belly, she seemed frozen in the doorway between the storefront and the back room. “Hmmm . . . well, at least the flowers are dyed too.”
    Too?
    Jules glanced down. Bright orange paint was splattered all over her apron, jeans, and shirtsleeve. Not to mention the swipe on the workbench where her hand had smeared the paint when she cleaned off the table. Heat warmed her cheeks but she tried to joke away her embarrassment. “Well, pat my head and call me coordinated.”
    “I wouldn’t recommend it.” April pressed her hand to her mouth but laughed anyway. Leaning out the doorway she said, “Diana, you’ve got to see this.”
    April’s teenaged Goth assistant appeared at her side moments later and snorted.
    “Want the black paint now?” she asked in a thick southern Tidewater drawl. “We can paint a jack-o-lantern’s face on your apron and put you in the front window.”
    Black lipstick, jet-black hair, ivory foundation, and black eyeliner combined with Diana’s thick southern twang often made the girl’s jokes seem funnier than they probably were.
    “Thanks. I’ll pass.” Jules laughed and set the can on the table. “I know I was put on this earth to entertain the masses with my clumsy antics but I’d rather not risk April’s storefront.”
    Jules lifted a hand to brush a stray hair from her face.
    Diana and April yelled in unison, “Stop!”
    Pumpkin-colored spray coated her right hand. Had she touched her face, she’d have walked around for the rest of the day painted orange. Even her bangs couldn’t have spared her the complete mortification of being the color of a fall vegetable.
    “You . . . you . . .” Diana giggled, appearing to enjoy Jules’s mishap a little too much. “You’ve got a spot on your cheek. Whadja do, stand downwind?”
    “What wind? We’re inside.” Her question sent April and Diana into fresh gales of laughter. With nothing else to do, she gave in and chuckled at herself, adding, “I’ll be back.”
    She darted past April’s office door and