The Ghost and Mrs. Mewer (A Paws and Claws Mystery Book 2) by Krista Davis Read Free Book Online Page A

cheeks and a nose that might be a bit too pointed. A streak of white hair sprang from the middle of her forehead, emphasizing the darkness of the rest of her hair. Her complexion seemed too pale, and frighteningly close to being witchy.
    “How nice of you to bother to come, Holly. I understand you’ve been in town thirty-six hours,” she sniffed.
    “You’re up. And dressed. And your hair is done.”
    “What? No hug?”
    Was she kidding? I glared at her. “Is that a stopwatch in your hand?”
    “Eighteen minutes. You’re going to have to work on that.”
    Had she lost her mind? “No, I’m not. Because
you
are never going to pull a stunt like this again.” I pointed my forefinger at her. “If you do, then you can forget about me
ever
coming to your rescue.” What a moronic trick. A woman in her sixties ought to know better. Unless . . . unless she wasn’t thinking straight anymore.
    “If your mother had taught you any manners, you would have come by to visit immediately.”
    “Oh, but it’s good manners to wake a person in the middle of the night and haul her over here on false pretenses?”
    She slapped a manicured hand to the base of her throat. “No one speaks to me that way.”
    “Maybe it’s time someone did.” I turned on my heel and marched out, fuming. I didn’t look back until I reached the golf cart.
    Birdie stood in her doorway, holding the door frame with one hand, looking forlorn. Her sad expression cut through my anger. I had never lived near relatives as an adult. Maybe I
should
have dropped by to say hello the second I hit town. I drove away with guilt creeping over me. But I shook it off. Maybe Birdie was the loon my father had always claimed she was.
    The golf cart was rolling slowly through a residential neighborhood in Wagtail when a little white Jack Russell terrier darted across the street in front of it.
That couldn’t be Trixie. It sure looked like her, though.
When a calico kitten sped along behind the dog, I turned the golf cart at the next corner. How could they have gotten out?
    I called them, trying not to wake sleeping Wagtailites. They ran through yards, evading me. I would glimpse them, and they would disappear again.
    I turned to the right, toward the pedestrian zone, and spied them happily scampering along. I parked the golf cart, hitched my purse over my shoulder, stepped out, and ran. Where had those little goofballs gone?
    The scent of burning wood hung heavily in the air. I cut through the parklike middle of the pedestrian zone and stumbled on a piece of a shattered pumpkin. I hated to think that some drunk had damaged the pretty carved pumpkins that lined the walkway.
    In the clearing near the Wagtail Springs Hotel, I was shocked to discover that the bonfire had started again. It wasn’t blazing yet, but it would be soon. The scouts must not have put it out properly. It didn’t appear to be spreading, thank goodness, but I pulled out my phone and called 911 immediately. The dispatcher promised to send Officer Dave over to check on it.
    I spied Trixie on the other side of the fire, much closer than I thought was safe. “Trixie!”
    She clamped her teeth on a heavy branch and pulled it.
    “No!” I ran toward her, knowing perfectly well that was probably the wrong thing to do. But I had to stop her from dragging around a limb that was burning on one end. If she didn’t hurt herself, she might set something on fire. The Wagtail Springs Hotel loomed nearby. That place was probably a tinderbox. If she dropped the branch on the wood porch, I might not be able to stop the fire from spreading.
    She saw me coming. I sighed with relief when she dropped the branch and sniffed the ground. I grabbed the limb and tossed it onto the fire.
    A moment later, she picked up something else that I couldn’t quite make out. “Drop, Trixie.”
    She danced just out of my reach. Happily a scent must have interested her, and she dropped what she held in her mouth. Trixie’s nose