The Tell-Tale Con by Aimee Gilchrist Read Free Book Online Page B

screwdriver?”
    â€œA…screwdriver?” 
    â€œA flathead, if you’ve got one.”
    â€œA flathead.  Screwdriver.”
    â€œCould you just stop repeating everything I say and find me something to pry up this floorboard?”
    He didn’t respond, but he did leave the room, closing the door again behind him.  By feeling around, I was able to figure out where it would be best to start prying by the time he came back with a silver cheese knife.  I held it up to the light of his bedside lamp.  “Really?”
    â€œI don’t think we have a screwdriver.”  He sounded offended.  By me.  Because he didn’t have a screwdriver. 
    â€œWhatever.” 
    I hunkered down and worked the board until it popped off with a tremendous groan.  Harrison pulled in a breath, but the rest of the house remained silent.  As suspected, underneath the board was an empty cavity rather than a sub floor.  It was about six inches wide and a couple of feet long.  It was too dark in the room to see how deep it went.  And heaven only knew what was down that hole.  Could have been spiders, mice, centipedes.  Anything but a demon. 
    Harrison had better appreciate me for this .  I took a deep breath of my own and slammed my hand down into the darkness.  Regrettably, the hole was no where near as deep as I might have anticipated.  I struggled to keep my cursing down to a whisper while I worked on trying to bend my fingers again.  When most of the function in my hand had returned, I reached down again and felt carefully, still cringing at what else might be down there.
    My fingers closed around something about the size of a business card but much thicker.  I pulled it out and held it under the light while Harrison looked on, expressionless.  It was some kind of recorder, nothing I’d ever seen before.  A small LCD screen let me know that it was cued up to play at around two in the morning.  I handed it to him.  “Here’s your demon.”
    Harrison took it and stared at it for a long time without saying anything.  I folded my arms over my chest, wishing again that I had shoes and a coat.  It was too cold for this crap.  The recorder was proof positive that I’d been right all along.  I wished I felt better about it.
    â€œI think it’s time to pay a visit to good old Cousin Neil,” I said.
    "You mean Nate?"
    "Whatever."

CHAPTER FIVE
    Â 
    Â 
    Rules of the Scam #12
    Don’t get yourself into other people’s trouble…
    Â 
    I managed to get out of Harrison’s place without anyone seeing me.  Well, except Captain Lascivious at the counter who waggled his eyebrows at me though I’d been at Harrison’s for all of maybe five minutes before leaving again.  When I got back across the street, Mr. Wong was standing in the doorway waiting for me.  He looked pointedly at his watch. 
    â€œIt’s seven minutes, Talia.”  His old, thin, mouth tightened until he actually seemed to have no lips at all.  How did he do that?
    â€œI know, Mr. Wong.  I’m sorry.  I had to do something.  It was an emergency.”  I put on my most imploring face.  It was a good one.  I was a born con artist, part of the reason my parents were so annoyed when I’d refused to play anymore. 
    Mr. Wong’s expression softened, but only slightly.  “You stay here.  I need noodles.”
    I knew the drill. 
    Once he disappeared behind the frayed yellow curtain to his back area, I hopped onto a dryer and grabbed a magazine someone had left behind.  People were always leaving things behind inside the faded orange walls of the laundry.  This one was a design mag about indoor pools.  As if , but it was better than nothing.  No one was going to come into Mr. Wong’s at almost 2:30 a.m.  I flipped through the glossy pictures of