7 Never Haunt a Historian Read Free

Koslow. Are you here?”
    She put her ear closer. No hearty male voice answered her call. But she could definitely hear something. Professional voices, canned music.
    The television was on.
    “Mr. Pratt?” she called again, her voice squeaking like a child. “Are you all right?”
    There was no reply.
    Leigh’s heart pounded. It was no use pretending anymore. Archie Pratt couldn’t possibly have deserted his house, his truck, and his dog with no word to anyone, leaving his door unlocked and his television on. He must never have left at all.
    Which meant he must still be here.
    Had he injured himself somehow? Fallen down the stairs? Had a stroke? Could he be in bed with a bad case of flu?
    “Mr. Pratt!” Leigh called again. Her hand on the knob shook a little.
    No response. If Archie was ill, wouldn’t Wiley have stayed with him? The Pack said the dog went in his house and came right back out—that he didn’t want to be here.
    Her hand pushed the door open another quarter inch, then stopped.
    “Leigh Koslow!” she told herself sternly. “Get a grip on yourself. You are not cursed, do you hear me? It’s all in your mind!”
    Of course. It was in her mind. And in the official files of the homicide division of the Allegheny County police department. The City of Pittsburgh’s homicide squad, too. Oh, and the state police. In law enforcement circles, the name Leigh Koslow was synonymous with one thing: bodies. It didn’t matter who or what killed them; it was Leigh who found them. Never mind that she didn’t want to, that she never even tried. Corpse echolocation was her cosmic destiny. For one happy decade while the twins were growing up, she thought she’d been given a reprieve. But this summer, it had started all over again.
    “Archie?” she called, trying one more time.
    Please. Just a groan. A moan. Anything.
    Silence.
    Leigh’s stomach churned. She tried not to be superstitious. Really, she did. But why, oh why, did she have to be the one checking up on Archie? Seriously, how good an idea was that?
    I think he’s dead, Scotty has whispered.
    Did she have no concern for the poor man at all?
    She closed her eyes and swore.

Chapter 2
    “You’re being ridiculous!” Leigh’s cousin Cara proclaimed between heaving breaths. “Honestly, how silly!”
    Leigh pushed her cousin forward another pace toward the farmhouse door. She was still trying to catch her own breath, after having rousted Cara from work in her home office—precious “adult” time they both considered inviolate ever since Leigh bought the house next door and the women had agreed to trade off child care. She steadied herself and planted both hands on her hips. “Archie Pratt is a genuinely nice person, and I happen to like him very much,” she defended hotly. “If my being ridiculous is what it takes to keep the man alive, then fine —call me ridiculous!”
    Cara’s blue-green eyes rolled. “All right, all right,” she soothed. “I’ll go in first.”
    “I’m staying here,” Leigh asserted, crossing her arms. “If you need me to call 911, just yell.”
    Cara threw her cousin another exasperated look, but turned and put her hand on the knob. “Mr. Pratt?” she called, knocking briskly with her other hand. “It’s Cara March. Are you home?”
    They waited. There was no response.
    “It’s open,” Leigh reminded.
    Without hesitation, Cara opened the door.
    Leigh watched, heart pounding, as her cousin disappeared inside. “Mr. Pratt?” Cara called again.
    Leigh’s ears strained to hear a response. All she heard was the television. Impatiently she moved forward to stand just outside the doorframe. “Cara?” she urged, “What is it? What do you see? Is he there?”
    Her cousin, maddeningly, took her sweet time in answering. “He’s not here or in the kitchen. I’ll check his bedroom. I’m guessing it’s over here…” her voice trailed off.
    Leigh turned and paced a bit. She gnawed on a fingernail. She checked her