High Stakes, a Hetty Fox Short: a Hetty Fox Short Story (Hetty Fox Cozy Mysteries Book 3) Read Free Page B

that everyone living over here was rich. Which wasn’t the case at all —   at least not with me.
    “What do you think of this pile of stones?” I asked Andrew.
    “I think it’s impressive, which I assume is what its original owner would want me to think. Come to that, the current resident probably feels that way too.”
    “Yes, but why would a guy who could afford a mansion buy an old car from a high school janitor? From the looks of  his house, I would think Brooks could own any car he pleased.”
    Andrew frowned. “Maybe he is a collector of cars. Maybe the car was a valuable antique.”
    “That might explain it, I suppose.”
    Andrew chuckled. “Or maybe, Brooks doesn’t have as much money as he once did. Maybe he’s managed to cling to this house but has very little cash left.”
    “He could always take out  a reverse mortgage,” I mumbled uncharitably.
    “What’s that?”
    “Never mind, it’s a recent invention. One I wouldn’t expect you to know much about.”
    Andrew scowled. He disliked being reminded that his knowledge was sometimes out of date. “You can pull up a page explaining the subject on your computer, and I’ll read up on it.”
    That was one weakness with Andrew. As a ghost, he couldn’t lift things, or pull drawers out, or tap keyboards. So his searches could be a little less than thorough.  But what he lacked in physical abilities, he more made up for with sheer nosiness and determination. And if he had a mind to, he could even slide inside a closed drawer. I’d yet to send him on an assignment that he couldn’t find some way to fulfill.
    We came to the sidewalk leading to the home. I turned and started forward. As we drew nearer to the house, I witnessed clear signs of decay. The trim needed a fresh coat of paint. The roof looked as though it had neared the end of its life. The lawn could use better care.
    I strode up to the massive front door and pulled the bell. We stood there a long moment. At last I heard footsteps and soon a man opened the door. He was probably about my age, somewhere in his middle sixties. But he had a bulbous nose and closely cropped wiry hair. He studied me with a sour expression on his face. “May I help you?”
    Face to face with the guy, I suddenly found myself squirming. After all we were here to invade his private space on a fairly flimsy excuse. I cleared my throat.  “I hope so,” I said. I gave him my name and pulled a donation card for the library from my purse. I’d volunteered to collect on their behalf at the last session of our knitting group. One of our members had suckered me into the mission. And now I stood before this man smiling sweetly. “I’m collecting on behalf of the Hendricksville library.”
    Brooks snorted. “Waste of good money, that place is.”
    My eyes flew open. “What do you mean?”
    “Bunch of useless women, reading stupid books. You won’t catch me blowing my money on that nonsense.”
    “But the children…? Don’t you care about them?”
    “They’ll be more productive if they learn something practical. Take up a trade. They should try plumbing or maybe something electrical.”
    “But before that, while they’re still children. Surely you’d not deny them the joy of reading?”
    “Why not?”
    I switched gears, became an actress. Staggering backwards, I clamped my hand to my chest. “Oh, dear.”
    Brooks’ eyebrows pushed their way up into his forehead. “What’s the matter?”
    “I’m sorry. I feel dizzy. Maybe if I could come in and sit for a minute?”
    I might have felt more guilty about deceiving this guy if he’d had a better attitude toward books or even people. As far as I was concerned, if guilty, this man deserved to be exposed for his crime.
    He shook his head. “You could go over to Buela Clap’s place across the street. She might take you in.”
    I tipped sideways, putting myself nearly at risk of falling off of his porch. “I feel so faint,” I protested. “I don’t