The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks Read Free Page A

glanced nervously at MacQueen’s closed door. She chewed her bottom lip and said, “Sweetie, let’s the three of us go inside my apartment and think this through.”

    The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks
    9
    Nick opened his mouth, but Foster beat him to it. “I can’t go in there,” he said obstinately.
    “I’ll put the cats away.”
    “Their dander --”
    “Oh, for cryin’ out loud!” Nick exclaimed. “I don’t care what you people do, just don’t involve me.”
    The kid, Foster, gritted his jaw, but his eyes were glittering ominously as he stared at Nick. “Sure. Thanks for your help,” he managed, politely.
    Nick started to turn away. “The police might want to question you, Mr. Reno,” Bridger warned. Her eyes glittered like green glass.
    Nick drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Let’s go inside and talk this over,” he said very calmly.

    * * * * *
The police arrived while they were having coffee. The coffee was laced with brandy, which was a mistake in Nick’s opinion, but clearly the whole night was a mistake as far as he was concerned. Calling the cops was the biggest mistake, and he had waxed loud and eloquently -- but mostly just loud -- on the topic.
    Now he was brooding in silence, taking up half of Jane’s horsehair sofa. The police, having heard Perry out, tramped upstairs to investigate. Nick Reno had been right. There was no forensics team, just two weary and wet deputy sheriffs in yellow slickers, looking mighty unamused.
    Before the deputies headed upstairs, Nick filled them in about the mud smear on the tub and the scuff marks on the tile.
    “How come you didn’t mention those things before?” Perry accused when the door closed on the officers of the law. “Those are clues.”
    “Let the cops decide if they’re clues or not,” Nick returned.
    “More brandy?” offered Jane. He held out his cup, and she topped off his coffee.
    Perry stared down at his mug. He knew the other two were irritated with him for insisting on phoning the police; it was like they were operating in an alternate universe. Of course he had called the police. Any normal person would call the police.
    So now the three of them sat waiting for the law to finish, drinking spiked coffee and eating decorated cookies hard enough to crack a tooth on. The brandy was getting to Jane; she was flirting with Nick.
    Perry’s gaze wandered around the room. There were two Christmas cards on a table.
    One was from an insurance company. The other was lying face down. Jane was not the Suzy Homemaker type. Her apartment was a mess. She must dress and undress walking from room 10 Josh Lanyon
    to room, he decided, eyeing a silk blouse draped over a lamp shade. The tabletops were dusty, and there was cat hair on the overstuffed furniture. His chest tightened as he noticed it.
    “How are you feeling now, sweetie?” Jane asked Perry, as though reading his
    expression.
    “Fine.” He shot a diffident look at Reno and then looked away. Nick Reno was staring at him like he was a dork.
    “What happened while I was upstairs?” Reno questioned suddenly.
    Jane shrugged and pulled at the shoulder of her slipping dressing gown. “Nothing.”
    “Mr. Center came out of his rooms,” Perry offered.
    “For about half a minute. He went straight back inside,” Jane clarified. “Everyone did.
    Miss Dembecki went back in her apartment and locked the door. Ditto Mrs. Mac. It’s not like anyone thought you would find anything.” She patted Perry’s hand apologetically, asking Nick, “Why? What did you expect?”
    Nick Reno had the kind of face that gave nothing away. Instead of answering Jane directly, he asked, “How many people live here?”
    “Seven, now that poor Mr. Watson is gone.”
    Nick’s eyes narrowed reflectively. “That’s the guy who died in the village? And Stein is the fatso on the second floor?”
    “That’s right. He works as a security guard at the mall most nights. It used to be Mr.
    Stein, Mr. Center, and Mr.