Shannon Esposito [Esposito - Pushing Up Daisies

PUSHING UP DAISIES

(A Pet Psychic Mystery Book 5)

Shannon Esposito

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Copyright Shannon Esposito, 2019

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Published by misterio press

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Visit Shannon Espositos official website at

http://www.murderinparadise.com/

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Cover by Dar Albert

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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To Atlas, forever in our hearts.

CHAPTER ONE

R uth Russo stepped out of the St. Pete Journal building with an uncharacteristic smile on her face. The box cradled in her arms contained the last contents of her deskhand sanitizer, Tums, letters and files, her favorite blonde wig. It was the first time shed set foot outside the building without a disguise, and she felt free at last. Her body was lighter, her mind unburdened. She didnt even mind the slight, leftover drizzle from a summer storm soaking through her blouse as she crossed the dark, deserted parking lot to her car.

This night marked the end of a chapter in her life, but also the beginning of a new one. Shed never imagined herself on TV. Didnt have the face for it, if she was being honest with herself. Or the body, thanks to a successful career as a food critic. But what she did have was tenacity and the willingness to expose local restaurants claims of farm fresh, wild caught, locally grown and all the other BS they feed unsuspecting customers with a side of wilted greens. Which is exactly what shed done in an explosive article series that had caught the attention of a TV producer. A TV producer! That still sent a zing of excitement right up her spine.

She wasnt quite sure what to expect from signing that contract for a twelve-show series to continue exposing restaurant claims in the new venue. But the world truly was her oyster right now, and she was finally getting her chance to pluck out that pearl.

As she neared her silver Cadillac, A prickling of unease teased the back of her neck. The smell hit her first. It filled her nostrils, clogged her throat and made her gag.

What the ...? Dropping the box on the blacktop, she covered her nose with both hands and moved slowly toward her car. The clouds parted, and in the sudden moonlight, a pile of glass glittered on the ground next to her car. Her gaze darted to the drivers side window, which had been smashed out.

She gingerly stepped one foot onto the glass to peer into her car. It crunched under her leather loafer. Leaning over, she gasped. Slick, silvery bodies and round, cloudy eyes greeted her.

Someone had filled her car with dead, rotting fish.

Who would do this? she whispered.

Only the slight rustle of wind through the palm trees lining the back of the lot answered her.

Anger bubbled up within her, along with bile from the stench. Keeping her nose covered with one hand, she reached in and plucked a note off her dashboard. Tilting it into the moonlight she read:

Your gonna sleep with the fishes traitor!

She blinked back the tears now blurring her vision. Her heart pounding, she glanced around the parking lot. She was so tired of the threats. So tired of being the bad guy. Didnt they understand she just cared about the food industry? She was the reason restaurants tried so hard to please their customers.

Removing her hand from her face she yelled, Its youre! Y-O-U-apostrophe-R-E you illiterate coward!

Her voice echoed in the silence and died. With a sniffle, she scooped up the box and marched back into the building to call the police ... again.

CHAPTER TWO

F or the second day in a row, our morning began with the scent of fried food and thumping music coming from the St. Pete Seafood Festival across the street in Straub Park. Yesterday it had been a real distraction for me and my sister, Mallory, as wed worked at Darwins Pet Boutique.

Mallory was helping me out while my business partner and groomer extraordinaire, Sylvia, trekked around Europe on her two-week honeymoon.

But Sundays the pet boutique was closed, so we were finally free to partake in the festivities.

Willow, our middle sister, had volunteered to stay with Grandma Winterswhod shown up unexpectedly a few days agoand give her a tour of the less crowded parts of St. Pete. Neither of them was a big fan of crowds or seafood.

Mallory and I stepped out of the townhouse gate in flip-flops and sunhats, both of us grinning like a possum eatin a sweet potato. Mallory was also holding our current foster puppy, a Yorkie named Petey. We were supposed to be trying to find him a home, but Mallory has gotten real attached to the little guy, so shes been procrastinating.

Ready? I asked.

Born ready. Grabbing my hand with her free one, Mallory pulled me through the stand-still traffic on Beach Drive toward Straub Park.

Mal, this is jaywalking! I protested. Sorry, sorry. I waved to the cars we were weaving our way past.

We were across the street and heading toward the front entrance before she answered me. Some rules are begging to be broken, Sis. Tugging me faster down the sidewalk, she added, Theres the gate. Is Will meeting you here?

I smirked and narrowed my eyes at her, as we got in line to buy our tickets. Yeah, why? Eager to get rid of me?

Course not. But the mischievous gleam in her green eyes said differently.

Wed all grown up in Savannah, Georgia, sheltered from the world by an over-protective mother. I knew Mal was itching to explore the festival alone, to feel independent. Plus, she was boy-crazy, and Id inherited our mothers overprotective gene.

My stomach gurgled at the mixture of aromas. I eyed the red-and-white-striped awnings of the vendor booths scattered around the park beneath a cloudless, azure sky. Good heavens there was an overwhelming array of foods available. How would we ever choose?

Mallory pushed me through the crowd and steered me toward a booth. Well, that answers that question. I know youre having lunch with Will, but we can grab something small.

I glanced up at the sign as we waited in line. Tempura fried ice cream?

Yes, dessert first, my treat. Live a little. She pulled cash out of her jean shorts pocket. When it was our turn, she said, Two, please.

I held up my hand. Just one. I didnt have anything on my stomach except a cup of tea. At eighteen, Mallory could still get away with eating sugar for breakfast without feeling sick as a dog. I couldnt.

Mallorys hand went to her hip as she glanced at me. Prude.