The Deadly Dust Bunnies Read online

  THE DEADLY DUST BUNNIES

  Haunted Housekeeping, Book 2

  R. A. MUTH

  © 2020, R.A. Muth

  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.

  Editor: Carrie Chafee

  Proofreader: Alice Shepherd

  Cover Designer: Lou Harper, Cover Affairs

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Snarky Coffee Girl Publishing

  730 Main Street #104

  North Myrtle Beach, SC 29582

  Dedicated to

  The Boys' Club:

  Jimmy, Jarod, & Stephen

  CONTENTS

  About This Book

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Sneak Peek of THE MERRY MESSY MUMMY

  Acknowledgments

  More R. A.!

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  Running a thrift store is so much better than cleaning houses, so when the The Treasure Trove goes up for sale, my bestie and I jump at the chance to buy it. After all, this is our chance to give up the toilet brushes and feather dusters for good.

  * * *

  Lucky for us, our grand re-opening coincides with the opening ceremonies of the Beach Plum Bay Days Festival. With tourists flocking to town for the events, we’re sure to get a sales boost, and our new business will be booming in no time.

  * * *

  But nothing in the Cooper's Cove Small Business Owner's guide prepared us for what to do if a dead body turns up in your dumpster full of dust bunnies. To make things worse, some of my closest friends top the list of suspects. And did I mention that my parents are in town?

  * * *

  Now, Hazel and I are too busy solving a murder to enjoy the festival. Even worse, it looks like the killer’s set their sights on me!

  * * *

  Can we find a way to solve the crime without adding our own names to the body count?

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Dear Reader,

  When I first started writing the Haunted Housekeeping Series, ideas spread out like a Hallmark movie in my mind. I had put together an outline (in my head) and planned to follow it to the letter. You know what they say about the best-laid plans.

  Tori, Hazel, and the rest of the characters soon took over. Before I knew it, their adventure took a magical turn—a turn I never saw coming. Bookworms who've read THE SQUEAKY CLEAN SKELETON will know that it all worked out in the end. Fans of Rune will be relieved to learn that he sticks around for THE DEADLY DUST BUNNIES, too.

  While writing this book, I discovered my Irish roots, thanks to a family DNA test. The only terrible part of the process was waiting for the results. It was worth the test of my patience to find out that my 4x great-grandfather was an Irish fiddle player. You can bet it made me feel closer to Rune, despite that he's a fictional character.

  I learned other things, too, especially after I joined a Facebook group full of hundreds of cousins whom I had no idea existed.

  As I studied my family roots, I wondered about Tori's family roots and was excited to learn more about her parents. You’ll learn about them in the book. If she were real, though, I'd like to think that Tori could be one of my many, many long-lost cousins.

  I hope you enjoy escaping into THE DEADLY DUST BUNNIES. If you haven't read THE SQUEAKY CLEAN SKELETON, then you can still read this one first, but it might give away a few spoilers. And at the end of this book, you'll find the very first chapter of THE MERRY MESSY MUMMY which introduces Handyman Hank and his hammer-stealing dog, Thor.

  Let's stay in touch! Hearing from readers like you makes every day brighter. You can email [email protected], or you can connect with me via @authorbeckymuth on most social media sites and also @authorramuth on Facebook.

  And if you enjoy reading this book, please leave a review on Amazon, BookBub, or Goodreads to help other fans of the cozy mystery genre find it so that they can enjoy reading it, too.

  Happy reading,

  Becky "R. A." Muth

  CHAPTER 1

  The toilet sparkled as a result of the vigorous scrubbing I had just finished giving it. I scowled back in response and dropped the cleaning brush into its holder. Earlier this year, my best friend Hazel and I gave up our housecleaning gig to put a down-payment on the Treasure Trove, a longstanding second-hand store in our hometown of Cooper's Cove, Maine.

  From the moment we signed the paperwork from the former owners, who were off to retire in Florida, we rejoiced about never having to scrub another toilet outside of the ones in our homes. Our joy was short-lived as we soon learned that the shop had a public restroom. More often than not, the chore of cleaning the toilet fell to yours truly.

  I returned to the front room where Hazel stared out the enormous display window where a group of tiny dancers’ tiny shoes rat-a-tat-tatted on a makeshift wooden stage. "Hey, when I joked about the pitter-patter of little feet for you and Rune, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Have you seen them? They're wicked cute!"

  "Yes, I've seen them and heard them, and, to make things worse, Rune has complained nonstop since they first started practicing." The girls' steps on the wooden structure echoed so that it sounded like an entire flash mob was tap dancing in the street instead of six little girls. I wandered over to finish a display Hazel had started putting together before I went on bathroom cleaning duty.

  "Don't tell me Rune doesn't like kids."

  "Oh, he loves them, and if we ever decide on a label for our relationship, maybe we'll get married and have a chance at being parents or something."

  "Okay. So, what's the problem?"

  "Rune is offended by their style of dancing. Something about it not being 'proper Irish.'" I draped a piece of blue plaid fabric over the arm of a tan leather sofa and piled a couple of pillows in the corner.

  Hazel turned from the window and nodded at the ensemble. "I like that. Placing items as customers might use them in their homes was such a great idea. I hope it works, and we sell out."

  "Thanks. You know, I'm not sure why they had to close Main Street for all three days of the Beach Plum Bay Days festival. Closing it for the parade alone would have been more than enough time."

  "It was Marci's idea. She wanted to be sure as many people as possible shop Main Street so the business owners can tell people about the ribbon cutting at the Cooper's Cove Visitor's Center and Livingston Historical Society on Sunday."

  "Of course, it was Marci's idea." I picked the pillows up, fluffed them, and repositioned them agai
n.

  Six months ago, we were working as estate cleaners for Marci's aunt, Christine Livingston. Midway through the job, we discovered her corpse in the attic of her mansion. Solving the murder led to receiving the reward money from Marci and her cousins. Hazel and I used the windfall for a down payment on the Treasure Trove. The former owners, an elderly couple, had had enough of New England winters. They were all too happy to sell the business to us and retire south to a place with year-round, sunny beaches.

  "Tori! If you don't stop fluffing them, they'll go flat," Hazel warned.

  I dropped the pillow and stood back to survey the arrangement one last time. "I guess that'll work. Did you see how much dust came out of these things?"

  "Did you see the dust bunnies under the couch? One of us should run the vacuum before they come to life and hurt someone."

  "Don't even joke about that," I said with a gasp. "If I never see another corpse again, or even a badly injured body, it will be too soon!"

  Hazel sobered. "Sorry, girlfriend. I wasn't thinking. What if starting tomorrow, I vacuum, and you clean the bathroom?"

  "You're looking for an excuse to avoid scrubbing the toilet because you know I already handled it for today. There's no way I'm doing it two days in a row."

  I couldn't blame Hazel for not wanting to complete the dreaded task. We started Bubbles and Troubles as a way for me to earn extra cash after my late husband died. After spending time cleaning other people's messes, we tried to transition into estate cleaning and, upon buying the Treasure Trove, we agreed that we never wanted to scrub another toilet for as long as we lived.

  Hazel made kissing noises, which interrupted my thought process in time for me to hear her say, "Rune will do it if you ask him."

  I felt a blush creep into my cheeks. "Yes, Rune probably would, and he'd vacuum, too. He's rather helpful that way."

  You remember the murdered client I mentioned? The day we discovered her corpse, a black cat made an appearance. I couldn't bear to see it go to a shelter, so I took it home. Little did I know that the cat was a cursed Irishman in disguise.

  Only Hazel and I knew his secret, and although we were reasonably sure that the curse had broken once and for all, we had no idea why he was still here. Until we figured it out, he helped us in the shop in exchange for the use of the apartment above it.

  Rune could have stayed in my guest room, but wagging tongues and all. There was something between Rune and me, but we had yet to define it. He wasn't my boyfriend, exactly, but neither of us was seeing anyone else. If our relationship were a social media status, I would describe it as, "It's complicated."

  "Lassies? I've got yer food!" Rune called from the back room.

  Hazel turned the sign in the front window to the side that let customers know the shop was closed for lunch and locked the door. "Come on, girlfriend. I don't know what your man got, but it smells delicious."

  "It does, and we need to take advantage of closing for lunch now. Once the festival starts, if it's as busy as it has been in past years, we'll need to eat in shifts."

  In the employee only area in the back of the shop, Rune had cleared space on our worktable for lunch, setting out a box from Tony's Intergalactic Pizza and a stack of napkins.

  "Thank heavens, you got pizza from Tony's. Oh, do you know if his cousin's new book is out?" Hazel asked while getting three bottles of blueberry sangria from the mini-fridge. The metallic Blue Bear Brewery label glistened against the deep blue-colored bottles.

  Asher and Thom, the owners of the brewery, sent regular gift baskets to their fellow small businesses in Cooper's Cove.

  I gratefully accepted the drink, twisted the bottle cap off, and took a swig of the sparkling beverage before replying, "Yep. The author will be signing copies around town during the festival, and the high school asked him to speak to their creative writing classes, too."

  Our conversation died out as we dug into the pizza. While we ate, Rune jiggled his knee with increasing frequency until his heel bounced a couple of inches off the floor. He used his teeth to tear at the pizza and chewed with the force of a construction vehicle grinding rocks into dust.

  "Rune, is everything okay?" I asked as I reached for another slice.

  Putting the last bit of crust in his mouth, Rune grunted. He balled his left hand into a fist and cupped it in the right one as he chewed and swallowed. "He calls himself an Irish dancer. The bloody twit is a disgrace to the Emerald Isle! I've got half a mind to go out there and show him what real Irish dancing is."

  "Show who? Warren Nagle?" Hazel sipped her drink and let out a satisfied, "Ahhh."

  "Rune, a lot has changed in the world. I'm sure Irish dancing might have transitioned, too," I soothed. After all, he'd yet to see Riverdance.

  "I can take no more of it!" Rune stood and stalked toward the front of the building like a panther in pursuit of its prey.

  Returning my half-slice of pizza to the box, I followed him through the shop with Hazel right on my heels and pleaded, "Stop, Rune, please. You don't want to confront anyone. It's only some kids dancing. Why does it matter how they're doing it?"

  "Lass, if they call it Irish dancing and do something else, then it's a disgrace to the art." Rune opened the front door and stepped onto the sidewalk. "You there! Aye, you! I want to talk to ye about yer dancing."

  Ignoring Rune completely, the dance instructor, Warren Nagle, twirled and gyrated around in front of the makeshift performance stage. At the same time, the young girls continued with their nonstop rat-a-tat-tatting. The jaunty blue plaid beret atop the instructor's head slid back and forth across his greasy hair while the puffy sleeves on his shirt billowed each time he raised or lowered his arms. Warren frequently turned his left hand to reveal a gaudy emerald ring. It would have been comical if not for Rune's anger.

  Hazel and I stopped on the sidewalk while our Irish friend plowed forward.

  "Is he okay?" Hazel asked.

  Without taking my eyes from Rune, I replied, "I hope so. I've never seen him this angry. On second thought, I've never seen him get upset over anything."

  Rune tapped Warren on the shoulder and waited for him to turn around before shouting, "Yer doing it wrong!"

  "What?" Warren's feet never stopped moving, his steps out of sync with the rhythm of the Irish music blaring from a speaker at the corner of the stage.

  "Yer sign says yer Irish dancers but yer not! Ye are all waving yer arms about, but that's not how ye do it at all!" Rune fumed.

  Warren's laugh carried over the music. "And I suppose you're an expert with that fake Irish accent?"

  "Fake? There's nothing fake about me! Look, I'll show ye the right way to do this." Rune dropped his arms to his sides and began dancing right there in the middle of the street. The girls on stage, their parents, and anyone else within earshot stopped what they were doing to watch.

  And I couldn't blame them. Rune was handsome but watching him perform was as breathtaking as watching the sunrise over Beach Plum Bay.

  The longer that Rune danced, the redder Warren's face became. Warren looked like a high school cheerleader on the sidelines at the homecoming football game with his fists on his hips and his feet slightly apart.

  "What's he doing?" Hazel asked me.

  Unsure which man she referred to, I lifted my shoulders and let them fall. "Your guess is as good as mine."

  The song ended, and Rune finished his dance with a flourish before taking a deep bow amidst applause from everyone except Warren, who demanded in a shrill voice, "And who are you to come here and pretend you know more than me? I have classical training!"

  "He may have classical training in something, but sure isn't dance." Hazel didn't hide her snicker.

  "I am called Raghnall Lochlain O'Crowley, of the high clan of Lough Aengus O'Crowley, and if ye had any true Irish running through yer veins, ye'd not cross me on this."

  Although his back was to me, I could imagine the fire in Rune's eyes by his tone of voice alone as he stared Warren down.
Literally. Warren had to crane his neck to look up at Rune as a result of their height difference. Their voices lowered, and I strained to hear what was said.

  "What else are they saying?" Hazel asked.

  "Shh. I'm trying to listen."

  A few seconds later, Warren stepped back and threw his arms out to either side and wiggled his fingers. "Ladies and gentlemen! Tomorrow morning, this rapscallion and I will hold a dance-off, and the winner—by public applause—will take the lead in this winter's performance of the Irish Dancing Nutcracker!"

  "Uh, what just happened?" I asked, not expecting an answer.

  Hazel groaned. "Rune can't dance in the winter performance. Between the harvest and Nor’easter festivals bringing holiday shoppers into town, the Treasure Trove will be super busy! We need him here."

  It was true. Rune's presence was a real boon. Women not only drove in from the nearby towns of Ferndale and Fort James Harbor, but our resident Irishman's reputation lured customers from as far away as Boston and New York City. If word got out that he wasn't in the shop, it could put a severe dent in our revenue.

  Rune turned and walked toward us. The smug grin he wore crinkled the corners of his eyes. He ushered us back into the shop and locked the door behind us before returning to the employee only area and grabbing another slice of pizza.