Framed for Murder by Marla A. White

Author:Marla A. White [White, Marla A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: FIC022000 FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2024-02-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

“Oh my God, how are you getting worse? Have you been practicing at all?” Doc Hart groused at Mel over their weekly guitar lesson slash coffee klatch. They sat in the doctor’s cozy living room decorated with rock ’n roll paraphernalia alongside framed needlepoint pictures. Somehow, the two sides of her personality blended beautifully.

Mel had long ago come to the same conclusion Poppy had—she needed a hobby that would take her mind off her fear of heights while living on top of a freaking mountain. Her answer had been to learn to play the guitar. Inspired by the instruments hanging on Doc’s wall, she’d asked and her friend had been more than happy to oblige. The lessons had been going pretty well until now.

“I can’t practice, not with those three clowns hovering around me.” She set aside the guitar and reached for the slice of homemade coffee cake instead. “Dammit, how are you so good at so many things? You can bake, play guitar, and save lives. I have one cookie I’ve sort of mastered and it’s so easy Vin’s children can make them.” She’d baked her way through pounds of butter last Christmas to figure out why her Starlight Mint Surprises were so terrible, only to find out Grandma O, that sneaky so-and-so, had left out an important ingredient to ensure no one made them as tasty as hers. “And apparently, I’m not much of a detective. How did I sit here with you for weeks learning All Through the Night and never notice those nails?”

Doc put her hand out to admire her manicure, now sporting little hearts instead of flowers. “I imagine the same way you’ve avoided going to physical therapy for your ankle that you still limp on once in a while. I’m sure you were a great cop, but you have a habit of ignoring inconvenient truths. Like grandmother’s sometimes lie, shattered bones don’t heal themselves, and fun, perky friends aren’t always what they seem to be.”

“Don’t forget, I can barely climb a flight of stairs without fainting,” she bemoaned. “I really am a hot mess.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘hot’,” her friend chuckled, getting her to break out of her gloomy mood before adding, “but you need to be more careful.”

“I take it you’re talking about Poppy and not my ankle.”

Doc Hart picked up the guitar and strummed a tune, avoiding her gaze. “There’s something else going on there, and I don’t mean the part you already know and aren’t telling me.”

“So, you mentioned before.” She stared at her ruined manicure, remembering the conversation they’d had outside the nail salon. “You’re not wrong about her, but my gut tells me I can trust her. Not around knitting needles or pottery wheels, but other than that…” She shrugged.

“Pottery wheels?”

Thinking back to the class they took together and the wet blob of mud flying off Poppy’s wheel and splatting into Mel’s hair, she shook her head. “Don’t ask.”

Her gut had been wrong once or twice, but she’d learned it was better to go with her instincts than constantly doubt herself.

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