Read Death among the Roses: a Melanie Hart Mystery (Melanie Hart Cozy Mysteries Book 1) for Free Online Page B

murder would come out above the fold in tomorrow’s edition of the Times , while our story wouldn’t hit the streets until late Monday afternoon. It was one of the hazards of being a small-town newspaper that only published three times a week. Sometimes, we had to run the story a day or two later than our competition. But I knew Dad would work hard to flush out the details, including aspects that the Times would never make the effort to develop.
    “There’s strawberry crumble in the fridge,” Dad said, turning a page of the paper.
    “We ate at Bella’s, thanks. I couldn’t manage to get down another bite of food.”
    “I thought I heard the garage door earlier?”
    “You did,” I said. “After Josh dropped me off, I went back out to meet with Ginger.”
    Dad lowered the newspaper and scowled at me. “Melanie, what are you up to? You and Ginger have never palled around much. And going to her place at this time of night is unheard of.”
    “Nothing’s going on. We just wanted to get together. Hold each other’s hands. Gary’s death was a shock for both of us. Plus, we’re both worried about Cordelia.
    Lying to Dad was unfamiliar territory for me. But then, I told myself, Dad had never played jailer before, either.
    “Hmm,” he said, giving the paper a shake. “Just remember there’s a murderer on the loose, who, for all we know, just might be willing to kill again.”
    Taffy, lying beside his feet, emitted a heavy sigh and shifted her head onto his right shoe.
    “You can’t possibly suspect Ginger,” I said.
    “Probably not. But what do you know about those two young men you went out with tonight?”
    “Dad, I can’t stay locked up in my room until Gary’s murder is solved.”
    He scowled. “You would if I had my way.”
    I crossed to his chair and kissed the top of his head. My father was, without a doubt, being an overprotective dude, but he meant well. I offered him a fond good night and headed for the stairs.
    “You’re turning in already?”
    “Yes. I’m bushed.” My answer wasn't too far from the truth.
    But once upstairs, I whipped out my cell phone and punched the speed dial for a highly familiar phone number. Alan Larkin was a sheriff's deputy, who’d been locally grown and raised right along with me. We’d been moderately good buddies on the school playground from first grade on. And he had, for the past couple years, served as my deep-throated snitch in the sheriff’s department.
    As I drifted into a fitful sleep, I wondered if those feelings of faith in my fellow man could ever be restored?Once connected, he immediately agreed to my request to meet up with him tomorrow.
    Finally, the last of my tasks completed for the day, I sat down on my bed. The memory of Gary’s body stretched out among the roses immediately popped into my head.
    Ultimately, I wound up curled up in a ball on the bed, sobbing quietly into my pillow. Gary was dead. Cordelia was overcome with grief. This wasn't, I thought, the way their lives were supposed to go. And as I mourned for them, I was also aware that a large part of my faith in the goodness of the world and of the people around me had been shattered as well.
     

 
     
     
    FIVE
     
    T he next morning, Ginger managed to beat me to the restaurant. My elderly neighbor, Mrs. Cray, had asked me to drop a jar of jam off at her son’s house. While there, his wife had cornered me for a bit of a talk. I couldn’t blame her. Locked home with three kids under five, her life had to be a bit short on adult conversation.
    Now, scrambling in through the door at Howies, I found Ginger perched in a booth just beyond the front door.
    Since it was a Sunday, the scent of bacon and sausage mingled with the more typical aroma of burger and fries. Howie’s on Sundays served a killer breakfast buffet. And seats in the house were at their usual premium for the affair. Children and parents, elderly groups and youthful folks were all stuffed into the restaurant. Their