Framed and Burning (Dreamslippers Book 2) by Lisa Brunette Read Free Book Online Page A

thirty years ago—she’d been a young beachcomber with stars in her eyes about Mick. When Grace called to set up the appointment, the woman sounded surprised, then suspicious.  
    “It would be great to talk to someone who’s practically an expert on Mick Travers,” Grace said. There was no response, so she added, “And his art.” The woman agreed to meet.
    Candace lived on Sanibel Island, on the Gulf side of the Florida peninsula, but Grace was keen for the drive. It took her across the Everglades along Alligator Alley, a straight shot she’d traveled many times during her visits to see Mick. The name was not a misnomer, as Grace spotted several alligators without leaving her air-conditioned car. She gave herself the luxury of a stop at Shark Valley, which was a misnomer, since there were obviously no sharks slogging through the swampy glades. But a long, paved path led to a hummock, an area of solid ground where a few slash pines bravely fought for their existence.  
    The alligators lining the pavement seemed fat and happy, lazing in the sun without much care for how close she and the other tourists approached. The gators yawned, wide-jawed, and looked away. She was mercifully glad when she reached a shaded kiosk at the end of the paved trail. A clever crow lifted a silver-sheathed energy bar out of her backpack, making off with the treat before she realized it.
    Without the energy bar, she was famished by the time she arrived in Sanibel. A restaurant on the edge of the shell-lined beach called to her, but she was to meet Candace Shreveport at her beach bungalow. Perhaps she could entice the woman into an early dinner.
    The bungalow was a delight from the outside, reminiscent of the gingerbread Victorians of Key West, and painted in pale pink with aqua trim.“What a lovely home,” Grace remarked when Candace greeted her. The woman was holding a black-and-white cat balanced on her ample middle when she came to answer the door. Her hair had gone gray some time ago but was dyed black; Grace could see it was time for a root touch-up.
    “Well, Mick would hate it,” Candace said, gesturing to the outside of the house. “All that decorative busyness. He’d say it was too folksy.”
    “You’re probably right about that,” Grace said.  
    “Come on in,” Candace said, without warmth, shifting the cat to one hip and propping the screen door open for Grace.
    “Thank you so much for meeting with me.” Grace followed the woman inside.  
    Candace gestured to a set of white wicker furniture that creaked loudly when Grace sat down. On the walls were, presumably, Ms. Shreveport’s own creations: a row of Impressionistic paintings of none other than the cat she was holding at the door.
    “Those are mine.” Candace noticed Grace’s gaze. She pointed to the signature in the bottom corner of one. “I sign my works Candy Port .”
    Grace cringed but tried not to show it. What on earth had her brother Mick ever seen in this woman?
    “Mick and I met at a bar,” the woman announced, as if she sensed Grace’s bewilderment. “The Conch. Down in Key Largo. To this day, I don’t know what he was doing down there, but I’d just run off from my husband.”
    “I see,” said Grace, though she didn’t really.
    “I was drunk off my ass, and Mick danced with me. It was fun. He’s loads of fun to drink with. Of course, we ended up in bed, at the Largo Lodge. Cute place—I’ve gone back a few times with my girlfriends.”
    “My brother says you drunk-dial him every couple of years,” Grace broke in. “And as recently as this past spring.”
    “Yeah, he’s not exactly on my speed-dial, if you know what I mean, but when you get to thinking hard about where your life went wrong, you know, he’s one of the first people I think of.”
    “But you’ve done well for yourself.” Grace couldn’t help herself.  
    “Oh, I do fine. I’m in a few crafty galleries here in town, right there with the mosquito huts and the