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

question. Not only was I the paper’s best reporter, I was its only one.
    “I’m on the assignment," Dad said, keeping his voice neutral. "I'm taking over the story.”
    My head jerked back. “You must be kidding.” I thought about and instantly dismissed protesting the fairness of his decision. Although he pursued fairness in life with a passion, it was doubtful he'd back off in my case.
    The look in Father's gray eyes softened. “If you think about it for a moment, I'm sure you'll understand where I’m coming from. You're too close to the murder to be objective. As you’ve pointed out Gary was one of your friends. You and Cordelia have spent almost more time together than we have.”
    “If you’re worried about my objectivity, you can do your usual tough editing job. Make me rewrite the story if I go over the top. You’ve cleaned up my work before. Why not this time?”
    “That's not good enough. I have to stay personally on top of this one.”
    “But why?”
    Dad ignored my question. “I’ve talked to Gossford. He’s already aware of how I want this handled.”
    I shook my head. “You can’t do this to me.”
    “Yes, I can. It’s already done.”
    I stamped my foot, wishing even as I did so that I’d outgrow that childish display of ill-humor. But when I’m vexed my foot takes on a life all its own.
    Dad scowled. "Dinner will be ready in half an hour."
    “You shouldn’t have bothered,” I snapped. I hugged my purse to my chest and blinked back tears. “I’m not the least bit hungry. If you want me, I'll be upstairs.”
    With that said, I stomped out of the room.
    I knew I was being silly. I was aware that deep down Gary’s death pained me more than any blow I’d ever felt. And that I strongly disliked whoever had robbed him of his life. But this was my first chance to cover a murder, and it hurt to have this story yanked out of my hands.
     
    ***
     
    Some twenty minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom. Wrapped in my terry robe, my hair damp from the steaming waters of the shower, I opened the door to my bedroom and stepped inside. I loved spending time in my private lair. It was quiet, and cozy, and warm here.
    Drapes on both windows were drawn. The light spilling from the lamp reflected off the pink walls I’d favored since childhood. But the closet door hung open from when I’d stepped out of my wedding finery. I walked over and swung the door shut. I reveled in an orderly room.
    The recent shower hadn’t completely renewed my good humor. But at least I no longer wanted to murder dear old Dad. Speaking of the fellow, his voice now called out from the hallway below. “Someone named Josh Devon phoned while you were cleaning up. He wants you to ring him back.”
    Dad provided a number, and I committed the digits to memory. Gently, I closed the bedroom door and snatched up the cell phone from the dresser. As I punched in the number, my mind played back the exchange between Josh and Ginger in the church basement. I’d been a bit jealous then. Now I found myself grinning. Josh had elected to call me. He answered on the second ring.
    “Hey," he said. "Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”
    I listened and smiled. He had a deep, baritone voice that I found wonderfully reassuring. I smoothed a wisp of hair back from my face. “No problem. But how on earth did you find me?” We were listed in the phone book under my father’s name only.
    “One of the benefits of small towns, I guess,” Josh responded. “I asked the woman at the front desk about you. And here I am."
    Intimate knowledge of our surroundings was a two-way street. I knew the local bed and breakfast Josh was calling from promoted itself as a weekend retreat for lovelorn couples. The inn promised to put a little romance back in the lives of visitors. And to that end, the wallpaper in all the rooms dripped with rosebuds. Also, every pillow in the place was edged in six-inch wide lace. I couldn’t think the inn would be