Framed and Burning (Dreamslippers Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

Granny Grace went to the precinct station but got no more information.  
    When Granny Grace was out, Cat called her mother to let her know what was happening. Mercy was upset, and as always, worried about Cat’s safety. She was relieved to hear they weren’t staying at Mick’s beach house. Cat took the opportunity to ask her mother about her family history.
    “What do you know about your uncle, Mom? Why do Granny Grace and Mick live on opposite coasts?”
    “Oh, those two had some kind of falling-out in the Eighties.” Her mother clicked her tongue in judgment. “Tedious, if you ask me.”
    “Do you know what it was about?”
    “No idea. They used to be extremely close, and then… It probably has to do with you-know-what.”
    Cat’s mother didn’t like to talk about the dreamslipping thing. Up until Cat proved she could do it by relating the content of her mother’s dreams exactly, she had denied its existence. It apparently skipped a generation.  
    As she said good-bye to her mother, Cat wondered if there wasn’t a personal reason Granny Grace had set up those rules.
    The next night, things were a bit better for Cat. Mick had had so much to drink his dreams were washy and disjointed, and that made it easy for Cat to pop out of them when she inadvertently slipped into them. And he didn’t slip into hers.  
    And now after a couple of days, Mick was sprawled out on the lanai, which he was using as a sort of makeshift studio, a giant easel on two-by-fours set up in the middle. But not much painting was getting done, Cat noted. She took him some coffee and a sandwich, setting the plate on a side table next to where he was reclining on a vintage Sixties-era sofa. Ernesto was a collector of Mid-Century Modern furniture.
    “Uncle Mick,” she said sharply, “you’ve got to eat.”
    “Right.” He opened his eyes halfway. “Eat.” He slumped back down on the sofa.
    Cat snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Uncle Mick!”
    It startled him into opening one eye. “Whaaat?”
    “It’s lunchtime, a couple of days after your studio was torched. You’ve been wallowing in drink long enough. It’s time to get up.”
    He lifted himself up into a sitting position with great effort, placing his bare feet on the floor. He was wearing the same pajamas he’d put on two days ago. She could smell his sourness.
    She gestured to the food on the side table. “Eat.”
    He set the plate in his lap and then lifted the coffee to his lips.
    “This isn’t Cuban,” he said. “And it’s pretty weak, besides.”
    Cat resisted the urge to smack him.
    He put the cup down and took up the sandwich, grinning after the first bite. “Say, this is tasty, Cat. Thanks.”
    She smiled back. His bipolar nature caught her off guard.
    He polished it off handily. “Got another?”  
    She stepped into the kitchen, made another sandwich, and returned. He was up and standing in front of a blank canvas on his easel, stabbing into the surface with charcoal. Cat watched as he worked.  
    Slowly the image took shape, and she gasped: It was Donnie’s burnt body.
    “When I look at the canvas, that’s what I see.”
    He put the charcoal down, went to his bedroom, and came back dressed. “I’m heading out for some real coffee.”
    Before she could offer to tag along, the door slammed, and he was gone.
    Cat went back to work, shrugging off her great uncle’s loss-infused rudeness. She was researching every square inch of his storied art career to see if she could turn up anyone who hated him enough to torch his studio. There were plenty of jealous types, including a couple of suspicious ones from his grad-school days, but were they envious enough to try to kill him, especially after all these years? She’d have to find out.
    After an hour or two, Mick hadn’t returned, but Granny Grace swept in. “Still at the computer?” she asked, disapprovingly. “You know, Cat, in my day, we never used computers. We had to do our investigating on