One Grave Too Many
“Frank’s voice sounded like a rasp on sandstone.
“Frank, are you all right?” Diane asked.
“Can I come over?”
Diane hesitated a moment, filled with dread about hearing details of murder. But these were Frank’s friends. And so was she. “Sure. I’ll fix you breakfast,” she said.
“I’ll bring it. It’s the least I can do for waking you up.”
Diane jumped out of bed and into the shower. She had just pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt when the door-bell rang. After slicking her wet hair back with a comb, she opened the door.
Frank was in running sweats, but she could tell from the smell of shampoo that he hadn’t been running. He set two sacks on the table. The bulky one was filled with doughnuts; the other with cups of coffee from Vance’s Café.
“I’ll make us some bacon and scrambled eggs to go with the doughnuts,” she said.
She also put on a pot of coffee. Why Frank liked Vance’s coffee was a mystery. To say it tasted like dredge from the Chattahoochee River was giving it flattery it didn’t deserve.
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