The edge of the heavy metal frame warmed in the palms of my hands as I supported my end, my best friend and fellow artist, Pickle Pickford, grunting as he lifted the opposite side free from the bed of the jacked-up black truck parked at the rear of the gallery. "Careful, please." I'd only rarely seen my other friend, Dark Mood, in any state of agitation, their typically calm and quiet nature one of the things I adored about them. So, to witness their anxious concern over the massive painting Pickle and I eased out of the truck bed, their icy blue eyes wide and shining white in contrast to the black liner, mascara and shadow creating an almost bulging effect, their pale cheeks ashen under the layers of ivory powder, full lips pulled into a black slash of a line over a grimace of worry that had me actually near giggles at Dark's obvious nervousness. I didn't find their discomfort amusing, I promise. It was more so the fact the normally stoic and withdrawn, if always kind and caring, artist and owner of the warehouse collective where I lived and painted was showing, for the first time since I'd met them, actual nerves. When Phoebe's friend, Dark Mood, is invited to show at a prestigious gallery, she happily assists with a bit of good luck to ensure her anxious companion succeeds. The only trouble is, Phoebe's resulting bad luck leads her to uncover yet another dead body and puts her front and center in the murder investigation. All while juggling her uncomfortable relationship with Officer Cooper Hudson and the odd darkness lingering around the gallery's owner Phoebe can't seem to identify...
