Mint Chip Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 6

by Susan Gillard

  “Nope. And I understand why not. I mean, I’m not a professional. He’s right. And I see what a defense attorney could make out of my involvement. But it’s killing me to sit here and not go talk to him.”

  “There’s no reason I can’t go talk to him,” Amy said, spooning up the last bit of her fro-yo.

  “No. Don’t,” Heather said.

  “Why not? I’m not dating Ryan Shepherd. He didn’t tell me to keep my little nosey nose out of this case.”

  “Please don’t,” Heather said. “I don’t want him to think I’m trying to find a way to get around what he asked me to do. Or not do.”

  “Okay,” Amy sighed. “Although I don’t guess it would really do any good to talk to him, anyway. I mean, what, we say, ‘So, Brent, you seem to be a mild-mannered guy, but I bet you really get angry sometimes. Were you angry that Kelly wouldn’t date you? How angry were you? Oh, and by the way, did you kill her?’”

  “Yeah, probably not,” she agreed. “That kind of confession only happens on TV.”

  “Perry Mason,” Amy said. “That’s how it always went. Perry would get the killer up on the witness stand, and everybody knew it was the killer, but the guy just hadn’t confessed yet. And somehow, Perry always got them to give themselves up.”

  “Oooh, and like in A Few Good Men, too,” Heather added. “Where Tom Cruise provokes Jack Nicholson into admitting that he ordered the code red.”

  “I haven’t seen that movie,” Amy said.

  “You what? Never? How did I not know this? You have lived a sheltered and deprived life, girlfriend.”

  “Is it a romance?”

  “No. There actually isn’t any romance involved. For once.”

  “Then what’s the point of the movie?”

  “Only truth triumphing over lies,” Heather said. “Good triumphing over evil. Right overcoming wrong.”

  “Too bad real life doesn’t work like that,” Amy said.

  “Sometimes it does. Sometimes things turn out right.”

  “Think that’ll happen in Kelly’s murder?” Amy stared across the food court at Brent as he threw his trash in the trashcan and set his tray on top.

  “I hope so,” Heather said.

  “Because she was a good person, you know?” Amy said. “Not just a good hairdresser, but a truly good person. And she didn’t deserve what happened to her. No matter who did it. Or why.”

  Chapter 6

  When she got home, Heather let Dave out and walked down the hall to her room, still holding her shopping bags. She set them on her bed and began pulling things from them one by one. The deep burgundy maxi dress was, with its silver accents around the hem, was, in her opinion, just perfect for her medium-red hair, fair skin, and green eyes.

  She was well aware that some people believed redheads shouldn’t wear red, but in her opinion, you just had to choose the right red to complement your own coloring.

  Next, she drew a shoebox out of another bag. The silver sandals, she set on the bed next to the dress. At the mall, she’d debated whether or not she should buy them, but now, she was glad she had. They were chic but not too fancy—which was good, since “fancy” had never been her style. She much preferred simple and elegant.

  She laid the chunky silver bracelet and silver hoop earrings on the top of her dresser. Then, she went into her tiny bathroom with its clawfoot tub to run a bath. She turned on the hot water, waited for it to heat up, then turned on the cold to lower the temperature to just below steaming.

  While she waited for the tub to fill, she twisted her hair up on top of her head and clipped it in place. Then she let her clothes fall into a heap on the floor and slipped into the nearly-steaming water.

  This was the kind of pampering she enjoyed—a nice, hot bath when she didn’t really need one because she’d taken a shower that morning. Time to soak up the heat, lean her head back and just be.

  Of course, she couldn’t be for too long; she wanted to have plenty of time to get ready for her date with Ryan. That was another luxury she enjoyed—taking her time getting dressed and accessorizing, then attempting to do something with her sometimes contrary tresses.

  Heather stuck her feet up out of the water and wiggled her toes. She’d chosen clear nail polish, instead of a more prominent color such as burgundy. There was such a thing as one’s ensemble being too coordinated.

  When her fingers began to look like prunes, she reluctantly got out of the tub. Drying off, she wrapped the towel around her and headed for the bedroom just as her cell phone started ringing.

  Ryan. “Hello?” she said.

  “Hey, Beautiful,” Ryan said. “ Are you getting ready to head over here?”

  “In about twenty minutes,” she said.

  “Great. Are you hungry?”

  “Starved,” she said.

  “So, twenty minutes? Not ten, not thirty?”

  “I’ll be there at seven, on the dot” she said.

  “Perfect. See you then.” The line went dead.

  Heather frowned quizzically at the phone, and then smiled. Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she saw that it was 6:29. Time to get dressed.

  ***

  Thirty-one minutes later, at exactly 7:00, Heather stood on Ryan’s front porch ringing the doorbell. He answered the door in slacks and a white dress shirt. Standing aside, he invited her in with a sweep of his arm. “This way, Madame,” he said.

  “Merci, monsieur,” Heather replied, dredging up one of the few French phrases she knew.

  “May I take your purse?”

  “But of course.” Heather handed it to him, and he placed it on the coffee table.

  “It smells wonderful in here,” she said, sniffing the mouth-watering aromas emanating from the kitchen.

  “Your table waits,” Ryan said. “And may I say that Madame looks beautiful?”

  “Of course you may,” Heather said, smiling.

  He led her to the kitchen table, where he held her chair for her as she sat down. Before her was a salad plate laden with greens artfully dressed. One goblet at her place held water; the other wine. Heather took one look at the presentation and realized that she had grossly underestimated him.

  She said nothing until he sat down across from her. “This looks fantastic,” she said. “Thank you. Already.”

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Ryan said, dropping the formality and grinning in that way she knew and loved. “Just wait til the main course.”

  Heather took a bite of her salad. “Mmm, this dressing is delicious,” she said. “What kind is it?”

  “I made it,” Ryan said simply.

  “You made it? Like, from various oils and spices and things?”

  “Yep.”

  “Wow. Um, okay. I’m kind of feeling bad for serving you Wish-Bone dressing.”

  “I love to cook,” Ryan said. “You don’t. Yet you made a delicious meal anyway. I’d call that a win.”

  She took another bite of salad. “You’re not on call tonight, are you?”

  “Nope. Bill’s catching. Tonight, I’m all yours.”

  “Promise?” Heather asked, arching her eyebrows at him.

  “Don’t make me prove it,” Ryan said, “or we’ll never get to the main course.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Be right back,” he said.

  She saw him open the oven door and peer inside. “I believe our main course is ready,” he announced. Wearing one oven mitt, he deftly removed the pan from the oven. On it sat two steaks that looked absolutely luscious even from several feet away.

  Heather watched him check the temperature, then place each one on a dinner plate. He removed the lid from a pan on the stovetop and spooned something on top of each steak. Finally, he added a slice of French bread to each plate, and then set hers in front of her with a flourish.

  Sautéed mushrooms topped the meat, the wine sauce in which they had been marinated mingling with the juices from the steak. “Wow,” she said as Ryan took his seat. “I can’t wait to taste
this.”

  “Dig in,” he said. “Let me know if it’s cooked the way you like it.”

  As she sliced off a bite of steak, she could see just a hint of pink. “Perfect,” she said. She raised the fork to her mouth and let the meat settle on her tongue. As she began to chew and the rich savoriness of the combined flavors filled her mouth, she rolled her eyes heavenward. “This is so good,” she said. “I can never cook for you again. Nothing I make is anywhere near this good.”

  “Should everyone in the world stop painting because they’re not Monet?” he asked. “What about all the Renoirs and Van Goghs? The world needs their art, too. It would be a tragedy if they stopped painting because they couldn’t paint water lilies like Monet could.”

  “Point taken,” she said. “So what else don’t I know about you? What other surprises will I find out along the way?”

  “None that I know of,” he said. “What you see is what you get. I’m just a guy with a cat and a taste for beer who happens to solve mysteries for a living.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” she said. “You’re not ‘just’ an anything. You’re an amazing guy who makes justice triumph for a living, and who also happens to be a gourmet chef and look pretty darn good even in jeans and a t-shirt.”

  “So, about that cop thing,” Ryan said, cutting another bite of his steak. “You don’t mind dating a cop? You don’t mind it when I get called away from a date, or when I have to go to work instead of spending time with you?”

  “I don’t like it,” Heather said. “But I don’t resent it. I know its part of your job. It’s what you do. I knew that before we started dating. And I admire you for it.”

  “Really?” Ryan’s dark eyes were on hers.

  “Really,” she said. “I’m proud of you and what you do. I’m proud that you’re one of the good guys. That what you do, matters. That you’re good at it. That people like you are the reason people like me can sleep peacefully at night. Yes, I’d like to have more time together sometimes. But I wouldn’t wish away anything about you. It’s part of what makes you who you are.”

  Ryan’s gaze dropped to his plate as he nodded. He busied himself cutting another bite of steak as he cleared his throat. It seemed like forever before he met her gaze once more.

  “Favorite sports team?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “Uh, I don’t really have one.”

  “You don’t? How can you not have a favorite sports team?”

  “The same way you probably don’t have a favorite interior decorator,” she said.

  “Hey, women can like sports, too. And guys can decorate their homes. Look at my house.” He spread his arms wide, inviting her to take it all in. “I have my very own style. I call it ‘Bachelor Chic.’”

  She laughed. “It works,” she said, pushing her plate away. “Ugh, I’m stuffed. The steak was so delicious I ate too much. I may never eat again.”

  “Not even if I made a dessert?” Ryan asked.

  Heather groaned. “What is it?”

  “Cheesecake,” he said smugly. “With homemade cherry topping.”

  “I could not possibly fit a slice of cheesecake in on top of all this,” she said, patting her flat stomach. “I’m too full. Could we save it for later?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Madame’s wish is my command.”

  When Ryan rose to begin clearing the table, Heather piled her own silverware on top of her plate. “I can get it,” he said. “You take your glass of wine to the den and have a seat.”

  “Gladly,” she agreed with a smile. She settled in on Ryan’s sofa and waited, sipping her wine and listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen as he cleared the table and put the dishes in the sink.

  In another minute, he sat down on the couch next to her. “I’ve really enjoyed tonight,” he said.

  “Me too.” Heather put her glass of wine on the coffee table and turned to face him. “Thank you for that incredible meal.”

  “I enjoyed cooking for you,” Ryan said. He hesitated, holding her gaze with his. Then he said his voice husky, “In fact, if it were possible, I’d cook for you every night of our lives.”

  Heather felt the trembling start in the very center of her body and found herself utterly unable to speak.

  “You said earlier that you don’t mind dating a cop,” he said. “Do you think you’d want to be married to one?”

  Heather’s hand seemed to rise and cover her mouth of its own volition as tears sprang to her eyes. Slowly, never taking his eyes off hers, Ryan knelt before her on one knee and reached for her hands. “Heather, I’ve never known anyone like you,” he said.

  “You’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re amazing. You’re beautiful. I want to go to sleep by your side every night and wake up next to you every morning.”

  He stopped to clear his throat, and Heather realized with amazement that there were tears in his eyes, too. “Heather, I love you,” he said, his voice cracking.

  “I know I don’t deserve you, but you would make me the happiest man in the world if you would agree to be my wife. Heather, will you marry me?”

  Her tears spilled over, and she reached for him blindly, feeling his strong arms go around her.

  “Yes,” she murmured against his cheek through her tears. “Yes, I’ll become the happiest woman in the world and marry you.”

  His lips found hers, and he kissed her, deeply and passionately. Then he pulled away and fumbled in his pocket. He drew out a small, black velvet box and opened it to display the ring she knew she would wear for the rest of her life—a square-cut, sparkling diamond solitaire. She held out a trembling hand as he placed it on her ring finger. It fit like it had been made for her, and maybe it had. How he had known her ring size, she didn’t know. But she figured if he could figure out who killed whom, of course he’d be able to determine what size ring she wore.

  “You pick out the wedding band,” he said. “Anything you want, and it’s yours.”

  Staring at the ring on her finger, Heather tilted her hand this way and that, watching the light play off the brilliance of the diamond. “I can’t believe this,” she said with a laugh. “We’re really going to get married.”

  “Yes, we really are,” Ryan said. “And the sooner, the better. Take all the time you want to make plans. Just don’t take too long. In fact, let’s get married right now. I could call a friend, who just happens to be a Justice of the Peace.”

  At the hopeful, little-boy look on his face, Heather laughed out loud and threw her arms around him. “I love you so much,” she just had time to say before his lips found hers again.

  ***

  Later that night, just before she finally went to sleep in her own bed, Heather picked up her phone. Navigating her way through her favorite app, she selected a new ringtone to use as her default ringtone.

  “Here Comes the Sun” had served her well for awhile. But it was time for a change. Now, if someone called her, her phone would play “Here Comes the Bride.”

  Heather set her phone to “silent,” turned off the bedside lamp, and snuggled beneath the covers, a smile on her face.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning at 8:30, tired but still ecstatic, Heather entered the kitchen of Donut Delights. Somehow, despite her excitement, she’d fallen asleep last night. But it had taken awhile. As a result, she’d actually slept until the alarm woke her up.

  “Good morning,” Angelica greeted her. “Hey! What is that on your hand?” She crossed the kitchen in three strides and seized Heather’s left hand. “It’s a ring! He finally asked you to marry him. You’re getting married. Congratulations.” She threw her arms around Heather in a bear hug.

  Almost before Heather knew it, they were all hugging: she, Angelica, Maricela, Jung, and Ken. “Congratulations!” Maricela said. “It’s about time!”

  They all laughed. “I still can’t believe it!” Heather said.

  “When did this happen?”

  “Last night.”

/>   “So tell us all about it. How did he propose? What did he say?”

  “Well, he invited me to dinner, which he cooked himself,” Heather said. “Salad with the best dressing I’ve ever tasted, steak with a white wine mushroom sauce, and French bread. He proposed after dinner. He said I would make him the happiest man in the world if I would marry him.”

  “He cooks and he’s romantic,” Angelica said. “He’s perfect for you.”

  “Thanks, everybody,” Heather said.

  “So when’s the wedding?”

  “We haven’t set a date yet,” she said. “But you guys will be among the first to know. You all have to be there.”