by Louise Lynn
“I hope not,” I said and shoved my hands into my pockets.
To my utter disappointment, Detective Woods approached. Dean was busy talking with Wyatt and the secretary. Probably taking their statements. I straightened and swallowed the lump in my throat. I wished Dean had approached instead, then I told myself that was silly. It didn’t matter which detective I spoke with as long as I cleared it up.
“It looks like you’re off the hook for murder, Ms. Darrow,” Detective Woods said in his low grumbly voice. He squinted and his mouth looked as if he’d taken a bite of a lemon, but I wasn’t going to let that dampen the news.
“Good. Now that you have the real killer, I would hope so,” I said and met his gaze, unwavering.
He snorted. “Yes, well, I can’t say I approve of you running around and trying to solve a crime on your own. There are people like Dean and I for that.”
I pinched my mouth shut and nodded.
“You can’t have sour grapes just because we beat you to the killer,” Ivy said, hands on her hips.
“And you did accuse me of murder,” I put in. “You can’t expect someone to sit around and wait to get arrested for a crime they didn’t commit. I was clearing my name.”
Detective Woods gave us both a long look. “Well, I can’t fault you for that. Good thing Matthew didn’t hurt anyone else. If he brought a gun instead of that bat…”
“We’d have waited for the police to arrive,” I said and forced a smile.
Woods gave a hesitant nod and turned back toward Dean.
“Oh, Detective. You should stop by the shop sometime. For tea and a cookie. On the house,” I said.
He waved his hand in my direction and climbed into the car with Matthew in the backseat. From what we’d heard, he was ready to offer a full confession.
At least that was taken care of.
Ivy nudged me in the arm. “Were you flirting with him?”
“What? No. Not at all.”
Dean’s eyes met mine across the car, and he nodded at me once before he slipped in and drove off.
The pit in my stomach, that one I’d been ignoring since he got back to town, opened, and threatened to swallow me whole. Well, I couldn’t let that happen.
So, I draped an arm over Ivy’s shoulder and pulled. “I suppose if the police need us, they’ll come by. Now, let’s celebrate.”
She gave me a hearty grin of agreement.
Two nights later, Maritime Tea Shop buzzed with people and energy. Everyone from Malachi and Pops, Carly and her parents, Maggie and a patched-up Wyatt were seated at various tables, sipping from my special holiday tea set that had small holly leaves and berries painted on it.
The tea I’d opted for that night was a cinnamon herbal blend, caffeine-free, and mouth-wateringly tasty. I paired it with a pear tart and Ivy carried each plate to the respective guests.
“A special thank you from Ivy and I,” I said and gave them a wide, gracious smile. “Under Mr. Edwards kind lead, you all took it upon yourselves to restore our lost holiday decorations. Not to mention you’ve all been loyal neighbors and customers for years. Please, enjoy the tea and tart. And there’s apple cider, if anyone wants some of that. Freshly pressed.”
Almost everyone had responded to my invitation—all but one—but I refused to look at the empty table setup for both Detectives Harper and Woods. They were no doubt busy with the paperwork surrounding Jenny Walker’s death and the apprehension of her killer. I couldn’t expect them to take off early for a frivolous holiday party.
Still, I couldn’t completely ignore the stab of disappointment either. But I wasn’t in high school, far from it, and pining over a lost love was especially irrelevant when I’d already made up my mind.
No more dates.
I was happy on my own.
And Dean Harper was no doubt happily married. I had even wished him and his wife all the best.
Everyone raised their cups and started to talk and eat, and I leaned against the counter to watch. Something like this never would have happened in San Francisco. Not for the first time, I felt like thanking my ex for dumping me.
It was probably the best thing that could have happened.
Mom came up from the side and gave me a tight hug. “Do you know how proud I am of you, Olive? You not only helped solve a terrible murder, but you did it with all the grace and charm of me in my youth. I couldn’t be happier.”
I smiled and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”
“And you're even still alive!”
“Thanks, Mom,” I repeated, this time through clenched teeth.
She grinned, patting me on the shoulder. “Now, I’m off to go speak with that English fellow. The one who keeps giving Ivy longing glances.”
I fought not to smile. “Don’t embarrass her too badly.”
“Embarrass her? Not at all. I would never do that,” she said and slipped to his table.
Wyatt and Maggie both nodded and offered her a seat, and I tried not to picture the time in middle school when she picked me up from school wearing a bathrobe and pink curlers to teach me a lesson.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she did it again, just for fun.
“Oh, why did you let her talk to him?” Ivy said in a hissed whisper. She carried a cup of the cider, and her green eyes were as wide as the full moon.
“You know how she is. I couldn’t stop her. Do you think she’ll tell the story of how you peed the bed at summer camp when you were ten?”
Ivy swatted my arm. “It. Was. An. Accident. And do you know how hard it was to find the bathroom at night in the woods? Without a flashlight?”
“What happened to your flashlight?” I asked and fought not to laugh.
“Tammy Wilkins stole it because she was mean.”
I nudged her in the arm. “Why don’t you go over and try to steer the subject in another direction then?”
Ivy glanced back and forth between Wyatt and Mal, and shook her head. “If I go over, it’ll be so much worse. I’ll talk to Carly for a bit.” Then she grasped my arm and squeezed. “Dean still might show up. It’s hardly past seven.”
I shrugged. “He’s busy. I know it. It’s not a big deal.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes, but didn’t say anything more.
I watched everyone devour their tart, and moved to get another sweet ready. This time, gingerbread men, frosted in white with cinnamon candies for eyes and buttons.
I distributed the cookies with an extra gift, a little festive bag filled with each person’s favorite loose tea. Ivy and I had made them up earlier in the day, tying ribbons around each one and writing their owner’s names in fanciful penmanship.
As I got to the table with Wyatt, Maggie, and my mom, I heard the bell on the door jingle.
Had Ivy not turned the sign to ‘closed’ like I’d asked?
I’d left it unlocked in case anyone showed up late, but I really wasn’t expecting—
“Olive,” my mom said and tugged at my sleeve so hard I nearly dropped the whole tray.
I balanced it again and glanced at the door. My heart leapt into my throat and crumbled all at once.
Dean Harper stood there, his cheeks red from the cold, and shrugged his black coat from his broad shoulders. “Am I late?” he said and smiled at me.
I licked my lips, eyes quickly roaming up and down his tie. It had mini snowmen on it and reindeers each with a red nose. “A little. I’ve already thanked everyone and handed out the tarts. I might have one in the back, though.”
“Good. I’ll join you,” he said and followed me around the counter.
No one else in the room noticed but Ivy, and she was smiling.
I glared at her out of habit.
The last pear tart sat, pre-cut, on a piece of china, and I shoved it close to Dean’s face. “For you. As a thank you present for not arresting me.”
Dean blinked and took the tart. His thumb slipped over the pattern. “I should be the one thanking you. Woods won’t admit it, but he’s
impressed too. The way you put everything together and figured out Matthew not only did it, but stopped him from hurting someone else. That takes brains and guts.”
I felt a flush rise to my cheeks and shook my head. “I’m sure you’ve solved plenty of murders. And Ivy helped.”
“Don’t shrug off a compliment. You always do that. Look, I’m about to go out there and sit with Pops and eat this delicious looking apple thing—”
“It’s a pear tart,” I said with a smile.
Dean grinned. “Okay, I’ll eat this wonderful pear tart and drink whatever amazing tea you have made, and then I’ll have to go back to the station to finish up some paperwork, but before I do, I have something else to tell you.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Is it Merry Christmas?”
Dean looked at the tart, and his finger swirled over the holly berries again. He held it with his left hand, and I noticed the ring he’d been wearing since he first got back…
I felt my eyes go wide.
“I’m not married anymore. Well, I won’t be in a month or so. My wife… it’s a long story, but she left me and filed for a divorce, so I moved back here. Back home. The local station had an opening, and it seemed like the right thing to do. So, you were wrong about that one thing.”
“Not wrong if you’re still technically married,” I said, and my heartbeat went back to normal.
Dean’s lips quirked. “Okay. Fine. Technically.”
I glanced out at the main floor. It felt like we’d been back there alone for too long, and I didn’t want the other people to get suspicious. Even if I didn’t mind Dean’s company, right then. “Is that all you needed to tell me?”
“Not quite. Merry Christmas, Olive,” he said.
I felt a grin pull at my lips. “Merry Christmas, Detective.”
THE END
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Thank you so much for reading our first San Bastion Bay cozy mystery! We had such an amazing time writing this book and we really hope you enjoyed Murder for Two. If you did, please leave a review. No matter how short or long, we appreciate any sort of feedback. Being independent authors means this is our livelihood, and every review really makes a huge difference. Reviews are the best way to support us, so we can continue doing what we love, which is bringing you, the readers, more mysteries in San Bastion Bay.
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Louise Lynn
Louise Lynn lives in the a small town in California, with a host of cats, and loves all things mystery related.
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Nora Winters
Nora Winters is an author of cozy mysteries. She lives in Scotland with a white wolf and a black cat.
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Copyright © 2017 by Louise Lynn and Nora Winters
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and events are all products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.