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

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  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright 2016 by Guardian Publishing Group - All rights reserved.

  All rights Reserved. No part of this publication or the information in it may be quoted from or reproduced in any form by means such as printing, scanning, photocopying or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 1

  Heather shut the back door of Donut Delights behind her and jogged down the steps to her car, which was parked in its usual spot next to the tiny back porch. One of the perks of owning your own business was that sometimes, you could skip out early for lunch with your best friend.

  She slid into the driver’s seat and flipped the switches on the ventilation system to “Cool” and “A/C On.” Ridiculous! She thought. Here it is two weeks before Thanksgiving, and the high temps are still hitting the upper 70’s every day.

  Not that she wasn’t used to it. She’d grown up here in Hillside, Texas, and lived in the same house until she went off to college. College, of course, was where she met Don. They’d dated during their junior and senior years, and then gotten married the week after graduation. Things had been fine for awhile—well, for a few months, anyway—until Don accepted a job offer with a firm in New York City.

  Moving to New York City, as a newlywed with Don had brought one shock after another. First, there was the shock of trying to get used to living with Don—who, as it turned out, was nothing like the considerate, understanding boyfriend he’d been while they were dating. Instead, New York City seemed to have changed him into a grasping, controlling, get-ahead-at-all-costs kind of guy.

  Or maybe he’d been changing for a long time, and it was just the hustle and bustle of New York City that seemed to bring it to the fore. That, or the extremely cold winters that seemed to bring out the crankiness in everyone. Or the way everyone seemed to mind their own business, and people just didn’t reach out to each other the way she was used to.

  Or, she sighed, lifting her long, curly red hair off the nape of her neck and then letting it drop, maybe it just wasn’t meant to be for Don and me.

  They’d hung on for a few years. But finally, they simply realized they’d each become so different from the person they thought they’d married that they just couldn’t make it work anymore. After the divorce, Heather had taken her part of the settlement and used it to move back home and start Donut Delights, a shop that sold gourmet donuts, served with coffee and elegance.

  Owning her own business had been Heather’s dream since college, but her dream had gotten pushed to the side so that Don could pursue his. It was when Heather finally faced that fact that climbing the corporate ladder had replaced her as Don’s dream that she knew the end of their marriage was only a matter of time.

  At the sound of a horn honking impatiently behind her, she shook her head to clear out the thoughts of the past and glanced up at the stoplight ahead of her. It was green, and cars from the other two lanes had already moved forward into the intersection.

  She tossed a wave at the driver behind her as she pulled forward. That was enough time spent thinking about the past. The present was much more pleasant, anyway.

  She felt her lips curve into a grin that probably looked silly. But so what? She was in love with a man who was very, very different from her ex-husband. Don had been good-looking in a flashy, make-you-take-a-second-look kind of way; Ryan Shepherd’s good looks were much more subtle. Or maybe it was simply that Ryan didn’t need constant affirmation, or to always be the center of attention.

  As a detective with the Hillside Police Department, Ryan spent a lot of time working, as Don had, but only because he wanted to and was good at it. Not because he had to depend on his job to give his life meaning. When his duties interrupted their time together, he always seemed to regret it—and he always made it a point to call, text, or drop by as soon as he could to pick up their meal, or conversation, wherever they had left off.

  That’s what she wanted—someone who loved her more than he loved his social status or his paycheck.

  With Ryan now occupying her thoughts, she didn’t notice the police cars parked in front of the shopping center where she was headed until she’d driven into the parking lot. Automatically, her foot hit the brake. What in the world?

  She eased off the brake and drove slowly through the parking lot to the dry cleaner’s, which had been her destination, a quick errand before she met Amy for lunch. There were several patrol cars parked in the general vicinity of the yellow crime scene tape that blocked off the front of the hair salon next to the cleaner’s. And wasn’t that Ryan’s car? Yes, of course it was.

  Heather pulled into a parking spot in front of the cleaner’s, stopped the car, got out, and locked up. A uniformed officer exited through the front door of Shear Beauty and headed toward one of the patrol cars. Heather tried to see into the interior of the shop, but she couldn’t see much from this angle.

  Briefly, she considered walking past the front of the shop, or at least as close as the crime scene tape would allow her. But no, she needed to keep her distance and let Ryan do his job. Besides, he’d call her or text her as soon as he could, anyway.

  She pushed open the glass door to the dry cleaner’s as a bell tied to the handle jingled. The short, wiry woman behind the counter looked up. “Hello there. You come to pick up your dry cleaning?”

  “Yes, please,” Heather said. She set her purse down on the counter and dug for her wallet as the woman, whom Heather recognized, but whose name she could never remember, flipped a switch that caused a metal rack with garments hanging from it, bundled together in plastic bags, to begin to slide by.

  She located Heather’s clothing in short order and brought it to the counter, hanging it on a metal stand. “Do you have any idea what’s going on next door?” Heather asked.

  The woman frowned. “Oh, no, I don’t know. But it must be something pretty bad if all those police officers are out here. And a detective, too. And some other people going in and out.”

  Probably crime scene, Heather thought, knowing the woman was right. It must be something bad, or there wouldn’t be crime scene tape strung across the front of the building. Had someone been murdered?

  “I guess we’ll read about it in the paper,” Heather heard the woman say.

  “I guess we will,” Heather said. “By the way—what’s your name? I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

  “My name is Amala,” she said with a smile.

  “I’ll remember that,” Heather said. “I promise. See you next time.”

  As she stepped through the doorway and back onto the sidewalk, Heather glanced to her right, toward Shear Beauty. Ryan stood on the sidewalk, talking with the same uniformed officer Heather had seen coming out of the salon earlier. Ryan glanced up, and their gazes met. Heather gave him a small smile and nodded at him as she continued walking toward her car. One corner of Ryan’s mouth twitched upward briefly before his expression became businesslike again and
he turned back to the patrolman.

  Despite the curiosity that was driving her crazy, she knew she had done the right thing. Her willingness to wait for the information she desired would give him the chance to do his job. It would also show him that she had confidence in him and in their relationship.

  And she did have that confidence, she realized as warmth filled her chest and suffused her cheeks. Theirs was the kind of relationship she had always wanted. And Ryan was the man she’d been looking for.

  ***

  She didn’t have much time to ponder her new realization, however, or what it might mean for the future, because the Mexican restaurant at which she was meeting Amy was only 5 minutes away.

  The best parking spot she could find was on the side of the restaurant, halfway down the row. She wasn’t surprised; Dos Chicos was a popular eating spot, and 12:00 noon was right in the middle of the lunch rush. Heather grabbed her purse, got out, locked up, and started the trek to the front door. Maybe getting some exercise both before and after their meal would help to offset the huge calorie load she planned on ingesting.

  She pulled open the heavy, wooden front door and stepped inside. The black, faux-leather benches in the space between the outer doors and the inner ones were empty, which surprised her. She’d expected to see them full of hungry customers waiting for a table.

  When she pulled open the second door and entered the main part of the restaurant, however, she found the benches there occupied by several couples as well as a group of businessmen in dress shirts and ties.

  A smiling hostess returned to her wooden stand just as Heather approached. “How many in your party?”

  “Two, please.”

  “Your name?”

  “Heather.”

  The hostess noted Heather’s name on the list. “It should be about fifteen minutes,” she said.

  “That’s fine,” Heather agreed. As she turned to survey the seating options, one woman slid a little closer to her husband so that Heather could sit down next to her on the bench.

  “Thanks,” Heather said.

  Twelve minutes later, when the hostess called her name, Amy still hadn’t arrived. Heather wasn’t surprised. Amy was frequently late, especially when they weren’t attending an event that started at a specific time, and Heather had learned to make allowances for that.

  The hostess led her to a table in the middle of the dining room. Heather sat down in a chair facing the entrance so that she could watch for Amy, as the hostess placed a menu in front of her. “Your server will be right with you,” she said, before returning to her duties at the hostess stand.

  Heather didn’t bother to open the menu. She knew what she wanted because she always got the same thing when she ate at Dos Chicos: the enchilada plate, with three enchiladas topped with cheese and gravy, the best Mexican rice she had ever tasted, and refried beans.

  “Hello. How are you today?” The waiter stopped next to her table and placed one glass of water in front of her and the other at Amy’s place.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Heather said, removing the slice of lemon from the rim of the glass. “How are you?”

  “Doing well, thank you. I see you’re waiting on someone?”

  “Yes. She should be here any minute.”

  “Can I bring you anything while you wait? An appetizer, perhaps?”

  “No, thanks. Just the chips and salsa. Two bowls of salsa, please.”

  “No problem. I’ll be right back.” The waiter smiled, then headed toward the kitchen.

  He was back in two minutes with a basket lined with white paper and filled with triangle-shaped tortilla chips, and two small, black pots of salsa. “Here you go,” he said, arranging the food on the table.

  “Thanks,” Heather said. She glanced toward the front door and saw Amy making her way toward them. The waiter saw her, too, and waited until she got close enough to hang her purse over the back of the chair.

  “May I get you something to drink?”

  “Just the water will be fine for now,” Amy said.

  “Would you ladies like a couple minutes to decide?”

  “I would, please,” Amy said, settling into her chair.

  “Then I’ll be back in a few minutes.” With what Heather by now assumed was his trademark smile, he went to check on another table of customers.

  Amy leaned forward over the table, as close to Heather as she could get. “Okay, spill it,” she said.

  Heather frowned. “Spill what?”

  “Why was there yellow crime scene tape around Shear Beauty when I showed up for my appointment this morning?”

  “I don’t know.” Heather shrugged. “I don’t know everything that goes on in Hillside, you know.”

  Amy picked up her white napkin-wrapped bundle of silverware and pointed it at Heather. “But your boyfriend is a detective.”

  “I haven’t talked to him about it yet,” Heather said, watching Amy pick up the salt shaker and shake a ridiculous amount of salt onto their basket of chips. “I went to pick up my dry cleaning, and I saw that something was going on. But I don’t know what.”

  “Well, you’ll have to tell me as soon as you find out.” Amy dipped a chip into her pot of salsa, bit off the corner with the salsa on it, chewed, and swallowed. “Anyways, I have some great news. I have a date tonight! I just need to find a new hairdresser in time.”

  “Oooh! With whom?” Heather asked.

  “You’ve never met him,” Amy said, waving her hand as if brushing the topic away. “He’s just a guy I met at my last art show. No big deal.”

  “No big deal, but you just have to have your hair done for tonight?”

  “Well…yes. I mean, just because this isn’t any big deal doesn’t mean I don’t want to look my best.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve said this was ‘no big deal,’” Heather said, raising her eyebrows and watching Amy try to look nonchalant. “‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much.’”

  “Well, I mean, it’s just Chris.”

  “‘Just Chris?’ Does ‘just Chris’ have a last name?”

  “Bennett,” Amy said. “Chris Bennett.” She glanced around the restaurant, as if trying to find something else to talk about.

  “Amy, come on. This is me, remember?”

  “I know,” Amy said, suddenly looking miserable. “Okay, I give. Chris is a big deal.”

  “That’s great!” Heather said. “Isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know,” Amy said. “I just really like him. More than I’ve liked any guy in a really long time.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  Amy shrugged. Her brown eyes seemed to be struggling to meet Heather’s gaze. “I guess I’m just afraid this relationship will turn out like all the other ones. Gone. Finished. Kaput.” She sighed. “And I really want this one to last.”

  “Do you think Chris is ‘the one?’” Heather asked.

  “I don’t know,” Amy said. “But I think he might be.”

  The first notes of “Here Comes the Sun” floated out of Heather’s purse. She ignored the ringtone. “That’s awesome, Amy,” she said. “You deserve somebody who’s just as wonderful as you are.”

  “Thanks,” Amy said.

  “So is he wonderful?” Heather asked with a smile.

  Amy smiled, too. “He’s amazing,” she said simply.

  “So you need to get your hair cut before tonight, before your date with The Amazing Chris. You want the name of the girl I go to? I’m sure she’d try to squeeze you in today if there’s any way she can.”

  “Maybe. I just wonder how much longer Shear Beauty is going to be closed. I’ve been going to Kelly for 10 years. I don’t really want to switch.”

  “Here Comes the Sun” had stopped playing several seconds ago. Now, the notification tone went off on Heather’s phone. “Just let me check that a sec,” she said, reaching into her purse. She withdrew her phone, saw that she had received a text, and read it. Oh, no.

  “What
’s the matter?” Amy asked.

  Heather looked up from the phone screen to meet Amy’s eyes. “I think you better plan on finding another hairstylist,” she said. “Not just today, but…forever.”

  “Why? What’s the matter with Kelly?”

  The words seemed unreal even as they rolled from her lips. “She’s dead,” Heather said.

  Chapter 2

  Heather’s doorbell was one of those old-fashioned ones where it rang as long as you turned it. Most people usually caused it to produce one long ring. But when three short rings sounded, she knew that it was Ryan at the door.

  Shucking both her oven mitts onto the counter, she glanced at the table, where she’d just set the lasagna in the midst of two place settings next to a glass dish of garlic-and-parmesan green beans. Oh! Spoons!