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

took off the oven mitt, and
began gingerly picking apart the aluminum foil along the seam she’d made when
she wrapped it.

 
    “Kelly Carlson was bludgeoned to death
in her shop,” Ryan said.  “Her assistant found her this morning when she got to
work.”
     
    “When was she killed?” Heather asked,
placing several slices of garlic bread in a silver bread basket.
     
    “Probably last night.”
     
    “Any idea who did it?”
     
    “We’re checking out a possibility,” he
said. 
     
    “Which you can’t tell me about?”
Heather asked, sitting down across from him.
     
    “Right.”
     
    “Okay,” she said.  “Just tell me
whenever you can.”
     
    “I will,” he said.  “Thanks for
understanding.”
     
    She smiled at him in response.  “Want
some lasagna?”
     
    “I thought you’d never ask,” he
sighed.  He held his plate for her as she cut and served him a large piece with
the spatula, then used her clean fork to cut the strings of cheese that led from
his plate to the baking dish and pile them on his lasagna.
     
    As Ryan served himself green beans and
garlic bread, Heather filled her plate as well, taking a small piece of the
lasagna as a concession to lunch’s caloric excess.  “Mmm, these beans are
delicious,” Ryan said around a mouthful.
     
    “Thanks,” she said.  “Just a little
olive oil and garlic, a little parmesan cheese, and voila.”
     
    “This is better than Giovanni’s,” he
said, referring to the restaurant they most frequently patronized.  “Better
than my lasagna, too.”
     
    “You cook?  Why did I think you didn’t
like to cook much?”
     
    “Because I don’t,” he said.  “But
that’s not because I can’t cook.  I’m actually a great cook.  It’s just that I
don’t have a lot of time to spend in the kitchen.  And somehow, it doesn’t seem
worth it to go to a lot of trouble for just one person.”
     
    “I know what you mean,” she said.
     
    “Our next date,” he said, punctuating
his words with jabs of the fork toward her, “I’ll cook for you.”
     
    “You’re on,” she said.  “What’s your
specialty?”
     
    “You’ll have to wait and find out,” he
said, as a whine sounded from right next to the table.  They both glanced
toward the floor to see Dave, Heather’s fluffy, white mixed-breed dog, looking
up at Ryan with pleading eyes.  “No way, Dave,” Ryan said.  “This is mine. 
Dogs don’t eat lasagna, anyway.”
     
    “Um, actually,” Heather said, giving
him her best guilty look, “they do, sometimes.”
    “Dave eats lasagna?”
     
    “And Chinese food.  Except he doesn’t
like vegetables.  Just the meat.”
     
    “A dog after my own heart,” Ryan
said.  “But he’s still not getting my lasagna.”
     
    “Don’t you ever let Bella eat anything
besides cat food?” Heather asked.
     
    Now it was Ryan’s turn to look
guilty.  “We’re talking about Dave,” he said with mock seriousness.  “You leave
Bella out of this.”
     
    “That’s what I thought,” Heather said
smugly, and dug into her meal.
     
    ***
     
    That night, after Heather had let Dave
out into the backyard, waited for him to do his business, and let him back in,
she walked into the living room and picked up the remote.  “It’s okay, Dave,”
she said to her dog, who was looking at her with his head cocked to one side,
the way he always did when he didn’t understand some departure from their
normal routine.  “I just want to watch part of the news.  Probably just the
first part.”
     
    Heather took up her favorite position
on the couch, slouching low against the cushions with her feet up on the coffee
table in front of her, and pushed the button to turn the TV on.  She had to
wait through the opening graphics and intro before the scene changed to show
the two news anchors sitting at their desk and looking seriously into the
camera.
     
    “At the top of the news tonight,” Jane
Duvall said, each blond hair