especially in December. Winter one day, spring the
next.
Sunday
was her day off. Most Sundays, she loved to relax around the house, enjoying
her porch and her coffee and her dog, and maybe the occasional black-and-white
movie. She was what she had recently read referred to as an “extroverted
introvert”—a person who loved being around people, but who definitely needed
time alone to recharge.
So
that was what Sunday was for—recharging. She spent most of the day alone, then
some Sunday evenings, like this one, Amy would come over, and they’d do
something relaxing together, like enjoy a cheese platter and glasses of wine
while they chatted or watched something with Humphrey Bogart.
Amy
was due to arrive any minute now, and Heather had decided to wait on the porch,
where she could enjoy the nice weather. Not that Amy would think it
particularly “nice.” She’d probably insist she was freezing.
Sure
enough, when Amy arrived, she shivered ostentatiously and said, “What are you
doing out here? It’s cold!”
Heather
stood and preceded her back into the house. “I’ve got some Chardonnay and some
Bogart all ready and waiting,” she said.
“Sounds
perfect,” Amy said. “I could do with a little wine to lubricate the ol’
synapses and hopefully get the creative juices flowing again.”
“Having
artist’s block?” Heather asked as she grabbed a corkscrew from her
miscellaneous kitchen stuff drawer.
“That,
and it’s time to solve the mystery of Stan’s murder. If a crime isn’t solved
within the first couple days, it’s not likely to be solved.”
“It’s
still early. There’s still time.”
“Not
according to CSI. And you know everything you see on TV is accurate.”
Heather
chuckled and poured generous amounts of wine into the glasses Amy had set on
the counter. They carried their beverages into the living room, and then
Heather returned to the kitchen for the cold cuts platter she’d prepared
earlier.
Amy
reached out and snatched a piece of cheese as Heather passed her to set the
tray down on the coffee table. “You have good taste in cheese,” she said.
“It’s
not hard when you just look at the trays in the deli section at Kroger and copy
one.”
“Okay,
so let’s get those creative juices flowing,” Amy said, taking a sip of her
wine. “We have to figure out who iced Stan.”
***
But
three hours later, they were no closer to figuring out who the killer was than
they had been. Finally, frustrated and discouraged, Amy went home, and Heather
got ready for bed.
Slipping
into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a long t-shirt, Heather washed her
face, brushed her teeth, then let Dave outside for the last time. When he came
back in, she locked the door behind him and headed down the hallway to her
bedroom, with Dave following.
As
she snuggled under the covers, Dave turned in circles at the foot of the bed,
looking for just the right place to settle in. Heather closed her eyes and
tried to let the wine relax her to sleep. Maybe something would come to her in
the morning.
By
the time she finally drifted into slumber, Dave had already been snoring his
little, whiffling doggie snores for quite some time.
Chapter 9
It
was 39 degrees out when Heather stepped onto her back porch the next morning.
But there was no wind blowing, and the forecast called for a high temperature
of 61, so she didn’t bother going back inside for a jacket. Jackets were too
much trouble unless it was ridiculously cold or there was a cutting wind.
She
reached back inside, set her alarm, and then locked the door and jogged down
the porch steps to her car. Today would be a busy day at Donut Delights, with
kids and their parents stopping by for a donut and a carton of milk before
school. That’s why she had decided to get there at seven instead of her usual
8:00 or
next.
Sunday
was her day off. Most Sundays, she loved to relax around the house, enjoying
her porch and her coffee and her dog, and maybe the occasional black-and-white
movie. She was what she had recently read referred to as an “extroverted
introvert”—a person who loved being around people, but who definitely needed
time alone to recharge.
So
that was what Sunday was for—recharging. She spent most of the day alone, then
some Sunday evenings, like this one, Amy would come over, and they’d do
something relaxing together, like enjoy a cheese platter and glasses of wine
while they chatted or watched something with Humphrey Bogart.
Amy
was due to arrive any minute now, and Heather had decided to wait on the porch,
where she could enjoy the nice weather. Not that Amy would think it
particularly “nice.” She’d probably insist she was freezing.
Sure
enough, when Amy arrived, she shivered ostentatiously and said, “What are you
doing out here? It’s cold!”
Heather
stood and preceded her back into the house. “I’ve got some Chardonnay and some
Bogart all ready and waiting,” she said.
“Sounds
perfect,” Amy said. “I could do with a little wine to lubricate the ol’
synapses and hopefully get the creative juices flowing again.”
“Having
artist’s block?” Heather asked as she grabbed a corkscrew from her
miscellaneous kitchen stuff drawer.
“That,
and it’s time to solve the mystery of Stan’s murder. If a crime isn’t solved
within the first couple days, it’s not likely to be solved.”
“It’s
still early. There’s still time.”
“Not
according to CSI. And you know everything you see on TV is accurate.”
Heather
chuckled and poured generous amounts of wine into the glasses Amy had set on
the counter. They carried their beverages into the living room, and then
Heather returned to the kitchen for the cold cuts platter she’d prepared
earlier.
Amy
reached out and snatched a piece of cheese as Heather passed her to set the
tray down on the coffee table. “You have good taste in cheese,” she said.
“It’s
not hard when you just look at the trays in the deli section at Kroger and copy
one.”
“Okay,
so let’s get those creative juices flowing,” Amy said, taking a sip of her
wine. “We have to figure out who iced Stan.”
***
But
three hours later, they were no closer to figuring out who the killer was than
they had been. Finally, frustrated and discouraged, Amy went home, and Heather
got ready for bed.
Slipping
into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a long t-shirt, Heather washed her
face, brushed her teeth, then let Dave outside for the last time. When he came
back in, she locked the door behind him and headed down the hallway to her
bedroom, with Dave following.
As
she snuggled under the covers, Dave turned in circles at the foot of the bed,
looking for just the right place to settle in. Heather closed her eyes and
tried to let the wine relax her to sleep. Maybe something would come to her in
the morning.
By
the time she finally drifted into slumber, Dave had already been snoring his
little, whiffling doggie snores for quite some time.
Chapter 9
It
was 39 degrees out when Heather stepped onto her back porch the next morning.
But there was no wind blowing, and the forecast called for a high temperature
of 61, so she didn’t bother going back inside for a jacket. Jackets were too
much trouble unless it was ridiculously cold or there was a cutting wind.
She
reached back inside, set her alarm, and then locked the door and jogged down
the porch steps to her car. Today would be a busy day at Donut Delights, with
kids and their parents stopping by for a donut and a carton of milk before
school. That’s why she had decided to get there at seven instead of her usual
8:00 or
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