This morning’s news reported that William Westfield, resident of Trafalgar, had been arrested and charged with both shootings. Lucky thought she might have met Westfield at one time. Didn’t he come into the store now and again? She wasn’t really sure.
The story was vague about what happened last night. Westfield was apparently under guard at the hospital. Strange, if he’d been shot during the arrest you’d think it would have been mentioned.
Lucky tried not to think too much of what her daughter’s job involved. She hoped Moonlight had been well out of it last night.
The sound of tires on gravel had Lucky shutting her computer and getting to her feet. Paul Keller’s SUV was pulling up in front of the house. He stayed in his seat for a moment before climbing out of the car and walking up the path between piles of dirty, melting snow thick with ice crystals. Sylvester provided an enthusiastic escort.
Lucky opened the door. She’d not locked it after letting the dog out earlier. “Paul, good morning. What brings you here? Is everything all right? I’ve been reading the news. Thank goodness you’ve arrested him. Come in. Come in. Would you like a coffee? Breakfast?”
He stood in the doorway. “I’m not going to stay, Lucky. You have to get to the store, and I’ll have a pile of paperwork to do this morning. I’ve been up most of the night, thinking about this business. It’s a terrible case, but I’ll leave you to read about it in the papers and hear the gossip on the streets. Can’t help make me think sometimes we don’t know how short a time we have left.”
“Paul.”
He lifted his hand. He hadn’t taken off his gloves. “Hear me out. Do you care for me, Lucky, even just a little bit?”
“I do. More than a little bit. But we’re so different. Your job. My activities. Someday perhaps…”
“Someday might never come, Lucky. Life’s too unpredictable. I want to be with you. I’m not asking for us to move in together. I have a feeling that would be too sudden for the both of us. I want to spend time in each other’s company. I want to see you, to talk to you. To love you, Lucky.”
She looked at him. He didn’t make a move toward her. He stood there, dripping snow on her floor, holding his hat in his hands, a middle-aged, overweight man who smoked far too much and exercised too little. Sylvester sniffed at his boots.
Lucky Smith felt a great joy rise up into her chest. She laughed, and held out her arms.
Chapter Forty-seven
That had been the anticlimax to beat them all.
They’d had dinner at Flavours, the best, most expensive restaurant in Trafalgar, the previous night, the day following the Franklin shooting. Adam had worn a suit, strikingly handsome in a crisp white shirt and perfectly knotted blue tie. She’d worn a sexy dress with a plunging neckline and a swirling skirt, and sky-high heels. She’d ordered a green salad, followed by the salmon. He’d had sweet potato soup and a steak, rare. They talked about work, about how the town was still in shock over the revelations about William Westfield, about Adam’s family back east and Molly’s family here in Trafalgar. They talked about the possibility of a summer vacation to Europe, where neither of them had been.
The waiter cleared their plates and asked if they wanted dessert. Adam chose his favorite, pecan pie, but Molly demurred. “Coffee, please.”
When her coffee arrived, it was just a cup of coffee. Adam dug into his pie with gusto.
She’d been expecting a bottle of Champagne, carried high by a grinning waiter. Maybe a little blue box on her saucer.
She’d thought he was going to propose.
He hadn’t.
After dinner they walked through the quiet streets to her apartment, where Norman waited. Adam took the dog for a quick walk while Molly put on her sexiest nightgown.
Adam came back. They went to bed. They made love—and it was good—and then they slept.
She awoke when he got up, still dark outside. He had to go to the town of Nelson for a meeting this morning.
He kissed her. He left.
She lay in bed looking up at the celling, feeling a total fool.
She didn’t have to wait for Adam to pop the question. She was a modern woman, she was her mother’s daughter, she could propose to Adam herself.
Somehow that didn’t seem right, though.
She thought about Graham. His proposal had been not the least bit formal. They were in university, didn’t have any money. He’d propped himself up on one elbow in bed and said, “Why don’t we get married when you finish your degree?”
She’d said yes.
She glanced at the clock. Six-thirty, the welcome start of a four day break from work. She planned to spend the day running errands, doing laundry, cleaning the apartment, meeting Christa for lunch at George’s.
Adam was off tomorrow and they were going to Blue Sky for the day.
She hoped they didn’t run into Tony.
She rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom, and then into the kitchen to put the kettle on. She lifted the lid off the tea container.
A piece of paper lay there. A small blue box beneath.
She opened the note, hands trembling slightly. Adam’s writing. “I intended to do this in person, but got so nervous I’ve lost my voice. Marry me, Molly. I love you so much.” She lifted the lid off the box. A square-cut diamond mounted on a golden circle flashed in the harsh kitchen lights. She took the ring out and slipped it on her finger. A perfect fit.
Her heart grew in her chest. She threw back her head and laughed and then she reached for her phone.
She typed a quick text message. Ten-Four.
Molly Smith pressed send.
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A Cold White Sun: A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (Constable Molly Smith Series) Page 32
