He paused for a moment before answering. "We're having sprinkles on lasagna?"
"No, wise guy. I need them for the cookies I'm making for dessert. And for the fortune cookies too. What time do you think you'll get here?"
"Let's see, it's what—five thirty?" he asked. "I've got to gather up my tools and stuff, and with a quick stop at the market, you should see me by 6:15."
"That's perfect. The fortune cookies have personal messages for everyone. It's going to be fun watching everyone open theirs after dinner."
"Oh, really?" His voice became low and sexy. "What does mine say?"
I went into our combination living and dining room to set the table. "Hey, I never kiss and tell."
"Ooh, I love when you play hard to get. Hey, would it be okay if I invite Trevor for dinner?"
"Of course. There's plenty. But won't his girlfriend be expecting him?" I didn't know Trevor Parks well, although I'd met him on several occasions. He was always pleasant and polite and was a few years older than Mike. Trevor had recently gone through a bitter divorce but seemed happy with his current girlfriend, a woman named Tina whom I'd yet to meet.
"Guess she has plans tonight. His truck still isn't running right, so I'm giving him a lift home. As long as mine holds out, that is."
"Did you finally get a chance to bring it into the auto shop today?" I placed my rose-patterned china plates around the table. My grandmother had given the set to us as a wedding present.
Mike sighed. "Yeah, unfortunately. The struts are shot, and I need new brakes. It's going to cost close to two grand."
Ouch. Whenever we started to get a little ahead, something always happened to help put us behind. "Jeez, it's only a couple of years old."
"What can I tell you? I always seem to find the clunkers, and the warranty doesn't cover this type of repair. Anyhow, Trevor has seemed kind of down lately. I thought an evening with your parents might cheer him up."
"That's one way to put it." My parents were an embarrassment, but they could always manage to distract you from other problems in life.
"And of course, who would pass up a chance to sample my beautiful wife's cuisine?"
His words made me smile. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Donovan." My father's words from earlier came back to me. "What am I good at?"
Mike's voice sounded puzzled. "Excuse me?"
"My father was telling me that everyone is good at something. Josie's terrific at baking, Grandma Rosa at cooking, and you, of course, at building things. But what am I good at?"
"Oh, princess," he growled sexily into the phone. "You don't ever need to ask me that question. But I'll give you my answer—later tonight."
CHAPTER TWO
I made the salad and put a loaf of garlic bread into the oven. It was the frozen kind, but I didn't think anyone would care. I hadn't yet mastered the art of bread making like my grandmother. Preparing the lasagna and sprinkle cookies had proven to be more work than I'd thought. Still, I'd enjoyed it and vowed to do this more often.
I wrote out the fortune cookie messages. Everyone in my family was getting one, and I'd made a few extra in case Josie changed her mind and brought the kids with her. The adult messages were specifically tailored for each person. I drew out the message from the cookie Josie had given me and smiled when I read it again.
Today is a day you will always remember.
Such a lovely, positive thought. Mike had been right. He had told me back on our honeymoon that I was taking these messages too seriously. There had been a time when I'd been convinced the messages were evil because they always seemed to come true in some shape or form. I'd almost stopped making them for the shop, and that wouldn't have been a smart move. Our customers loved them, and even though we gave most away for free, they boosted sales. Customers even ordered trays of them for parties.
I glanced at the clock. It was 6:15, and except for the sprinkle cookies, everything was ready to go. I gave Spike, our fourteen-year-old, black-and-white Shih-tzu, fresh water and food and then brought butter and drink glasses to the table, followed by the covered salad bowl. If the bread became cold, I could always microwave it at the last minute. I checked the time again—6:30. Mike was late.
I went to the bay window in our living room and glanced out into the darkness, illuminated only by the lamppost on our lawn and a couple of street lights. The snow was coming down heavier, but my parents had an all-wheel drive vehicle and didn't live far away. Gianna and her fiancé, Johnny Gavelli, were coming in a separate car. Gianna was eight and a half months pregnant and not her usual graceful self these days, but Johnny would take good care of her.
After another look at the clock, I drew out my phone and pushed the button for Mike's name. His phone rang three times and then went to voice mail. I didn't bother to leave a message. He'd see my number. He was probably driving and hadn't bothered to hook up his Bluetooth. A little niggle of doubt crept into my brain. No, I was being silly. Mike and Trevor were both fine. Still, I wished that Mike had gotten his truck fixed today. I didn't like to think of him maneuvering it with brake issues in this weather.
Okay, I had to stop with the incessant worrying. It was an annoying habit of mine. I went back into the kitchen to check on the lasagna, keeping warm in the oven, when the sound of our scanner startled me.
My parents had bought Mike the scanner for Christmas. He liked hearing emergency calls come in—when he was around to hear them, that is. We usually turned off the scanner when we went to bed, and he worked such long hours that I didn't know what the point was of having it, but hey, to each his own.
"Panic alarm at Colwestern Mini-Mart has been activated," a man's deep voice announced suddenly. "We have no record of this alarm going off before."
Within seconds, another male voice answered. "Officers have responded, but there seems to be some confusion over the location. Is this the Colwestern or Colgate Mini-Mart?"
"Colwestern," the previous male voice said. "Location is at 40 Birchwood Street."
An icicle formed between my shoulder blades. I stood there and continued to listen to the voices while a cold, sick feeling of dread built in the bottom of my stomach. No. It must be a mistake.
A few seconds passed and then another voice—or perhaps it was the previous one—spoke again. "Shots have been fired at Colwestern Mini-Mart. All available units, please respond."
With trembling fingers, I reached for my phone and pressed the button for Mike's name again. Please pick up, please pick up. The phone rang once and went to voice mail.
"Damn it!" My hands shook violently, and I paused to try to calm myself. Maybe Mike and Trevor had been detained at a job. Maybe the truck had given them trouble. Or they might have stopped at a different grocery store, even though the mini-mart was the most convenient location on the way to our house.
Think, think. I scrolled through my contacts and pressed the button for Brian Jenkins' number. Brian was a Colwestern Police officer and a good friend. We'd first met when I had returned to Colwestern after my divorce, approximately two and a half years ago. His phone also went to voice mail. He might be one of the cops responding to the call. Even if he wasn't on duty, Brian was the type who would show up anyway.
"Brian, it's Sally. Please call me as soon as you have a chance. It's about the robbery at the mini-mart. I'm afraid that Mike—"
A woman's pre-recorded voice came on the line. "Your mailbox is full" rang out cheerfully in my ears. In frustration, I clicked off. Waves of panic rose from inside me, and I took several deep breaths to try to calm myself. The slow-moving hands on the wall clock were an agonizing torture for me. 6:40. My family would be here in twenty minutes. The market was only five minutes away—ten with the bad weather. Without thinking further, I picked up my car keys and ran into the garage, not even stopping to grab my coat. I'd simply run to the market and make sure Mike's truck wasn't there. I'd be back before my family even arrived. Besides, they had a house key and could let themselves inside if necessary.
But I couldn't worry about them right now. I needed to know that Mike was safe and not involved in the robbery.
I backed out of the driveway too fast and was forced to slam on the brakes, almost hitting the mailbox in my haste. The car slid across the slick surface, and I shoved it into all-wheel drive. My breath was coming in heavy, painful gasps. "Dear God, please let him be okay." I repeated the words over and over in my head, willing them to be true.
Colwestern Mini-Mart was ablaze with light. An ambulance zoomed past me in the other lane, red lights flashing and siren screaming. My mouth went dry as I stared at the sight before me. There had to be six or seven cop cars parked in front of the store, their red and blue lights flashing so intensely that I had to shield my eyes against the brightness. Another ambulance was parked sideways in front of the entrance. Two local news vans were across the street from the store. Why were reporters always the first on the scene?
A policeman was directing traffic in the road. It wasn't Brian or his partner, Adam. I knew most of the cops on the Colwestern force, thanks to my past involvement in several murder cases, but not this man. I rolled my window down as he approached my car.
"Please"—my voice wobbled—"can you tell me—"
He indicated for me to make a U-turn. "Emergency vehicles need to get through here, ma'am."
A horn sounded from somewhere behind me. Having no choice, I turned the car around. I tried to search for Mike's truck, but the blazing lights allowed me to see little beyond them. Crime scene tape had already been draped around the building. With shaking fingers, I continued back the way I'd come. There was a gas station a few feet ahead to my right. I swung the car into the lot and parked, even though the sign said Customers Only. Let them tow me.
I slammed the car door shut and ran back in the direction of the market, grateful that at least I had my boots on. Wet snowflakes clung to my face and hair, but I barely felt them as I ran. My stomach rumbled with nausea. The officer directing traffic was talking to a man in an SUV, and I didn't think he noticed me run across the parking lot. I stopped a few feet in front of the entrance but couldn't see anything through the glass windows except the emergency lights reflecting off them. In desperation, I looked around for a familiar face. Brian had to be here somewhere.
"Mike's not inside. He can't be." I spoke the words out loud as tears began to sting the corners of my eyes. Another police cruiser pulled into the lot near me, and I spotted a tall, blond man alight from the vehicle while talking on his phone. With relief, I ran in his direction. "Brian!" I screamed.
Brian whirled around at the sound of his name, and I saw shock and confusion register in those brilliant green eyes of his. He placed his hand on my arm when I reached him. "Sally, what are you doing here? This is an active crime scene."
Adam Greensburg, Brian's partner, came hurrying over from the store's entrance. "Hey, Bri, glad you're here. Several of the guys were delayed thanks to a screw-up in directions. There's a fatality inside." He gave me a curt nod and then rushed back inside.
"Oh God," I sobbed and clung to Brian's jacket. "Please help me. I'm afraid that Mike's in there!"
He grabbed me tightly by the wrists. "Sally, what are you talking about?"
Tears crept down my cheeks. "I asked him to stop at the store on his way home. He's not answering his cell. This market is directly on his way. I tried to call you as well. Brian, I'm scared to death my husband is in there!"
"Okay, okay." Brian's voice was calm and steady. He led me to the rear of his vehicle, opened the trunk, and placed a blanket around my shoulders. "Where's your coat? Never mind. Wait for me in the back of my car. I'm sure Mike's fine. He probably stopped at another store. Stay here, all right? As soon as I know what's going on, I promise to come and get you."
"No!" I wailed and shook my head vehemently. From the shocked look on his face, it was obvious I'd surprised him. "You don't understand. I need to know if he's in there. I can't wait, Brian." Without another word, I dropped the blanket onto his car and ran toward the entrance.
"Sally!" Brian shouted and ran after me. I honestly wasn't sure how I planned to get by the burly-looking cop guarding the entrance. He saw me coming from a mile away and put out a hand to stop me.
"Ma'am, where do you think you're going?" he asked sternly.
"My husband might be in there!" I screamed.
Another cop came forward and grabbed me roughly by the arm. "You need to leave, ma'am," he said. "This is a crime scene."
"Take your hands off me!"
Brian put an arm around my shoulders. "Let her go, Bruce. It's okay—I know this lady. She has reason to believe her husband is inside. I'll take responsibility for her."
Bruce raised his eyebrows in questioning at Brian but didn't argue further. Brian slowly guided me through the vestibule door then gently turned me around to face him.
He swallowed hard and looked directly into my eyes. The cop mask he generally used to disguise his true feelings was gone, replaced by a somber expression. "Sally, you may see some very unpleasant things in there. You don't have to do this. I promise to come and get you as soon as I know if Mike"—he hesitated—"if he's inside."
What was he really going to say? Did he think Mike was the person who had been killed? Furiously I shook my head again, tears blinding my vision. "Please, Brian. Please don't make me stay outside—alone. Don't do that to me."
He stared at me for a long moment, and I noticed emotion flickering in his gaze. Compassion or sadness—I wasn't sure which, but there was no time to figure it out.
Brian reached down and tucked a stray curl behind my ear. His voice cracked as he spoke. "Okay. Stay by my side, and I'll take care of everything."
I held tightly to his arm as we went inside. The first person I saw was a young female employee standing next to the register in a bright blue smock, sobbing and wiping her eyes with a tissue as she talked to a policeman. A woman with two small children was seated on the tile floor in one of the aisles. She had an arm around each child, and they were both crying. Adam had knelt in front of the three of them, talking softly to the kids.
I clutched Brian's hand as we walked on. He glanced sideways at me anxiously then wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "You okay? Can you go on, Sally?"
No, I wasn't okay, but I managed a faint nod for him. Adam's words echoed inside my head. "There's a fatality inside." Who was dead? Where was my husband? Why had something like this happened?
There was another register at the back of the store for the small pharmacy counter, and that was the direction in which Brian and I headed. We passed an aisle end display of cake mixes with various decorations. Bottles of white and pink sprinkles caught my eye and mocked me. It was my fault if Mike was here. Sweat slid down the small of my back. Three policemen were standing in a semicircle, talking quietly amongst each other. On the floor next to them was a black tarp. A puddle of blood had seeped out from one side and formed a long red streak across the white-speckled tile floor.
A cry burst from between my lips. Brian drew me behind him, no doubt his attempt to protect me from the sight, but it was too late. I knew that whoever was underneath that tarp was dead.
A tall, lanky officer with white whiskers that reminded me of Santa Claus greeted Brian and then glanced curiously at me. "Heard the operator gave out the wrong directions. Looks like we're too late for this guy. Shame. A young one too."
Another officer stepped aside, and that's when I saw it. Poking out from underneath the tarp was a piece of seafoam-colored material. A jacket. I gasped out loud. It was the same color jacket Mike had been wearing this morning.
The jacket had been a running joke between us since Christmas. I'd ordered it online as a gift for him and had specifically requested the midnight blue shade since it went so well with Mike's eyes. The package arrived the day before Christmas, and I was annoyed when I saw they'd mistakenly shipped the wrong color. There hadn't been time to return the garment before the holiday, so I'd let Mike open it an
yway, assuring him I'd send it back the next business day.
But Mike had only winked, given me a kiss, and slipped it on. "I think I'll keep this one instead. You'll never lose me in a crowded mall again, princess."
A strangled cry escaped from my mouth. I buried my head in Brian's shoulder, and his arm went around me. "What? What is it, Sally?"
I started to sob hysterically. "The—green. It's the same color as Mike's jacket—the one he was wearing this morning."
The silence in the room was deafening. All of the officers watched me sympathetically and then looked at Brian, waiting for him to make the call. I didn't know what they were thinking about me and honestly didn't care. I wanted my husband. No matter how devastating it would be, I needed to see Mike's face one last time—to kiss his lips and hold him while I said good-bye. With shaky legs I tried to move forward, but Brian wouldn't loosen his hold on me.
"Sally, you can't." His voice was hoarse. "I'm sorry, but this is still a crime scene, and it would be considered tampering with evidence."
My grief turned to anger. "That's my husband lying underneath that tarp. Dead. I don't give a damn about police evidence. Don't you understand? He's my entire world." The strength had been zapped from my body, and I fell to my knees on the floor, placing my head in my hands. Why had this happened to him? To us? It was his birthday. Mike was only 31 years old and had so much to live for. How could God be so cruel?
I was dimly aware of Brian squatting down next to me. He gently placed a hand on my shoulder. "Sally, I'm so sorry. I—I don't know what else to say."
My entire body had gone numb. I couldn't look at him. "Why didn't you get here sooner?" I sobbed into my hands. "Maybe you could have saved him."
The silence in the room grew louder. Even though I couldn't see anyone, I knew their eyes were on me. Sorrow and pity for the young widow. If I tried to stand, I feared I might topple over. In my heart I knew this wasn't Brian's fault. No, it was mine. I'd asked Mike to come here. At the realization, I wept louder.
Sprinkled in Malice Page 2
