Copy Cap Murder: A Hat Shop Mystery Part 28

"Present?" I asked.

"Backgammon," he said.

"I don't know how to play," I protested.

"I'll teach you," he said.

I eyed him warily. Shouldn't he be at work? He still looked tired. Maybe he needed a break from the chaos that had consumed him since his boss had been arrested.

"All right," I said. "Can I at least clean up?"

He c.o.c.ked his head to the side as he studied me. "No, I like you this way."

Yeah, that was probably one of the nicest things a man has ever said to me. I let the bedcovers fall off my head and ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to smooth it.

He watched me with amused eyes and I realized I wasn't even embarra.s.sed to be seen in my thermal top and flannel pajamas. I would have been mortified if it had been anyone else, but Harry had seen me in my pajamas before and I realized that even though we weren't dating we shared the sort of intimate knowledge about each other that only a true friend knows, such as how you look in your pajamas or when you're asleep, what your favorite c.o.c.ktail is or how you like your steak cooked, or what sort of things make you laugh or make you low.

"You're here because I'm homesick, aren't you?" I asked.

"Viv might have mentioned it," he said. "But also, I thought you'd like an update on Inspector Franks."

"Oh, I would," I said. "I still have a lot of mixed feelings about him."

"DI Simms said there is an internal investigation pending to see if Inspector Franks actually impeded the case or not," he said. "In the meantime, he is not under arrest. And on a happier note, he and his wife have reunited with their daughter, Ava. She is being treated for her drug addiction and the three of them are planning to leave London to go and live in York, a.s.suming Franks is cleared."

"I know he made a bad call in his attempt to help Carson," I said. "But I can't really fault him given the circ.u.mstances."

"Carson could have killed you, first in the phone booth and then in the stairwell. I can't forgive Franks for endangering you like that, not even if I understand his concern for his daughter," Harrison said. His jaw was clenching and I could see he was angry, so I decided to change the subject.

"So you think you can school me in backgammon, do you?" I asked.

The grin he sent me was pure joy. "Oh, I know I can."

He wiped up the board with me in the first game, but I rolled several doubles in the next and trounced him.

"How is that possible?" he asked, bewildered. "Were you fibbing? Are you really a backgammon shark in disguise?"

"Let's play a tiebreaker and see," I said. It had been sheer dumb luck on my part but there was no need for him to know that.

"I have a better idea," he said. "Why don't you get dressed and I'll take you out for an early dinner."

I glanced at the clock. It was past three. Where had the day gone? But then, I knew. I'd spent it laughing with Harry and had forgotten all about my homesickness. I waited for it to kick in again with the realization but it didn't. I was okay, still missing my folks, of course, but okay.

"All right," I said. "Give me five, er, twenty minutes."

Harry packed up the board and left my room. He was in a suit so I wanted to look equally presentable. I snagged a heather green sweater tunic, a long plaid skirt and my brown boots and dashed into the bathroom across the hall to do a quick overhaul. I was back in fifteen minutes, mostly because I realized I was starving, always a motivator.

Harry was sitting on the top steps, tapping on his phone. He looked up with a smile when I burst out of the bathroom door. His dark wavy hair hung over his forehead and his bright green eyes sparkled at me.

"You look lovely, Ginger," he said.

My heart did that ridiculous fluttery thing and I felt my face grow warm. "Thanks, Harry, you're not so bad yourself."

He led the way down the stairs, and I felt my nose twitch. Something smelled amazing, more than amazing, something smelled like a turkey roasting. I shook my head. I must have Thanksgiving on the brain if I could pull that smell out of my mind, either that or I was so hungry I was starting to hallucinate.

We walked through the doorway into our flat and I stopped short with a gasp. Standing in the middle of our flat, wearing a Native American headdress and a Pilgrim's traveling hat, were my mom and dad.

"Happy Thanksgiving, pet," my mom said and she opened her arms wide. I didn't hesitate. I ran right into her hug.

"Happy Thanksgiving, princess," my dad said and he wrapped his arms around both of us.

I cried big, hiccuppy, gulping sobs of ridiculously happy tears as I clung to my parents in a hold that I'm sure mooshed their middles although they were too polite to say so.

"How did you . . . why didn't you tell me . . . what are you doing here?" I babbled.

Mom handed me a tissue. "Viv and your friends arranged it all as a surprise."

"You did?" I whirled around to find Viv standing with Fee, Nick, Andre and Harrison.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Cuz," Viv said. She hugged me tight and I was sure I was going to puddle up all over again.

"But how?"

"Andre picked them up from the airport yesterday and they spent the night at their place," Viv said. "You and I were supposed to be out shopping while Nick cooked the turkey this morning, but you ruined that so I had to call in Harrison to babysit you and make sure you didn't leave your room."

"You were alone with her in her room?" my dad asked Harrison. He looked very stern.

"Playing backgammon, sir," Harrison said. "I swear."

My dad laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Just joking, son, but good answer."

"Andre, you picked up my parents, and Nick, you made the turkey," I said. I felt myself bubble up again as I hugged them.

"And I made sure we had the right cranberry sauce from a can," Fee said. She blew an orange curl out of her eyes as she proudly held up a can of jellied cranberry sauce.

I'm not quite sure why but that gesture did me in and I blubbered as I hugged her, too. There was nothing pretty about it. I was sure my nose and eyes were red as the tears coursed down my cheeks. This was what it meant to be truly loved, and I felt it all the way down deep.

"Thank you all so very much," I croaked. My throat was tight and the words hurt on their way out, but it was okay because I was enfolded in a group hug that quite simply meant the world to me and let me know that I was truly home.

Nick outdid himself with the turkey and the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. After the meal, we sat in the sitting room and talked and laughed and joked until my parents, still jet-lagged, called it a night. Nick and Andre followed shortly thereafter, taking Fee home with them.

Harrison stayed and helped Viv and me clean up. There was so much I wanted to say to him, but I didn't know where to start. I think he understood because when I walked him to the door, he hugged me and didn't let go. We just stood there, wrapped around each other as if imprinting the moment on our hearts and minds.

"I like your parents," he said.

"They like you, too," I said. I could tell because my mother gave him seconds of pie, and my father called him "son." He never did that.

I felt him relax as he stepped back. "Well, that's a good thing because I expect they'll be seeing a lot of me in the future."

Then he kissed me, swift and sweet and full of promise. I found myself grinning when I locked the door behind him. As I checked the shop, I could feel Ferd the Bird watching me.

"Don't look so smug," I chastised him. "I'm still not dating him."

Ferd didn't look like he believed me, and honestly, I wasn't sure I believed myself.

When I arrived upstairs, Viv was sitting at the kitchen counter, picking at the last of the pumpkin pie.

"Harry get off all right?" she asked.

I was momentarily shocked but then remembered that the Brits use "get off" where we use "take off," making it an entertaining question at the very least.

"Yeah," I said, trying not to smile. "Say, I wanted to ask you about something."

"Let's hear it then," she said. She handed me a fork and I stabbed a bit of crust.

"There's an art school in Paris that is interested in having you come and teach a cla.s.s in millinery-" I began but she cut me off.

"No," she said. "Absolutely, not."

"What? Why?" I protested. "I really want to go to Paris. It's been ages and this could be so much fun."

"Then you teach the cla.s.s," she said. She rose from her seat and tossed her fork into the sink.

I frowned at her. The Viv I used to know would never have pa.s.sed up an opportunity to visit the City of Light. Something was wrong. And then it hit me.

"Your husband is in Paris, isn't he?"

"Shh!" She shushed me as if my parents could hear on the floor above us.

"That's it, isn't it?" I asked.

"The last I knew that's where he was," she said. She looked miserable.

"Viv, you can't go on like this," I said. "You have to resolve this situation once and for all."

"I don't know what to do," she said. "I don't know what to say to him. Things were left very badly between us."

"Please," I said, holding up one hand. "I am the queen of the bad breakup. I will guide you in fixing this mess."

"Promise?" she asked. She looked so hopeful that I knew the situation had been weighing on her more than I had realized. I nodded and she reached across the counter and hugged me tight.

"Paris, here we come," I said.

Be on the lookout for more Hat Shop Mysteries from Jenn McKinlay.

In the meantime, keep reading for a special preview of her next Cupcake Bakery Mystery . . .

VANILLA BEANED.

Coming April 2016 from Berkley Prime Crime!

"Viva Las Vegas!" Tate Harper sang at top volume. Then he did some sort of shimmy shake thing that Melanie Cooper was sure was supposed to look like a suave, swivelly hipped Elvis but more resembled a person suffering electrocution.

"Viva, Viva Las Vegas!" Angie DeLaura slid across the bakery floor, b.u.mping hips with Tate while they sang together.

Mel was behind the counter loading the display case with vanilla cupcakes and ignoring them, well, trying to ignore them. Her two best friends in the whole wide world were making complete jacka.s.ses out of themselves, so it was pretty hard to remain indifferent.

"What? Now we're offering cupcakes and a show?" Marty Zelaznik asked. He'd entered from the kitchen and stood beside Mel while he tied on his ap.r.o.n.

Marty was the main counter person for Fairy Tale Cupcakes, the bakery that Mel owned with Tate and Angie. He was a bald, shriveled-up prune of a man, but the older ladies loved to baby him and he had a special charm with the young ones as well. To Mel, he was as integral to the success of the bakery as the flour in her cupcakes.

"They're a little overexcited about our upcoming road trip," Mel said.

"So you're really going?" Marty asked. He kept his voice low as if he didn't want Tate and Angie to hear him, although Mel was sure there was no way they could over the racket they were making.

"Yup," Mel said.

"You know you don't have to if you don't want to," Marty said.

"Yes, I do," Mel said. She put the last cupcake in the display and closed the back of the case. "We are three equal partners in this venture, and they want to franchise."

She tried to keep her voice neutral but she couldn't help it if the word "franchise" came out sounding more like "black death."

"So what if they do?" Marty asked. "You're the master chef; I think that gives you extra say."

Mel reached over and squeezed his hand. "It'll be o-"

Whatever she'd been about to say was interrupted by the front door being yanked open with an enthusiasm that did not ring of joy.

"Vegas? As in Las Vegas? Oh, h.e.l.l, no!"

Tate and Angie stopped singing and their sick dance moves stumbled to a halt.

"Liv!" Marty goggled at the woman on the other side of the shop. "What are you doing here? You know we have an agreement. Neither of us sets foot in the other one's bakery."

"Oh, sugar lips, relax," Olivia said.

Marty's bald head turned an embarra.s.sed shade of fire-engine red at the endearment and his bushy eyebrows rose so high he almost had a hairline.

He opened his mouth to speak but Mel got there first, mostly so that Angie would not feel behooved to tackle the other woman, who happened to own a rival bakery, to the ground and drag her out by her feet.

"How can I help you, Olivia?" Mel asked.

Olivia's gray corkscrew curls popped out of the topknot on her head as she strode forward.

"I saw a social media update that somebody is opening a franchise in Vegas, is this true?" Olivia demanded.