Mint Chip Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 6 by Susan Gillard Page B

row.  She wasn’t surprised;
Dos Chicos was a popular eating spot, and 12:00 noon was right in the middle of
the lunch rush.  Heather grabbed her purse, got out, locked up, and started the
trek to the front door.  Maybe getting some exercise both before and after
their meal would help to offset the huge calorie load she planned on ingesting.
     
    She pulled open the heavy, wooden
front door and stepped inside.  The black, faux-leather benches in the space
between the outer doors and the inner ones were empty, which surprised her. 
She’d expected to see them full of hungry customers waiting for a table. 
     
    When she pulled open the second door
and entered the main part of the restaurant, however, she found the benches
there occupied by several couples as well as a group of businessmen in dress
shirts and ties. 
     
    A smiling hostess returned to her
wooden stand just as Heather approached.  “How many in your party?”
     
    “Two, please.”
     
    “Your name?”
     
    “Heather.”
     
    The hostess noted Heather’s name on
the list.  “It should be about fifteen minutes,” she said.
     
    “That’s fine,” Heather agreed.  As she
turned to survey the seating options, one woman slid a little closer to her
husband so that Heather could sit down next to her on the bench.
     
    “Thanks,” Heather said.
     
    Twelve minutes later, when the hostess
called her name, Amy still hadn’t arrived.  Heather wasn’t surprised.  Amy was
frequently late, especially when they weren’t attending an event that started
at a specific time, and Heather had learned to make allowances for that.
     
    The hostess led her to a table in the
middle of the dining room.  Heather sat down in a chair facing the entrance so
that she could watch for Amy, as the hostess placed a menu in front of her. 
“Your server will be right with you,” she said, before returning to her duties
at the hostess stand.
     
    Heather didn’t bother to open the
menu.  She knew what she wanted because she always got the same thing when she
ate at Dos Chicos: the enchilada plate, with three enchiladas topped with
cheese and gravy, the best Mexican rice she had ever tasted, and refried beans.
     
    “Hello.  How are you today?”  The
waiter stopped next to her table and placed one glass of water in front of her
and the other at Amy’s place.
     
    “I’m fine, thank you,” Heather said,
removing the slice of lemon from the rim of the glass.  “How are you?”
     
    “Doing well, thank you.  I see you’re
waiting on someone?”
     
    “Yes.  She should be here any minute.”
     
    “Can I bring you anything while you
wait?  An appetizer, perhaps?”
     
    “No, thanks.  Just the chips and
salsa.  Two bowls of salsa, please.”
     
    “No problem.  I’ll be right back.” 
The waiter smiled, then headed toward the kitchen.
     
    He was back in two minutes with a
basket lined with white paper and filled with triangle-shaped tortilla chips,
and two small, black pots of salsa.  “Here you go,” he said, arranging the food
on the table.
     
    “Thanks,” Heather said.  She glanced
toward the front door and saw Amy making her way toward them.  The waiter saw
her, too, and waited until she got close enough to hang her purse over the back
of the chair.
     
    “May I get you something to drink?”
     
    “Just the water will be fine for now,”
Amy said.
     
    “Would you ladies like a couple
minutes to decide?”
     
    “I would, please,” Amy said, settling
into her chair.
     
    “Then I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 
With what Heather by now assumed was his trademark smile, he went to check on
another table of customers.
     
    Amy leaned forward over the table, as
close to Heather as she could get.  “Okay, spill it,” she said.
     
    Heather frowned.  “Spill what?”
     
    “Why was there yellow crime scene tape
around Shear Beauty when I showed up for my appointment this morning?”
     
    “I don’t know.”  Heather