Page 18 of Win a Date with a Detective

And immediately begin calculating how soon I can reasonably ask her out again.

I’m still considering my options when a commotion erupts near the entrance to the private dining room.

A woman’s voice rises above the restaurant’s background music.

“My ring!”

I turn.

Vanessa is standing beside her fiancé, staring at her empty hand.

Her face has gone pale.

“My engagement ring is gone!”

Well. Fuck.

I look toward the hallway where Rachel disappeared. Then back at Vanessa.

Looks like I’m back on the clock.

THREE

RACHEL

There’s something uniquely humiliating about emerging from a restaurant bathroom to discover that you’re the prime suspect in a crime you didn’t commit.

Especially when you’ve spent the better part of your adult life fantasizing about solving one.

Although, technically, I haven’t been accused of anything yet.

I’m simply making an educated guess based on the fact that a security guard is currently standing beside my date, and they’re both staring at me.

Oh, shit.

Did somebody die?

I glance toward the restaurant’s private dining room, where a small crowd has gathered.

Then I spot the woman who let me try on her engagement ring.

She’s crying.

And her fiancé looks like he’s about to throw up.

Oh.

OH.

This is happening.

An actual crime.

On my date.

With an actual detective.

Holy mother of forensic science.