“What did Logan tell you about her? What did he say about their relationship?” I knew Logan had to have talked about his relationship at some point when they were together.
He looked at me steadily. “Truthfully? He didn’t say a lot about her. He was concerned that she was high strung and had a nasty temper, though. But he never said he was worried that she might harm him.”
I nodded. “I don’t imagine anyone wants to think that their significant other might harm them in some way. Especially if we’re talking about murder.”
“You can say that again,” he said. “But we just don’t have enough proof of anything yet.”
He sounded frustrated when he said it and it made me feel bad for him. I knew he wanted Logan’s killer arrested.
“What about the car? Weren’t there fingerprints all over it?” I suddenly had a picture of the killer putting his or her hands on the lower body of the car as they scooted beneath it. Or what about the brake lines? I had no idea what they looked like, but I wondered if it was a clear plastic tube that would pick up fingerprints.
“Sure, there were handprints all over that car. Logan had recently had the car into the garage, and Logan’s and Mariah’s handprints were all over it. And there were a lot of smudged prints on it, but they weren’t useful to ID anyone.”
“Had he had it washed recently?” I asked. “Would that have removed fingerprints?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think he did. He kept it in the garage and with it being as cold as it has been, I doubt he’d washed it in a while.”
I sat back in my seat, thinking things over. “What about the argument he had with Fred Tillman? Two people said he had an argument with Fred over work that was done on his car. Could he have cut the brake lines when he took the car to him and the fluid slowly leaked out?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s been about a month since Logan took his car in. If damage was done to the brake line that long ago, the fluid would have leaked out a lot faster than that. He would have had that accident a month ago.”
I sighed. Logan’s murder was getting to me, so I knew it was getting to Ethan. “How are you holding up?”
He looked at me and shrugged, but I could see the weariness in his eyes. “I’m fine. Honestly, hunting for his killer has given me something else to think about besides missing him.”
I nodded. “I guess that’s a good thing.” I wasn’t sure it was, but I’d give him the benefit of the doubt.
“So have you decided on a date for the wedding?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Have I decided on a date for the wedding? Isn’t that something we’re supposed to do together?”
He nodded. “I guess we could decide on it together, but since I’ve been busy, I figured you had had plenty of time to think about when you wanted the wedding.”
“Well, to be honest, I was waiting for us to have time together to decide on a date. But the more I think about it, the more I think I want the wedding to be in October.”
“That’s a shrewd suggestion,” he said and chuckled. “So are we going to do it then? A Halloween themed wedding?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “I really don’t think I want to go full out Halloween. But, I think we could do some cute things with orange and black decorations. Maybe a jack-o’-lantern here and there. Or, maybe we’ll just do a harvest theme. Lots of pumpkins and maybe a few corn stalks in the centerpieces or at the reception somewhere. I think we could do some really cute things with a fall theme.”
He nodded. “That sounds like fun. So, bridesmaids’ dresses. Orange?” He raised one eyebrow when he said it.
I grinned. “I don’t know if I can get Christy into an orange dress,” I said thoughtfully. “But maybe. Maybe we could do some of the bridesmaids in black and some in orange. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
He nodded. “Yes, but that’s more of a Halloween themed wedding and not a fall themed wedding. And I’m perfectly fine with either.”
I picked up my glass of iced tea and took a sip. “I’m not going to say I’ve been thinking about it a lot, but maybe I have because I already have all kinds of ideas. I think we could do cute pumpkin and Indian corn centerpieces for the tables at the reception.”
“Have you decided where we’re going to have the reception?” he asked, folding over his napkin.
“I can’t decide everything,” I protested. “I want you to be involved in this, too.”
“I’m going to be involved in it,” he assured me. “I just want to hear your ideas. And honestly, I’m okay with just about anything. As long as I don’t have to dress up as a skeleton.”
I gasped. “A skeleton? I hadn’t thought of that. Are you sure you don’t want to be a skeleton?” I teased.
He nodded. “I’m sure I don’t want to be a skeleton.”
I chuckled. “There’s a part of me that thinks we should take some more time before getting married, and there’s a part of me that thinks we should get married next week.”
He shook his head. “Neither will work. Our families aren’t going to be happy with us if we just run off and get married next week. Let’s do this thing right. Let’s have a great big six-tiered wedding cake and all the fancy clothes, and all the flowers.”
“You’re a sentimental man at heart, aren’t you?”
He shrugged, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “Maybe. I just want something that we
