Dark Chocolate Demise

by Jenn McKinlay

  “How much longer will you be baking?” Manny asked.

  “One more batch,” Mel said over her shoulder. “I promise.”

  Manny nodded and she noted that he looked exhausted. She could only imagine the kind of pressure he and Stan were facing from above to try to solve this murder. Not to mention the extra incentive of tying it to Frank Tucci.

  She saw Jack begin to knead the fuzzy blanket where it draped across Manny’s chest. It looked like the boys were settled in. She hurried back to the kitchen to check on her cupcakes and finish looking at her customer list.

  She took the second batch out of the oven to cool. She’d wait to frost them. She put her mixing bowls into her industrial dishwasher and then slipped into her office to finish her search.

  She finished her customer list and came up with only two possibilities. She’d dig further tomorrow and see if there was a match. On a whim, the last name she checked was Tucci. She knew her old order for the party would be listed there but wondered if they’d ever ordered anything else.

  Mel clicked on the letter T and then scrolled to the bottom. Sure enough, the name Tucci was listed. When she opened the order, she saw that the order had been made by Vincent Tucci, so nothing for Frank then. She reread the order, wondering if at the time she’d had any inkling of what was to come.

  Twenty-one

  Mel read the order. It was for three dozen of her Tiramisu cupcakes. She remembered now. She had delivered the cupcakes to Frank and Mickey’s for an anniversary party. She checked the date. It had been two years ago, but if she remembered right, the cupcakes had been a huge hit and there had been some polite talk about Mel baking for Frank and Mickey’s on a weekly basis.

  Shortly thereafter Frank had been arrested, so Mel was quite sure the family’s priorities had shifted; still she wondered if it would give her reason enough to stop by the restaurant just to network as it were.

  No, she couldn’t do that. She could already hear the yelling from Joe, Uncle Stan, and Manny, not to mention the rest of the DeLaura brothers, Tate, Oz, and Marty. Angie might be on board, but since she could be a target, Mel couldn’t ask her to join her in her information gathering.

  Mel blew out a breath. She shut down her computer and resigned herself to storing her cooled cupcakes and frosting and going to bed. She glanced through the kitchen window and saw Manny with his head lolled back on the pillow in the wide corner booth. His computer looked as if it had gone dark, and Jack was curled up into a little ball on his chest.

  She didn’t have the heart to wake him up so she could sleep in her bed while he crashed on, what, the tiny armchair in her living room? No, the booths here in the bakery were wide and pretty comfy. Goodness knew she had slept in them often enough.

  She grabbed Tate’s Spider-Man pillow and blanket and climbed into the booth next to Manny’s and stretched out. Her feet dangled off the edge so she moved one of her free-standing chairs to the end of the bench seat so that her feet were secure. Wrapping the fuzzy blanket around her body like a snuggly cocoon, Mel thought about how she could plausibly just pop in at Frank and Mickey’s. An idea came to her in a flash but before it was fully formed, she slipped into a deep sleep.

  “How big of a beating do you think Manny will put on me when he finds out I took a picture of him in that blanket?”

  “I’m thinking you’re going to need a body cast.”

  Mel pulled her blanket up around her ears trying to block the noise. Why were people talking in the middle of the night? Didn’t they know this was sleepy time?

  “I think it was worth the risk. In fact, I’m going to take two.”

  A bright light flashed and Mel felt it poke her eyelids.

  “What the hell?” a deep voice barked.

  “Easy, big fella.”

  Mel sighed and eased the blanket off of her head. It took her a moment to remember that she was sacked out in one of the bakery booths. Then she moved her head and her neck got locked in a crooked position.

  “Ow, ow, ow,” she said as she sat up. Captain Jack was sprawled along the top of the booth with his feet hanging over on each side. Mel gingerly turned her head and saw Manny blinking at her over the feline’s back.

  “Mornin’,” he said.

  “Hi,” Mel said. She felt unaccountably shy, which was ridiculous since they really hadn’t done anything but sleep. She tried to toss her bangs out of her eyes, and her neck gave a sharp spasm. “Ow.”

  Manny put his hand on the back of his neck and winced. “Ugh, we must have slept in some weird positions. I feel like a broken pretzel.”

  Mel smiled. She glanced up to see Marty and Oz staring down at her and Manny. Oz was holding his phone so they could both see it. Judging by the snorting noises they were making, they were trying very hard not to laugh.

  “If you are standing there without coffee already brewing, you had better rethink your priorities,” Mel growled.

  Marty and Oz exchanged an alarmed look. They began to back away from the booths until they were halfway across the room, at which point they turned around and jogged into the kitchen.

  “I didn’t think I was that scary,” Mel said.

  “I think it’s just your bed head,” Manny said. He appeared to be biting the inside of his cheek, and Mel got the feeling it was to keep from laughing.

  She picked up a silver napkin holder and glanced at her reflection. She barely managed to stifle her scream. Her blond bangs were doing some sort of vertical lift, making her look like she’d recently done the mambo with two hundred amperes of electricity.

  She carefully pulled the Spider-Man blanket over her head, letting just her face peer out from beneath the colorful fleece.

  “Much better,” Manny said. “Spider-Man, huh?”

  “I found it after you were asleep,” she said.

  “Uh-huh,” he said.

  They were both quiet. The only sound in the bakery was Jack, who was purr-snoring from his spot on the booth back between them.

  “I should get him home,” Mel said.

  “Yeah, I need to check in with Stan and get into the station,” Manny said.

  Still, neither of them moved.

  “Thanks for staying last night,” Mel said. “I don’t really think I need protection, but it was good of you to be here.”

  “Just because you haven’t seen the threat doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” Manny said. “Tucci’s thugs are not stupid. There is a reason they haven’t been convicted for all of the heinous things they’ve done.”

  “Good lawyers?” Mel guessed.

  “Partly,” he said. “But mostly, it’s because they leave no witnesses behind.”

  Manny’s dark eyes were as serious as a heart attack, and Mel nodded. She understood. A man didn’t get a nickname like “Tommy the Knuckle” because he ate too many pork joints.

  The kitchen door swung open and Marty arrived bearing a tray loaded with two steaming mugs of coffee, creamers, and sugar. Mel could have kissed his bald head.

  “Here’s a little go juice for you,” Marty said as he plopped down the tray.

  Mel and Manny began to fix their coffee while Marty stood watching. Mel fumbled when she and Manny reached for the sugar at the same time. It had not escaped her that while she woke up looking like something Jack had coughed up, Manny was disarmingly rumpled. His close-cropped dark hair wasn’t even mussed, and he still gave off his usual manly citrus smell. Annoying.

  “Well?” Marty asked.

  “Well what?” Manny said.

  “What happened last night?” Marty asked.

  “Nothing!” Mel protested, her face getting hot.

  Manny blew on his coffee before taking a sip. He glanced at her over the rim, and she could see his dark eyes were amused.

  “I think he means why did he find us down here asleep in the booths,” Manny
said.

  “Oh,” Mel said. She took a sip of the scalding brew and refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

  “Yeah, what did you think I meant?” Marty asked. Then he paused. “Oh, well that didn’t happen, did it?”

  “Whatever happened to minding your own business?” Mel asked.

  “Hey, don’t bring it up, if you don’t want to talk about it,” Marty said.

  “Mel wanted to replace what the DeLaura brothers ate yesterday,” Manny said. “We must have zonked out in the middle of the night.”

  Mel looked at Manny and noted that he didn’t mention Roach’s late-night visit, so she assumed it was a need-to-know-only sort of thing.

  Marty looked at Manny as if he was disappointed in him.

  “You have the woman to yourself for a whole night and the best you can do is fall asleep while she bakes,” he grunted. “No wonder DeLaura has you beat.”

  “Marty!” Mel chided him.

  “I’m just stating the obvious,” he said.

  “How about noticing that we’re going to be opening soon and we need to get cleaned up and restocked, and Oz should get cracking on another big batch of cupcakes?” Mel said. She knew she sounded downright ornery, but mortification will do that to a girl.

  “I need to jog upstairs and get my overnight bag,” Manny said. “Want me to take Jack up, too?”

  Mel scooped up the sleeping feline, who had all the consistency of a sack of pudding, and draped him over her shoulder.

  “I’ll come with you,” she said. “I need to wash up and feed the boy.”

  Manny nodded and folded up his blanket, leaving it in the booth where he’d slept. Mel was still using hers to cover her bed head and refused to give it up. They both refilled their coffee in the kitchen before heading upstairs, and Mel caught Oz giving them a speculative look.

  She refused to engage. She noted Tony’s camera in the kitchen blinking its red light at them. She wondered what he’d made of their night sacked out in the bakery. She had no doubt he’d burned the cell towers down to call Joe and report in. She felt a twitch of annoyance and suddenly, Angie’s well-known temper made perfect sense to her.

  Mel loved her brother, Charlie, dearly, but if there had been six more of him hovering around her while they grew up, watching her every move, reporting to their parents, and basically shadowing her very existence, she suspected she’d have developed a wee bit of an anger management issue herself.

  She put more sugar in her coffee and led the way to the back door. They took the steps quickly, and Mel wondered if Manny was nervous to have her out in the open. It seemed ridiculous, but she’d spent enough time around Uncle Stan to see how a cop’s brain worked, pretty much in a state of constant vigilance.

  She closed the door behind them, and Manny crossed over to where he’d left his bag. He unzipped it and fished around until he found his toothbrush.

  “Do you mind?” he asked.

  “No, not at all,” Mel said as she put Jack down. She waved Manny in the direction of the bathroom. “Have at it.”

  As soon as the door closed behind him, she crossed to her wardrobe and popped open the door with the mirror. She threw off her blanket and finger combed her hair, trying to get it to calm down just a little. The static from the blanket was not helping the dire situation.

  Giving up, she crossed over to the kitchenette and got her fingers wet by running them under the tap. She shoved them into her hair and tried to pat down the mess. It helped a little.

  She was just opening a can of food for Jack when Manny came out of the tiny bathroom. He looked as if he’d stuck his head under the faucet, too, and Mel imagined they were both going to need long, hot showers to restore them to their original selves. Separately, of course.

  “Well, I’d better go,” Manny said. “I’m sure Stan will have a lot to share about his meeting with the chief last night.”

  “Yeah, tell him I said hey,” Mel said.

  “Will do,” Manny said. He hesitated and then said, “About last night.”

  Mel looked at him. He wanted to talk about last night? What about last night? Nothing happened. She realized she was sort of disappointed by that observation, and then shook her head. Obviously, sleep deprivation was kicking in, and she was losing it.

  She scooped up her coffee mug and took a fortifying sip. Was this where Manny would tell her that he wished it had played out differently? That he would have put a move on her if he could? She would shut him down gently. It would be okay. Her heart thumped hard in her chest, making it hard to focus on his words.

  Twenty-two

  “You remember those pics I showed you of Tucci’s associates,” Manny said.

  Mel felt her insides deflate like a cake after a loud bang. So, he was not talking about them, rather he was back on the case.

  “Hard to forget,” she said.

  “If any of them come into the bakery, you leave,” he said.

  He strolled across the room so that he was standing right in front of her. Mel glanced up from her coffee and met his stare. His black eyes crackled with an intensity that made her all too aware of every facial flaw she had ever noted about herself, beginning with her eyes that were too close together and ending with the scar on her chin received from a playground swing-to-face incident that lived on in Pueblo Elementary School lore to this day.

  “If they come in, I leave,” Mel said. “Got it.”

  Manny narrowed his gaze at her as if he suspected her of something. Surely, he could not know that she had checked to see if any of the goons were customers. Could he? Mel gave him her best toothless smile of innocence.

  “No, I’m not buying it,” he said. He leaned closer. “You have a knack for getting into trouble.”

  “Me?” Mel put her hand on her chest as if she couldn’t be more shocked. “I beg to differ. Trouble seems to find me even when I’m looking the other way.”

  A slow smile spread across Manny’s face. It took Mel a second to realize that he thought she was calling him trouble. In that, while she was looking at Joe, Manny had found her.

  “What I meant was—” she began but he interrupted her.

  “I know what you meant.”

  They stood quietly staring at each other. There were a thousand words that could have been or should have been spoken between them, but Mel felt like words would diminish their connection somehow. Manny gave her a small nod and she knew he felt the same.

  Was it wrong to feel a bond with this man? They had almost died together once. Maybe it was just the natural outcome of surviving a near-death experience together . . . or maybe it was more. Mel swallowed and it was audible. Manny’s smile deepened.

  “You may be in love with DeLaura,” he said as he stepped back. “But at least I know you’re not immune to me.”

  “No, I’m not,” Mel said. Her voice sounded strained, and Manny looked pleased.

  “I can live with that,” he said. He shifted his bag onto his shoulder and turned towards the door. Over his shoulder, he said, “Lock up behind me and remember what I said. If any of Tucci’s thugs show up, you leave.”

  “I promise,” she said.

  And she meant it. Right up until Angie showed up for work, looking as stressed out and miserable as Mel had ever seen her. Gone was Angie’s usual sparkle; instead, she looked more like the zombie she’d been dressed as just a few days before.

  “What’s going on with her?” Mel asked Tate.

  He sighed. “This murder is killing her.”

  Mel cringed at the poor word choice.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I can’t get through to her that it’s not her fault. She can’t sleep. She won’t eat. Having everyone watching her as if she’s about to be gunned down is making her a nervous wreck. This morning I found her sobbing in the bathroom because a chunk of her hair fell out. And yet, I can’t get h
er to leave town, not even for a day. It’s like she’s determined to stay to prove that she wasn’t the intended victim. Honestly, I’d love to prove that just to give her peace of mind.”

  “Maybe I can help,” Mel said.

  “Sorry, kid,” Tate said. “But I don’t think there’s a cupcake in the world that can solve this.”

  Mel watched him trail after Angie. It hurt her heart to see her friend so beaten up by life. If only she could do something, use her connections to figure out if Tucci’s thugs were behind the shooting. But what connection did she have? Vincent Tucci. He was it. The only tie she had to the whole stinking mess. She needed to talk to him, but how?

  Help came in the guise of her mother, Joyce. Mel loved her mom and they were very close, but even so, she had never been so happy to have her mom pop into the shop and demand a mother-daughter lunch.

  Mel knew it was probably her mother’s sly way of making sure she was okay after the whole zombie walk body in a casket nightmare, but Mel and the others had downplayed the event and its connection to Angie and Joe’s case, specifically to keep Joyce from worrying. Still, Joyce was a good mom, and worry was her middle name.

  “I just need to know that my baby is okay,” Joyce said. She was standing in the bakery kitchen, watching while Mel frosted the cupcakes she had baked the night before.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” Mel said. “Really.”

  “And the others?” Joyce asked. “I couldn’t help but notice that Angie doesn’t seem herself. She looks like she’s been crying, and she keeps checking her hair. Is there something wrong with it?”

  Mel wondered how much to say. If she mentioned that Angie might have been the actual target, her mom was going to freak out. Mercifully, she was saved from having to answer.

  “What are you still doing here?” Angie asked as she plowed through the swinging door into the kitchen. “Go have lunch with your mom. We got this.”

  Tate was hot on her heels, and Mel could tell he was still not letting her out of his sight.

  “You sure?” she asked as she handed Angie her pastry bag full of frosting.