Dark Chocolate Demise

by Jenn McKinlay

  She fumbled for her cell phone. She still had Joe in her contacts list. She tried his cell phone first hoping he’d answer. On the fourth ring, he did.

  “Mel, you shouldn’t be calling me,” he said. He sounded tired. “It’s too dangerous. Cell phones can be compromised.”

  “Given that a bullet almost made Swiss cheese out of me an hour ago, the cell phone thing, yeah, not really that scary,” she said. “But standing outside your office in the dark right now, yeah, kind of creepy.”

  “What?” Joe shouted. “Hang on!”

  In less time than it took to order a pizza, Mel saw a security guard racing towards the door. Nice to see her man, former man, whatever, had some pull.

  She recognized Jesus Gonzales from when she used to come downtown to have lunch with Joe. He had a tight military crew cut and was broad shouldered, making the seams on his security uniform strain. Mel hadn’t thought she was nervous until he unlocked the door and hustled her inside. As he closed and locked the door behind her, she felt her shoulders drop from around her ears.

  “Hi, Jesus,” she said.

  He gave her a flat look with no returning smile. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I know but it’s important,” she said.

  “Mel!”

  She turned towards the bank of elevators and there was Joe. She didn’t pause to think about what she was doing. Despite the ridiculous height of her heels and the very real probability that she might break her leg on the polished floor, she broke into a gimpy run. Joe surpassed her speed, sprinting towards her in an unbuttoned, necktie-askew, disheveled state that warmed her heart.

  They met in the middle of the lobby. Joe crushed her to him in a hug that left her short of breath in the best possible way. Then he kissed her. It consumed her from the inside out like a fire burning away all of the oxygen in her bloodstream. She didn’t care.

  Mel clung to him. When bullets had zipped overhead, she had realized with the clarity that only comes from an unfortunate staring contest with death that the only regret she had in life was not being with Joe.

  “Ahem.”

  Mel wasn’t sure how many times Jesus had cleared his throat to get their attention, but she suspected it was more than once. She broke the kiss before Joe did, but when she would have stepped back, he kept her close.

  Then he whispered in her ear, “Your phone call about stopped my heart, but the dress is going to kill me for sure.”

  Mel pressed her forehead against his. “Oh, Joe.”

  “Not to break it up, but you two might want to get out of sight of the windows,” Jesus said.

  “Yes, of course,” Joe said. He moved away from her with great reluctance, but twined his fingers with hers as he led her to the elevator. “She’s coming with me.”

  “Understood,” Jesus said. “I have my radio if you need me.”

  Joe led Mel into the elevator. When the doors closed and it began to rise, his gaze moved over her in a way that made Mel blush.

  “Sorry,” he said. His grin belied his apology but Mel didn’t mind. “It’s just—wow!”

  Mel grinned. “Thanks. I went to Roach’s CD release party with Angie tonight so we had to dress the part.”

  The heat in his warm brown eyes went from sexy to seriously, crazy mad in a nanosecond. She could tell because when he spoke, his words came out with ice crystals forming on them.

  “You went where?”

  Mel blew out a breath. Moment of truth. Best to get it over with as quickly as possible. She took a big breath hoping to get it all out in one long, detail-loaded sentence.

  “The Bonehead Investigators, Leo and Atom, brothers and very cute, told me that they saw Scott kissing a blue-haired zombie at the zombie walk. Angie and I thought this might bust the shooting case wide open, thinking that Scott used the zombie walk to whack his wife and blame it on the mob to cover his affair with this other woman. Angie is losing chunks of hair. It’s bad. So when we saw the blue-haired zombie was invited for a photo op at Roach’s CD release party, we decided to go.”

  Joe opened his mouth to speak but Mel didn’t give him the chance.

  “Anyway, at the party when we were about to ask Roach about the blue-haired zombie, I saw a shadow and instinctively knocked Angie and Roach to the ground. A couple of bullets whizzed overhead but missed everyone, thank god. Tate, Manny, and Stan showed up and they hustled us out of there. Angie is pretty upset that it looks like she was the target after all, but she’s got Tate, the brothers, and an entourage looking after her, so I think she’ll be all right. But now I think we were wrong since I realized the shooter was a woman.”

  The doors to the elevator opened, and Joe just stood there staring at her as if trying to comprehend what all she had said. As the doors began to close, Mel shoved her arm in the opening to stop them.

  “Joe?” she asked.

  He shook himself like a dog after a bath and gestured for her to go first. Then he followed her. Mel noted he did not take her hand for the short walk down the hall to his office.

  The cubicles that surrounded the open floor space outside his office were deserted. There was an ominous feeling to the rows and rows of empty desks. She had only been here during the day before when the room buzzed and hummed with activity. She wondered if Joe felt it, too, or if after so many late nights he was used to it and probably preferred it.

  Joe pushed open his office door. He gestured for her to go inside, and Mel went. When he followed he crossed his arms over his chest with such careful precision that she wondered if it was taking everything he had not to blow up and yell at her. But that was silly; Joe never yelled, well, except for that one time when he was dressed like a redneck, but she wasn’t sure that counted. He was the chief negotiator and peacekeeper of the DeLaura family. In all the time they’d been dating, he’d never raised his voice.

  “Sit,” he said.

  Mel’s eyes went wide. She glanced at the hem of her dress. Yeah, no, sitting was out. How did women wear these micromini things? She liked to sit, she wished she could sit, but if she did, she had no doubt Joe would see more of her than perhaps he wanted to at this juncture.

  “No thank you,” she said as if it had been optional.

  Joe strode towards her, stopped just in front of her, and loomed.

  “I am really struggling here,” he said. “I am torn between kissing you again and yelling at you until my vocal cords bleed and I. Am. Not. A. Yeller.”

  He looked frazzled and a little bit deranged, and Mel couldn’t help but feel her heart go smoosh as she took in his agitated state and knew it was her fault. Mostly.

  “Do I get to weigh in on this?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. He shoved both of his hands into his hair. “Cupcake, if anything had happened to you or Angie . . .”

  Mel stepped forward and grabbed his arms, forcing him to look at her. “But it didn’t.”

  He blew out a breath and his face sagged.

  “I’ve been watching Scott struggle with Kristin’s death every single day, and all I can think about is . . .” He grabbed her and held her close. “I can’t even say it.”

  “Then don’t,” Mel said. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek on his shoulder. It felt so good to be close to him again.

  “Mel,” Joe whispered her name. She was so tall in her shoes that his lips were close to her ear, and the brush of his breath against her skin distracted her from her purpose.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “Hmm?” she asked.

  “Why are you here?”

  Mel shook her head, trying to clear it. At the moment, the only thing she could think was that the need to see him had been all consuming. But that wasn’t it. There had been something else. Something important. She stepped back from him.

  �
��Oh, yeah,” she said. “The shooter. I have to know, does Tucci have any female goons?”

  “Huh?” He frowned at her and she got the feeling he had been hoping she was here for a different reason. “What do you mean?”

  “The shooter at the club,” she said again. “It was a woman.”

  “Did you tell the police this?” he asked.

  “I texted Uncle Stan on my way over—at a red light,” she said. “But then I figured you know everything about Tucci, so you would know for sure, but I didn’t want to ask on the phone because—”

  “Let me get this straight,” he interrupted. Mel noticed that he sounded very disgruntled. “You thought you’d race over here and put yourself in harm’s way out in the open when you could have just called me.”

  “Yes, I could have called you,” she said. “But I felt under the circumstances that it was imperative to talk to you directly.”

  Joe narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  Mel glanced around the empty office. “Because what if Angie and I were right? Given that the shooter was a woman, what if Scott was having an affair with the blue-haired woman, and this whole thing was just a ruse to get rid of his wife?”

  “What?” a voice cried from the door.

  Mel whipped around to see Scott standing there.

  Thirty-one

  “How can you say that?” Scott asked. He looked equal parts grief struck and outraged.

  Mel felt a spasm of guilt but she shook it off. No, the boys had seen him with a woman, and the two of them could have plotted the whole thing. That blue-haired zombie could be the female shooter, killing Scott’s wife so she could have him and then going after Angie again to make it look like a mob hit.

  “I know you were with another woman at the zombie walk,” Mel said.

  Scott gave her a confused look. Then he looked at Joe, who shrugged. Mel gave Joe an irritated glance and then turned back to Scott.

  “Someone saw you,” she said. “You were cozied up with a woman with blue hair, and you were seen fooling around together.”

  Mel thought it spoke very well of her that she didn’t add, So there! to her accusation.

  Scott frowned at her as if he was trying to figure out what language she was speaking. Then he raised his eyebrows and turned away from them, walking out of the room.

  Mel nudged Joe with her elbow and gestured for him to follow Scott. What if he tried to get away? Joe rubbed the spot where she’d poked him, but he made no move to follow.

  “What if he goes to get a weapon?” she asked.

  “He won’t,” he said. “He didn’t hurt his wife.”

  “But there was that other woman at the zombie festival, and he was seen with her,” Mel said. “What if she killed Kristin so that she and Scott could be together?”

  “She didn’t,” Scott said, returning to the room. “And I know this because that blue-haired woman is my wife.”

  “Ah,” Mel gasped. “You’re married to two women?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Scott said. He gave Joe a questioning look and Joe, after a short hesitation, nodded.

  “She’ll keep digging until she figures it out; you may as well tell her,” he said.

  Scott flipped open a two-sided wallet and held it out facing her. One side had a gold shield, and the other bore the unmistakable letters FBI.

  Mel glanced over the wallet at him. “What is that?”

  “My badge,” he said. “I’m Special Agent Streubel, and Kristin, who was posing as my wife, was Special Agent O’Rourke.”

  Mel looked at Joe. “You knew?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, they’ve been undercover working the Tucci case from day one.”

  “Oh, my god, Kristin was your partner not your wife,” Mel said. “And your wedding was just part of the cover.”

  “Yeah,” Scott said. “And Lauren, the blue-haired zombie, really is my wife. We thought if we could just see each other for a few minutes after so many months apart . . . what could it hurt?” He gave a harsh laugh. “Quite a bit it seems, since it got my partner killed.”

  Mel felt lower than dirt. Joe put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. It was a gesture of comfort that she knew she didn’t deserve. She hung her head.

  “I am so sorry.” She glanced up through her blond bangs to look at Scott. What she saw shattered her more than any anger would have. He looked desolate.

  “No,” he said. “You’ve been around Joe and this office enough to know that it usually is the spouse or significant other who is guilty. It was a natural conclusion, especially since you heard about me with my real wife.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mel said. “Ugh, I’m such an idiot. But if the blue-haired woman, I’m sorry, Lauren, wasn’t the shooter, then . . .” She turned to Joe and asked, “Did Tucci have any female goons?”

  “Not as far as I know,” Joe said. “He was pretty old school.”

  Mel felt a cold spot start on the top of her head and slowly drift down to her neck and shoulders, until her whole body was icy cold and she shivered.

  “Maybe Frank Tucci was old school, but his son Vincent is not,” she said. “I think I know who Kristin’s shooter was, and I think I know who shot at us tonight.”

  “What?” Scott asked. “Who?”

  “Yes, Melanie, who?”

  Joe, Mel, and Scott all spun to face the door. In strode Vincent Tucci with the buxom restaurant hostess Heather at his side.

  “Her,” Mel said and she pointed at Heather.

  Joe tried to push her behind him. She was having none of it. She refused to budge and stared at Vincent and Heather. As Heather stepped through the doorway and was backlit by the light in the hallway, Mel gasped. That was definitely the silhouette she had seen.

  Vincent let out a weary sigh. “I am so sorry we won’t be carrying your cupcakes at the restaurant, Melanie, but I’m sure you understand. It’s not personal just business.”

  Joe frowned at Mel.

  “What is he talking about?” Joe asked. “What do you want, Tucci, and how did you get in here?”

  Heather pulled a very lethal-looking Glock out of the pink designer bag on her shoulder.

  “That’s Heather, she’s the hostess at Frank and Mickey’s,” Mel said. “And apparently she’s Vincent’s hit man, excuse me, hit woman as well. Heather is the one who fired shots at us at Roach’s party, and I’m betting she killed Kristin, too.”

  “It was you!” Scott said. “You killed my partner.”

  Vincent gave him a flat stare. “Your wife, you mean? Yes, that was an unfortunate mix-up since she thought she was shooting Mr. DeLaura’s sister.”

  Mel felt woozy, as if all of the blood had just drained out of her head. Vincent was behind the shooting. Vincent had been trying to kill Angie all along.

  “Of course, Melanie would have been the target if we’d known there was still a relationship between you two,” Vincent said. He looked at Joe. “Very smart to dump her before the trial started.”

  Mel could hear Joe’s teeth grinding, but his voice when he spoke was perfectly even, as if he wasn’t fazed at all by having a gun pointed at his head.

  “Why are you here?” he asked. Then he held up his hand. “Wait, let me guess. You want to be sure that Daddy dearest goes to jail so you can take over the family business?”

  Vincent winked at him. “Yes, and this is so much easier than killing him myself. After Heather shoots the three of you, we’ll stage it to look like one of my father’s goons did it. That should ensure lethal injection for the old man.”

  Mel slid her hand into Joe’s. If they were about to meet their maker, she wanted to do it together.

  “This time don’t miss,” Vincent said and he slapped Heather on the butt as he left the room.

  “That was your fault,” Heather said. She looked at Mel in disgust. “
I had a perfect shot until you took her down. Truthfully, I would have felt bad shooting Roach. I just love the Sewers. But since I knew you had seen me, or at least the outline of me, I knew I was going to have to take you out. We followed you from the bakery. Vincent figured this was even better. An innocent cupcake baker and two county attorneys murdered, yeah, everyone will want Frank’s blood for this.”

  She started to hum the tune “Angie” by the Sewers and punctuated it by racking the slide on the gun, preparing to shoot. Mel wondered how badly the bullet would hurt. She wondered if Heather would shoot her in the head or the chest. She wondered if Joe knew how much she loved him.

  She squeezed his hand with hers three times, meaning, I love you. Her throat closed up when Joe immediately did it back. At least he knew.

  Heather appeared to be having a hard time choosing. She swiveled the gun wildly between them, and Mel realized she was practicing how she was going to spray the bullets. She had the gun pointed at Mel when Scott shouted and leapt forward.

  The gun fired, but he was already on top of Heather, taking her down like a lion charging an antelope. Joe yanked Mel down hard and shoved her behind his big metal desk before diving back into the fray between Heather and Scott. Mel peeked around the edge to see if she could help. It wasn’t necessary.

  Scott pressed Heather’s gun hand to the ground, and Joe used his full body weight to pin it. Mel heard the crunch of bones, and Heather screamed. Joe grabbed the gun, and Scott pulled some plastic restraints out of his pocket. In moments Heather’s wrists and ankles were bound, and she sat sobbing and cradling her injured arm. Scott took the gun and pointed it at Heather.

  Mel crawled out from behind the desk and crouched close to Joe and Scott. She noted that Scott’s shirt had a bullet hole but there was no blood. She looked at Joe.

  “Kevlar,” he said.

  Scott leaned in close to Heather, and in a voice Mel barely recognized as belonging to the affable county attorney he’d portrayed, he said, “I should kill you.”