Dying for Devil's Food

by Jenn McKinlay

  “Oh,” Mel said. “Well, judging by her temperament, they could have a solid contender there for a person angry enough to commit murder.”

  Danny’s shoulders dropped a tiny bit.

  “Listen,” Mel said. “It doesn’t sound like they arrested Megan. It sounds like they brought her in for questioning, which is a very different thing. You should go back to the station and wait for her. She’s going to need you when it’s all over.”

  “She says she doesn’t want us to be seen together until Cassidy’s murder is solved,” Danny said.

  “Given that the police know you two are a thing now, I don’t really see the point,” she said. She put her hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. “Everything’s going to be okay. Listen, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but when we were going through the reunion pictures, I made a timeline of Cassidy’s and Megan’s whereabouts during the reunion. From what I could tell, and I’m an amateur, there is no way Megan could have been anywhere near the restroom when Cassidy was in there. I sent it to Uncle Stan because I think it proves she couldn’t have been the one to write my name in the bathroom, meaning she didn’t try to frame me, which also means she likely didn’t poison Cassidy. Someone else did.”

  “You did that?” Dan blinked.

  “Yes,” Mel said. She took a napkin out of a holder and grabbed a pen off of the counter. “Not that you’ll need this, but this is an attorney friend of mine, Steve Wolfmeier. He’s the best. He can make sure the system is treating you right. You’ll see.”

  Danny pocketed the napkin, then he opened his arms and hugged Mel close. “Thanks,” he said. “Sorry I yelled. You’ve been such a good friend.”

  Mel felt a twinge of guilt that she’d had Tate do her dirty work for her by having him tell Uncle Stan about the affair, and that it was likely their fault that Megan had been picked up. But then she reminded herself that if Megan or Danny were guilty, she’d done the right thing by alerting Uncle Stan to the red lipstick matchup. And at least she’d made the timeline, which should help. She hoped.

  When Danny left, Mel locked the door after him and flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED.

  She looked at Marty and said, “That’s it. I can’t have another person come through that door and yell at me. I’m done.”

  “Seems reasonable to me,” Marty said. Together they closed up the front of the bakery. When they were finished, Mel resumed her baking and Marty headed out the back door.

  “Don’t work too late,” he said. “And lock up behind me.”

  “Of course,” Mel said. She was just taking the vanilla cupcakes out of the oven before she started on the fondant.

  She flipped on the radio, happily listening to Beyoncé singing about girls who run the world while she fired up her industrial KitchenAid mixer to produce a large batch of vanilla buttercream frosting. While that blended, she took several rolls of fondant out of the walk-­in cooler. She put on gloves before she started to work the color in. Using a toothpick, she used just a tiny dab of pink gel-­based color to massage into the fondant until it was the perfect pale pink for the flowers she wanted to create.

  She bagged the colored fondant to save for use later. She spread the buttercream onto the cooled cupcakes, prepping them for when she would wrap them with a layer of white fondant, on which she would decorate the cupcakes with the pink flowers and pearls. She could see in her mind exactly how she wanted them to look.

  Despite how horrible the day had been, she took solace in knowing that for this couple, she could make something delicious and beautiful. It made her world seem less horrible, as a good cupcake should. Much as she tried, however, she couldn’t stop thinking about Dwight and how Cassidy had been there for him. She never would have expected that. She had only thought of Cassidy in terms of how awful she had been. It had never occurred to her to look deeper and see more. Of course, she was pretty sure Cassidy had never looked more deeply at her, either. And now she never would.

  There was a feeling of loss that came with that realization that surprised Mel. She’d never wanted to be friends with Cassidy. She’d never wanted to be in her life. But now, any possibility between them for a better understanding of each other was gone. That was a loss.

  Mel glanced at the worktable. She could tell already that she was going to be too tired to make the flowers. This would have to wait until tomorrow but she could get the white fondant on over the buttercream. She had done so many of these at this point in her career that she could pop them out pretty quickly.

  She began to roll out the white fondant, when there was a knock on the back door. It was three sharp raps and she felt herself jump. If it was one of her people, they would have used their keys. She peered at the door.

  “Mel, it’s me, Tucker.” Relief surged through her. “Sorry to bother you, but I think I left my sunglasses in the bakery. They’re prescription, otherwise I’d let them go.”

  “Hang on, I’m coming,” Mel called.

  She stripped off her gloves and wiped her hands on her apron. She moved toward the door. Poor Tucker, he was having a hell of a night. He couldn’t manage to leave the city and go home. She had her hand on the knob and the deadbolt. She was just turning the lock when she stopped.

  Tucker. Tucker was there. He could tell you. Danny’s words from earlier flitted into her mind. Tucker had been at the rehearsal dinner when everyone found out that Cassidy had manipulated Danny into marrying her instead of pursuing his interest in Megan. Tucker had been the one in high school, always with the camera, always on the fringe, always in love with Cassidy.

  But it made no sense. Tucker didn’t wear lipstick, red or otherwise. He didn’t have anything to gain by killing Cassidy. And yet, Mel couldn’t deny that the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Something felt weird about this. She needed to stall him.

  “Just a sec, Tucker,” she said. “I forgot to deactivate the alarm. I’ll be right back.”

  She heard him say something, but it was a mutter she couldn’t decipher, and with her heart racing and the blood pounding in her ears, she could barely think, never mind listen. She needed to talk to her uncle Stan about Megan. She needed to know if it was her lipstick and whether she had been the one to write on the bathroom wall.

  She hurried to her office to grab her phone and slid it into her pocket. She stepped back into the kitchen and saw Tucker’s face peering through a window by the back door. His face was pinched as he squinted into the room.

  Mel felt her adrenaline spike and she thought she might pass out. Every instinct inside of her was telling her to flee. She had to get out of there. She forced her lips to turn into a smile and she held up one finger. Then she gestured in a crazy pantomime that she was going into the front to deactivate the alarm, which was hilarious because while they had a security camera, they didn’t have an alarm system, just like they didn’t have a panic button—­both of which she planned to rectify if she managed to survive this day. Tucker stared at her for a moment and then gave her a thumbs-­up.

  Mel swallowed. It went down hard and for a second she thought she was going to choke on her own spit. She hurried into the front of the shop and glanced at the table where they’d been sitting. There were no sunglasses there. She and Marty would have found them when they cleaned up. Her only way out was to slip out the front door while Tucker waited.

  Mel thought about calling Joe for help, but she knew she needed to get out of there first. As soon as she was away from the bakery, she would call. She unlocked the front door with shaking fingers. She dashed outside, slamming right into the shorter form of Tucker Booth.

  “Mel, really,” he said. He grabbed her by the upper arm in a hold that hurt. “Where exactly do you think you’re going? The alarm is inside, isn’t it?”

  “I thought I heard a noise out here,” she lied. She glanced around the street. It was empty at this hour; the tourist shopping for the day was
done and people were off eating and drinking. The nearest restaurant couldn’t be seen from the patio of the bakery. Damn it.

  “Don’t lie to me!” Tucker shook her. He looked crazy mad and she would have broken his hold and run but in his other hand he had a gun. “Back inside.”

  Mel thought about resisting. He released the safety and held the handgun and pressed it right under her jaw.

  “Don’t even think it.”

  “Okay,” Mel said. Her voice was tight because the gun forced her jaw into a weird angle. Tucker was digging the metal barrel into her flesh and she knew there would be bruises tomorrow, assuming she survived. He pushed her backwards over the doorjamb and into the bakery, where he kicked the door shut and let go of her arm only long enough to turn the lock.

  “Sit down,” he ordered.

  Mel slid into a seat at one of the café tables. She tried to casually slide her hand into her pocket so she could do something with her phone. She was not casual enough.

  “Keep your hands on the table,” he snapped.

  Mel put her hands flat on the surface. She was annoyed to see that they were shaking, that her breath was short, and that her heart was pounding so hard in her chest it felt like it was trying to punch its way out. She was pretty sure she was having an anxiety attack. She tried to slow her breathing. She had to be calm. She had to convince Tucker they were on the same side.

  “Tucker, we’re friends,” she said.

  “No, we’re not,” he spat. “You, your friends, you’re all losers.”

  Mel blinked. The vitriol was a bit of a surprise. He sounded as if he hated all of them. It grounded her. He could say whatever he liked about her, but her friends were sacred. She took a steadying breath. She pushed down on the table, getting centered.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. “What do you want from me?”

  Tucker paced the shop. He looked behind the counter and peeked into the kitchen. Mel tried to calculate the distance to the door. He’d shoot her before she made it out. Then he’d likely make it look like a robbery.

  He came back to the table and stared at her. “You ruined everything.”

  Mel frowned. “How?”

  He just stared at her and Mel was certain she saw him thinking, plotting, planning. The lack of warmth in his eyes made her shiver. She knew in that moment that as far as Tucker Booth was concerned she was collateral damage.

  Panic was trying to claw its way up her throat. She swallowed it down. It went with a fight and she thought she might throw up. She pushed that down, too. If he was planning to harm her, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. She wasn’t going to give up her life or all that it meant to her because of this jerk.

  “You killed Cassidy,” she said.

  “I didn’t!” he argued. “It was Megan. I would never harm Cassidy.”

  Mel looked at the gun. This made no sense. If it was Megan, then why was he holding a gun on her? Unless . . .

  “It wasn’t Megan,” Mel said. “It was you, but Cassidy wasn’t your target, was she? You knew about them.”

  He tipped his head to the side as if he didn’t understand. He was a terrible actor. “What?”

  “Megan and Dan,” she said. “You knew they were having an affair.”

  His face, which had looked tight to begin with, became a mottled shade of red and Mel wondered if he was going to shoot her just for saying their names.

  “Dan didn’t deserve her,” he said. “She was never happy with him and then he cheated on her with her best friend. Disgusting. I could have made Cassidy happy. She should have married me.”

  “How did you find out?” Mel asked.

  “I saw them,” he said. “Dan was in LA, doing his sportscaster thing, and I went to see him after the game to see if he wanted to grab a beer. Well, Megan was there. I saw them together. They were clearly a couple, and I knew it was going to break Cassidy’s heart.”

  “So, you decided to kill Megan?” Mel asked. “To spare Cassidy’s feelings?”

  “No! I wanted to help Cassidy get out,” he said. “I thought if I made it look like Megan committed suicide, because her lover wouldn’t leave his wife for her, then Cassidy would finally reject Dan for cheating on her with her best friend, and then I could be there to give Cassidy the life she deserved.”

  It clicked with Mel then. Tucker wanted to be Cassidy’s hero. And how could he be that? He could get rid of the woman who was going to cause the end of her marriage and then step in.

  “You tried to poison Megan,” Mel said. “But Cassidy got the poison by mistake, is that right?”

  Tucker raised his free hand and grabbed a tuft of his own hair. He tugged on it as if he could release some of his frustration that way.

  “Megan wasn’t drinking,” he said. “How was I supposed to know that? I slipped the cyanide into Megan’s drink when no one was looking and then I left the group, so I wasn’t with her when the poison hit, but Megan gave her drink to Cassidy. Why? Why would she do that?”

  Mel knew why, because Megan was pregnant. She didn’t say anything. If Tucker didn’t know, that news would set him off and she didn’t want to deal with the ramifications of that.

  He looked distraught and Mel didn’t know how to play it, whether to placate him about how it wasn’t his fault or berate him for killing the woman he obviously still loved. She opted for silence and hoped he would keep talking. He did.

  “When I found Cassidy in the ladies’ room with the empty glass beside her and realized what had happened, I knew there was only one other way to punish Megan for her betrayal. I went back out to the party and took her lipstick. Then I ducked back into the women’s room and wrote your name, or started to, and pressed the lipstick into Cassidy’s hand,” he said.

  “But that made it look like I was the killer,” Mel said, outraged. “How was that repaying Megan?”

  “Because I knew the cops would figure out that the lipstick was Megan’s and then they would deduce that she was trying to make it look like it was you when it was really her,” he said. “I’d already taken the photo of her glaring at Dan and Cassidy. My original plan had been to use that photo to prove that Megan had taken her own life because she was so distraught that Dan and Cassidy were still married and Dan was never going to leave Cassidy for her. But she messed it all up, so I decided the best way to make Megan pay would be to see her charged with murder. It was perfect. You would be dragged through the mud but Megan would pay the ultimate price. Cassidy would have been so pleased.”

  A bittersweet smile twisted his lips and Mel felt the full force of his crazy eyes as they bore into hers. Her skin crawled. He was completely insane.

  “Unfortunately, your uncle Stan asked for the fingerprints of anyone who’d been near Cassidy that night. I can only surmise that one of my fingerprints was left on the lipstick,” he said. He began to pace, never taking his eyes off Mel. It was clear he’d thought and thought and thought about the case and it was making him paranoid. “In my haste to get out of the ladies’ room, I didn’t get to wipe it down before pressing it into Cassidy’s hand.”

  Mel felt her heart sink. She had a feeling she knew where he was going with this.

  “If and when they do identify the print, I’ll simply say I saw the lipstick on our table and assumed it was Cassidy’s and gave it to her,” he said. “That will explain why she had a lipstick that wasn’t hers when she went to the bathroom to write another ode to her longtime enemy.”

  Mel swallowed. She didn’t want to hear the rest. She knew what he was planning. It was so obvious. He was going to make her look like the murderer. Oh, man, how did she get into these things and how was she going to get out?

  “It’s too bad you walked in on Cassidy writing mean things about you,” he said. “Of course, you’d been planning all along to poison Cassidy at the reunion, but when you caught her in the bat
hroom you decided to do her in right then and there using her drink to poison her since putting it in her cupcake would lead the police right to you.”

  “No one is going to believe that I killed Cassidy,” Mel said. “I already passed a lie detector test just to prove it.”

  Tucker stared at her. “Lie detectors aren’t completely accurate. Besides, you’re going to write a suicide note expressing your guilt right before you drink some of the same poison you gave Cassidy.”

  He held up a small glass vial filled with a pale blue powder. Then he smiled. It was the creepiest look Mel had ever seen and it made her skin crawl.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “I design webpages for corporations,” he said. “One of my clients is a pharmaceutical company. They gave me access to all of their labs full of drugs while I was there to take pictures and shoot video. I knew this”—­he shook the vial—­“would come in handy one day.”

  “You can’t make me take that,” Mel said. “You’re going to have to shoot me, because I will never confess to a crime I didn’t commit.”

  Nineteen

  “Yes, you will,” he said. “Because if you don’t, I’ll just shoot you and write the note myself, making it look like you used a gun to kill yourself instead.”

  Mel felt woozy. This could not be happening. Either way, she was going to die. She had no way out. If she didn’t do as he said, he would shoot her, and if she did do as he said, she’d be participating in her own murder. Why had she decided to stay late tonight? Why?

  “Get up,” Tucker said. He pocketed the poison. “We’ll stage this in your office.”

  She didn’t move fast enough and he hauled Mel to her feet. She was so terrified she’d forgotten how to walk. A hard shove to her back got her moving. She staggered forward, wondering if she could fight him. If she hit him with a hard elbow to the throat, would that do it?

  Crash!