“Agreed.”
The back door opened, and everyone turned as Detective Martinez glanced around, scanning the room until he found Mel.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said.
“Out here,” he said.
“Oh, okay,” Mel agreed.
She really didn’t want to log more time in the alley with Sam’s body, but then she felt horrible for even thinking that. The poor man was dead. She blew out a breath and strode out the door.
“Come on,” Martinez said. He led the way up to her apartment. “We can talk up here if that’s easier for you.”
“Thanks,” Mel said. She unlocked the door with the keys she had shoved into her pocket and pushed it open.
Captain Jack flew out from behind her futon and scaled Martinez’s neatly pressed khakis like he was Jack’s own personal palm tree.
“Jack!” Mel said. She reached out for him, but Martinez had already unhooked him from his pants and was cradling him like a football.
“It’s all right,” he said. “He’s an excellent watch cat.”
“Hmm,” Mel said. She did a quick scan of her apartment, relieved that she’d made up the futon and that it was tidy—not up to her mother’s standards, of course, but still pretty good for her.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked.
“No, thanks,” he said. “Why don’t you sit down before you fall down?”
Mel nodded and took a seat on her futon. There were no other chairs in the room, so Martinez sat beside her. Not too close, but close enough that she got the faint whiff of his aftershave.
She knew from their previous acquaintance that he had a weakness for lemon cupcakes, so she wasn’t surprised at the scent of citrus that came off of him. Judging by the way Captain Jack sprawled in his lap, Jack liked it, too.
“Can you tell me what happened this morning, exactly as it happened?” he asked.
It wasn’t a long story to tell, and Mel made quick work of it. Her voice only cracked a little as she recounted finding Sam’s body.
Martinez made few notes. There wasn’t much Mel was telling him that was terribly helpful. He frowned and asked her why Sam and the others were here at the bakery.
Mel blew out a breath and explained about the disaster of a photo shoot—Martinez’s lips twitched in response, but he didn’t interrupt—and how she and Angie had agreed to the boot camp as compensation for the money lost on the shoot.
He asked a lot of questions about Sam. Mel told him as much as she could.
“I’m sorry I don’t have more information,” Mel said. “I only knew him for one day.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “You’ve given me some excellent starting points for when I question the rest of the SWS employees.”
“He was murdered, wasn’t he?” she asked.
“At first glance, I’d say so,” he said. “The back of his skull was crushed. There’s no sign of a weapon yet. If it was a hit-and-run from a car, he’d have been in the street and there’d have been damage done to his body. This looks to be a single blow to the head, a deadly one.”
Mel stared at the floor. How could such a thing have happened, and right below her apartment?
“I didn’t hear anything,” she said. “Shouldn’t I have heard something?”
“Were you on pain meds for the eye last night?” he asked.
Mel nodded.
“Then a train could have rumbled through here and you wouldn’t have heard it,” he said.
“Damn,” Mel sighed. “Of all the nights to sleep like the dead.”
“Nice.” Martinez looked at her.
“Oh, sorry, bad choice of words.” Mel shook her head, which made her eye throb.
“About your eye, how exactly did that happen?” Martinez asked.
“Ugh, it’s embarrassing,” she said.
“For you?” he asked. “This has to be good.”
“No, it’s just stupid,” she said. “Amy Pierson and Brigit MacLeod were having a scuffle over some crack Amy had made about Brigit. They do not get along at all, by the way, and I stepped in right when Amy took a swing at Brigit, and POW!”
“I’ll say,” he said. “She clocked you good.”
He leaned close to her and studied the lump. Mel heard herself swallow and wondered if he did, too. If he did, he didn’t show it. Instead, he very gently used the tips of his fingers to move the hair she’d brushed over her eye back from her face. Then he cupped her chin with one hand and tilted her head so he could see the injury in the light.
“Did you go to the doctor?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“No fracture?”
“No, he said it’d be normal in a week or two,” she said.
“What did your boyfriend have to say about it?” he asked.
He leaned back a smidge to meet her gaze, but he was still within extremely close proximity, and Mel was finding it hard to keep her thoughts focused on anything other than the heat he was generating, the feel of his callused fingers against her skin, and the incredible length of his long black eyelashes.
“Uh . . .” she stammered.
“You still have a boyfriend, don’t you?” he asked.
“No . . . I mean . . . yes,” she said. Good grief, she had almost told him that she had a fiancé not a boyfriend. Cripes, she hadn’t even told her mother yet.
Martinez gave her a slow smile, as if pleased with her indecisiveness.
“I’m still with Joe,” she said. She was pleased that her voice sounded nice and firm.
“I’d be disappointed if you weren’t,” he said.
Okaaaaay, now she was confused.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Martinez rose from the couch after giving Jack one last scratch beneath his chin, which elicited much purring.
“I mean I’d be disappointed in him if he let you go,” he said. “You’re the kind of girl a guy spends his life looking for.”
Mel blew out a surprised laugh as she rose to stand as well. Now she knew he was teasing her.
“Yeah, right,” she said. “As if a guy like you would give me the time of day.”
He crossed to the door and she noticed his silhouette, backlit by the window, was a solid mass of muscle. She did not think there was even an ounce of fat on Detective Martinez.
“Oh, I’d give you the time of day,” he said. Then he winked at her and added, “And night.”
Twelve
Mel felt her face get scorching hot, which had to look spectacular with her black eye. She could not believe the man was flirting with her now. Then she realized that he was probably doing it on purpose to distract her from the horror of the morning. She gave him a small smile.
“You’re trying to keep me from freaking out about Sam, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Is it working?” he countered.
“A bit,” she said.
“Good,” he said. “But just so we’re clear, I meant what I said.”
“Oh.”
He smiled again and, feeling completely flustered, she snatched up an afghan from the futon and began refolding it even though it had been perfectly neat already.
“I’m sure Stan will want to talk to you after we’re done with the crime scene,” he said. He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a small white card. “My contact info is on here. Call me or Stan if you think of anything else, even if it doesn’t seem important.”
Mel took the card and glanced down at the stiff white paper with the embossed Scottsdale city emblem on it. It read Detective Martinez and listed several phone numbers and an e-mail address. She frowned.
“What is your first name?” she asked. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me.”
He grinned at her. “You’re a smart girl. Figure it out.”
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
The rest of the day dragged, as one by one the boot campers were questioned by Stan and Marti
nez. Amy was petulant, resenting the fact that Brigit and Hannigan seemed to have put aside their differences in the wake of their friend’s murder. Although they didn’t speak, Brigit and Hannigan sat together, not touching but each seemingly taking comfort from the other’s presence.
Bonnie baked cupcakes while she cried, and Mel let her use the kitchen to channel her grief into some semblance of productivity. Justin looked shaken, and Angie had to take his fourth cup of coffee away from him because his shaky fingers made him look like he was having a seizure. Sylvia was morose, occasionally wiping away a tear, but otherwise she seemed to have closed in on herself, hugging her grief to her chest like a life preserver.
Mel watched them all as if she were attending a play. She felt removed from them and what they were feeling. They had a history that she knew nothing about. She didn’t know about their relationships, their friendships, their enmity or their rivalries—well, except for Amy, who seemed to be disliked by everyone except Hannigan.
As she watched them, she couldn’t help but wonder if one of them had been responsible for Sam’s death. It made the marrow in her bones chill to think that a murderer could be among them. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder: Did someone in this group have a reason to kill Sam? And if so, who was it and why?
“This is ridiculous!” Amy said. She’d taken to pacing the length of the kitchen, clacking back and forth in her spiky heels. “We’re being held prisoner here.”
“We have to help with the investigation in any way that we can,” Hannigan said. His voice was controlled, not letting any emotion spill into it.
Brigit nodded in agreement.
“But who . . . how?” Bonnie blubbered the question that was weighing on them all. “I mean Sam was . . .”
Whatever she’d been about to say was lost as sobs wracked her body. Justin stood up and pulled her close, letting her soak his shirtfront with tears as he patted her back.
“It had to have been a mugging gone wrong,” Brigit said. “Sam always got everywhere early. He must have surprised a criminal trying to break in and was killed for it.”
“There was no sign of any attempt to break in,” Angie said. “And he had his watch and wallet on him.”
Brigit looked about to protest, but Mel added, “Why would anyone break into a cupcake bakery when there are art galleries and jewelry shops all around us? It doesn’t make sense.”
“But then . . .” Bonnie lifted her head from Justin’s shirt and sniffed. “Who would have killed Sam? I mean, do you think he had an enemy?”
The room went still. Mel hadn’t known Sam personally, but she really didn’t think his skull had been crushed by a stranger. She did not, however, know how to say it tactfully.
Luckily, Justin finessed the situation with well-spoken truths.
“Sam was a polarizing personality,” he said. “People generally either loved him or hated him.”
Bonnie looked about to protest, but Justin just tilted his head and said, “Just because you’re one of the ones who loved him don’t discount the fact that not everyone did.”
Bonnie nodded and sank into a seat at the table.
The back door opened and Detective Martinez and Uncle Stan strode in. As a veteran on the force, Uncle Stan always had a new partner. She noticed that he seemed more at ease with Martinez than he usually was with his trainees. She figured it was because Martinez had experience in another city. Either way, they seemed to have a good rapport and, since Uncle Stan was getting up there in years, it made Mel feel better that he had a partner who was more his equal.
“Excuse me, folks,” Uncle Stan addressed the group. “I want to thank you for your cooperation. Please understand this will be an ongoing investigation, and my partner and I will be in touch with many of you when we have more questions, but for now, you’re free to go.”
“Well, it’s about time!” Amy shouldered her way past the rest of them towards the kitchen door.
“Amy, wait!” Hannigan ordered. “We need to make a decision about the gala this weekend. We still have a commitment to bake one thousand cupcakes.”
“You can’t be serious!” Amy huffed. “I don’t ever want to come back to this crappy little bakery again.”
Angie growled low in her throat, and Mel put her hand on her arm. “This isn’t about us.”
Angie blew out a breath and visibly shook off her ire.
“We have to do this,” Ian said. “Sam would have wanted us to.”
“That’s bull!” Amy argued. “Sam hated this almost as much as I did—maybe more. He thought it was a complete waste of time. You heard him say so!”
The last was directed at Mel, who said nothing. This wasn’t her decision or her argument.
“Things are different now,” Brigit said. “We will all be here tomorrow, every one of us, and we will bake those damn cupcakes in Sam’s honor, and he will be remembered at the gala for being the brilliant journalist that he was.”
Brigit’s voice broke on the word brilliant, and Hannigan reached out to put his hand on her shoulder, but he never made contact, pulling his hand away at the last second.
“Anyone who doesn’t show can consider their career at SWS over,” Brigit said. “Understood?”
Amy glowered, but with a stiff nod she turned and stormed out of the room.
“Go,” Brigit said to the others. “It’s been a hell of day.”
Justin, Sylvia, and Bonnie left the kitchen in Amy’s wake.
“Do you think this is a good idea, Brigit?” Hannigan asked. “I’d be willing to hire someone to finish the cupcakes for the gala.”
“No, it has to be this way,” she said.
“Why?” Hannigan asked.
“Because we may have a murderer in our midst, and I for one want them caught,” Brigit said.
With that, she draped the handles of her purse on her forearm and strode from the kitchen. After a moment’s pause, Hannigan followed her.
Uncle Stan and Martinez exchanged a glance.
“Do you think she counts herself in that statement?” Angie asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Uncle Stan said. “We do.”
Angie went to lock the front door behind the boot campers while Mel walked Uncle Stan and Detective Martinez to the back door.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t stay here tonight,” Uncle Stan said.
“Don’t worry,” Mel said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Melanie,” he said in his stern detective voice, “I don’t want to have to call your mother.”
“Uncle Stan, are you threatening me?” she asked.
“Threaten is such a harsh word. I’d prefer coerce,” he said.
“Oh, yeah, that term gives me the warm fuzzies,” she retorted.
“Stay somewhere else,” he said. “Just for tonight.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll call you later and let you know where I land.”
“Thank you,” he said. He planted a smacking kiss on her forehead and headed down the stairs to the alley.
“Good call,” Martinez said. “He’d worry about you otherwise.”
“I know,” she said.
He smiled at her.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said. Mel didn’t believe him, but he gave her no chance to question him when he said, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, see you tomorrow—Eddie?” she asked.
He gave a surprised laugh and then grinned at her.
“No, Eddie Martinez is my drunken cousin who has nose-hair issues. Nice try, though.”
“I’m going to figure it out,” she said through a laugh. “Just you wait.”
“I’ve got nothing but time,” he said. He looked like he was going to say more, but instead he turned and headed down the steps. “See ya.”
“Bye,” Mel said, and she watched him follow Uncle Stan around the side of the building.
“So, what is up with tall, dark, and surly?” Angie asked as she stepped outside to join M
el.
“I wouldn’t call him surly exactly,” she said.
“Really? Because when he brought you in for questioning a few months ago, charm did not seem to be his most memorable quality.”
“He’s different when he’s not about to arrest your mother,” Mel said.
“Good to know,” Angie said. “Listen, there has been no word from Tate in response to my texts or messages. Should we call his office?”
“Yes, his secretary always knows where he is,” Mel said. “It’s like she has GPS on him.”
Angie pulled out her phone and hit Tate’s name in her contacts file. She put the phone to her ear and waited while it rang.
“Hi, Mrs. Gurney, this is Angie, is Tate in by any chance?”
There was a pause, but Mel could distinctly hear Mrs. Gurney sounding very upset on the other end of the line.
“Wait, I’m sorry. I can’t understand you,” Angie said. She gave Mel an alarmed look. “No, I didn’t know. He what? Are you sure?”
There were more sounds of hysteria on the line.
“It will be all right, Mrs. Gurney,” Angie said. “Yes, Mel and I will talk to him. We’ll find out what’s happening. Don’t worry.”
“What’s going on?” Mel asked as Angie ended the call.
Angie looked at Mel, her brown eyes wide and her jaw a bit slack. “Tate quit his job.”
Thirteen
“What?” Mel gasped. “No, you must have misheard.”
“Believe me, that is highly probable given the amount of blubbering Mrs. Gurney was doing, but she was very clear when she said that she came in the this morning to find he had packed up his stuff and was gone. The only thing he left behind was a present for her, diamond earrings, and a note thanking her for her years of service.”
“Is she out of a job?” Mel asked.
“No, she said she’ll be transferred to someone else, but that made her cry even harder, since she loved Tate like a son.”
Mel looked at her, and Angie shrugged. “That’s what she said.”
“Did he mention quitting to you?” she asked.
Going, Going, Ganache Page 8
