“I think I owe you an apology,” he said. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble between you and your friend.”
He looked genuinely regretful, and she was grateful.
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “Things are just—complicated.”
“How complicated?” he asked, taking a step towards her.
Mel stopped breathing. She had to look up to meet his gaze, and she felt dizzy, with him standing within inches of her. This was bad. This was very bad.
“Very complicated,” she whispered, afraid to move or even stir the air around them and invite more trouble than she could handle.
Martinez reached out and cupped her chin. His black eyes searched her face as if trying to read her beneath the surface. Mel felt her heart rate kick up into a zone where she was pretty sure people stroked out from sensory overload.
“If you are not engaged, go out with me,” he said. “If you are engaged, reconsider.”
His mouth was just inches from hers, and Mel could tell he was about to kiss her. She knew she should step away. She knew it, and yet she didn’t move.
“Hey, Martinez, your interviewees are done with their written statements!”
The office door slammed open and Marty stood there. He took them in at a glance, crossed his arms over his chest, and didn’t budge.
Even though nothing had happened, Mel wanted to whither like an autumn leaf and blow away on the wind. Martinez, however, was not even fazed.
“Think about what I said.” He let go of her face and stepped around Marty and out of the office.
Marty watched him go and then whipped around to look at Mel. She held up her hand, and said, “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh, yes, it is,” he said. “The detective quite obviously has a thing for the cupcake baker.”
“Ugh.” Mel put her hands over her face. “What am I going to do?”
“What do you want to do?” Marty asked.
“Nothing!” Mel protested. “I don’t want to do anything!”
“If you didn’t want to do anything,” he said in a reasonable tone, “then you wouldn’t have been in here alone with him to begin with.”
“Don’t you have some place to be?” Mel asked.
She was afraid her legs were going to give out, so she circled her desk and sat in her chair. She put her head down on the one spot of her desk that wasn’t buried in stuff.
“Mel, listen to me.” Marty’s voice lost its usual gruff edge. “It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t,” she said. “It is definitely not okay.”
“Look at me,” Marty ordered.
Mel raised her head but only because she knew he wouldn’t go away if she didn’t. Marty ran a hand over his bald dome. He seemed to be picking his words very carefully, which caught her attention. Marty grumbled more than he talked, so if he was making an effort, she owed it to him to pay attention.
“I had one.” He held up his right index finger as he spoke. “One great love, and I married her.”
Mel gave him a small smile. Despite Marty’s lothario way with the ladies, she knew that he had loved his late wife totally and completely.
“I know,” she said. “You got lucky.”
“No,” he said. “I listened to this.” He tapped his heart with the same finger he’d been holding up. “You should, too. It won’t lie to you.”
“But I’m so confused,” Mel said. “I’ve loved Joe since I was twelve years old.”
Marty gave her a small smile, and said, “But you’re not twelve anymore.”
“No,” she agreed.
“Mel, whatever you’re feeling, it’s right,” he said.
She blew out a breath. “I don’t know what I’m feeling. Should it be this complicated?”
“It isn’t,” he said, “if you’re brave enough to look down deep.”
“Ugh,” Mel groaned.
“You don’t want to be them,” Marty said, and he jerked a thumb at the open door. “I mean, look at Hannigan. He stayed with a woman he didn’t love and lost the love of his life. And Kelleher, he stayed by the woman he loved, but she never loved him. You don’t want that.”
“What do you mean about Kelleher?” Mel asked.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Marty asked. “He was a grade-A journalist working on a glorified tabloid. Why?”
“Because newspapers are dying?” Mel asked.
“No, because he was in love with Brigit, and he wanted to be near her any way he could,” he said.
“How do you know this?” she asked. “Did he say that?”
“He didn’t have to,” Marty said. “It was obvious every time he looked at her.”
“Do you think Hannigan knew?” she asked.
“Yes, and I think it drove him crazy. Otherwise why would he have bought the magazine?” Marty asked.
“What about Brigit?” Mel asked. “Do you think she knew?”
“That both men were in love with her?” Marty asked. “Hard to say. She’s not as easy to read.”
“You know what this means?” Mel asked.
Marty shook his head.
“It means Hannigan could be the murderer,” she said.
“I did not say that!” Marty protested.
“Yes, you did.”
“Nuh-uh,” he said. “We were talking about relationships, and I merely pointed out that some people make the wrong choice and have to live with it and it sucks.”
“But think about it: We thought that Hannigan might have killed Sam because he helped Brigit exposé his wife’s family, but what if it’s more than that?” Mel asked. “What if it was a crime of passion?”
“Do you really think that, after all of these years, he decided now was the time to kill his rival?” Marty asked.
“Maybe it was an accident,” she said. “Maybe he thought he could handle working in close proximity to them, but then he couldn’t and he just snapped.”
“Who snapped?” a voice asked from the open door.
Marty and Mel both jumped and turned to find Brigit in the doorway. She was looking at them with one eyebrow raised in question.
“A customer,” Marty said quickly. He turned back to Mel, and said, “Don’t go looking for trouble to keep yourself distracted from what you need to be thinking about—if you get my meaning.”
“Yeah, I get it,” she said.
“Excellent,” he said. “Well, I’m off for the day. Call me if you need to, you know, talk.”
He was so charmingly awkward when he offered that, Mel rose from her seat and crossed the small room to kiss his cheek.
He turned such a vibrant shade of flustered old-man pink that Mel had to laugh. He let out a grumble and stepped around Brigit to leave.
“Bonnie said if we’re going to stay on task, we need to get baking,” Brigit said.
“She’s right,” Mel said. She went to leave the little room, too, but Brigit held her back with a hand.
“What were you really talking about?” she asked.
Mel knew they hadn’t fooled her. She wasn’t surprised. She could see the others gathering in the kitchen, and she gave Brigit a level look.
“We were trying to decide if Hannigan still loved you enough to murder for you.”
Twenty-one
Brigit stared at her for a second and then tipped her head back and laughed. Surprisingly, she did not laugh without humor but rather as if Mel had just said the funniest thing she’d ever heard.
“Sorry,” Brigit panted after a moment. She wiped at her eyes, and then said, “But I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”
“I take it you think we’re off base,” Mel said.
“Off base, honey? You’re not even playing in the right ball game,” Brigit said. “Hannigan loathes me.”
“Loathing is a pretty intense emotion,” Mel said. “Kind of the flip side of love, isn’t it?”
“Mel!” Bonnie called from the kitchen. “We’ve got to kick this into high gear if we�
�re going to be ready by the gala.”
“We’re on our way,” Mel said. “Brigit, I have to ask: Were you and Sam lovers?”
“That’s none of your business,” Brigit said, not meeting her eyes, which Mel took to mean yes.
She followed Brigit out to the kitchen, where Angie and Bonnie were directing Justin and Sylvia in their cupcake-baking factory line. About halfway through the first batch, Hannigan and Amy arrived.
His face was set in stern lines, and she looked subdued, as if she’d been forced at gunpoint to come back, which Mel suspected wasn’t far off the mark.
Amy didn’t apologize for her behavior; she merely set to work, keeping her head down. Mel would have felt sorry for her if she weren’t such a nasty person.
It was not a pleasant afternoon, with Amy actively avoiding everyone, Hannigan and Brigit studiously ignoring each other, and Mel and Angie not yet back on friendly terms, either.
Mel could tell that Angie was still mad at her over the Tate situation, which she thought was unfair, but her own guilt at not telling Angie about her engagement kept her from pursuing the matter. Instead, she chose to focus on Hannigan.
He was a self-made gazillionaire. He did not have to be here, and yet he was. Why? Mel could think of no other reason than the unresolved feelings he had for Brigit, whether it was rage that she had caused his wife’s death, or the desire to have her back, she didn’t know. The man gave nothing away.
They worked through the dinner hour until Bonnie and Mel did a quick count of the cupcakes and gave everyone the all-clear to go home.
Mel was just swabbing down the kitchen when Uncle Stan and Detective Martinez appeared at the back door.
“We’re breaking down the crime scene, Mel,” Uncle Stan said. “This should clear out the gawkers.”
“Thanks,” she said.
Uncle Stan made his way to the coffeepot and poured both himself and Martinez a cup. Mel shook her head when he asked if she wanted one. She was so tired from sleeping poorly at Joe’s that she just wanted to climb upstairs to her apartment and sleep for a solid twelve.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. Given that it was already after eight and she had to be up at six, it didn’t seem likely.
“Any luck finding the murder weapon?” she asked.
Uncle Stan and Martinez took seats at the steel table, shifting when Mel moved around them to clean. She noticed that Martinez barely moved when she scoured the tabletop, bringing them into dangerously close proximity. She had tried not to think about him all day, but having him here made it virtually impossible.
“No luck yet,” Uncle Stan said. “How did boot camp go?”
“If by that you mean, did someone spill their guts and confess to Sam’s murder?” Mel asked. “No.”
For a nanosecond both Martinez and Stan had looked hopeful.
“Did you find out anything about the staff that is suspicious?” Mel asked them.
Martinez exchanged a look with Uncle Stan, and Mel knew they were silently trying to decide what to tell her.
“Oh, come on,” she said. “I’m with them every day. I see stuff.”
Uncle Stan gave a small nod. “Fair enough. The most interesting fact so far is that Amy Pierson’s the only one without an alibi for the night Sam was murdered. Bonnie was shopping with her husband, Justin was at an art opening with his partner, Sylvia was at a dinner at Bruno Casio’s.”
“Is that a restaurant?” Mel asked.
“No, he’s a pompous windbag, who throws extravagant dinner parties every week for the fashionista set,” he said. Mel could tell by the curl of his lip that he hadn’t taken to Bruno.
“Brigit and Hannigan were wining and dining some resort big wigs to get them to advertise in the magazine,” Martinez concluded
Mel sat down with a thump. The back door opened, and in strode Joe, carrying Captain Jack in one arm.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Uncle Stan said as he stood and shook hands with Joe.
“More accurate than you know,” Joe said.
He went to hand the cat to Mel, but Martinez rose from his seat and intercepted the cat.
“Hey, how ya doin’, big fella?” he crooned and Jack purred his approval. “Remember me?”
“You’ve met Captain Jack?” Joe asked, frowning.
“Yeah, when I was up in Mel’s apartment,” he said.
Uncle Stan’s head whipped between the two men, and Mel knew it wasn’t just her who felt the rise in the testosterone level in the room. She scooped her cat out of Martinez’s arms and glared at him. He was baiting Joe on purpose, and she did not approve.
“They met when he was questioning me about finding Sam’s body,” Mel said.
“Oh, and how is that investigation going?” Joe asked. He sounded perfectly polite, but Mel suspected that it was a dig at their lack of a lead. She noticed that both Uncle Stan and Martinez looked grumpy at the question.
“It’s going,” Uncle Stan said. “If you hear anything of note, let us know, Mel.”
He stood and drained his coffee cup in a couple of swallows. Martinez did the same. Uncle Stan kissed Mel’s cheek on the way out, and Martinez stopped in front of her to scratch Jack under the chin.
“See you tomorrow,” he said.
Mel closed the door after them, feeling as if there was more to what Martinez was saying than what he’d actually said and wondering if anyone else had heard it.
She turned to face Joe and found him studying her as if trying to figure something out. Yep, he’d heard it, too.
“I don’t like this,” he said.
“Like what?” Mel asked.
“You working so closely with—” He paused as Mel moved around him, checking to make sure that everything in the kitchen, including the coffeepot, was shut off for the night.
“With?” she asked as she crossed to the back door and opened it.
Joe shut off the last light, and Mel watched him step past her onto the landing. His face was backlit by the streetlights in the parking lot across the alley, and she couldn’t read his expression.
“With all of these murder suspects,” he said.
Mel felt relief sweep through her that he hadn’t said Martinez.
“Since the magazine people decided to go through with the boot camp, I don’t have much choice.”
“I’m really surprised that Stan is okay with it.”
“I think he’s feeling a bit desperate,” she said as she led the way up the stairs.
Jack purred, and Mel could tell he was happy to be coming home. She opened the door, and he leapt from her arms and scampered across the room.
Mel switched on the light and went to see what she had to offer for dinner, when Joe grabbed her hand and stopped her.
“Mel, what’s going on?” he asked. “There’s something more bothering you than the murder, isn’t there?”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but she knew it would be a lie. She didn’t want to lie to Joe ever, but she wasn’t exactly clear on what she was feeling either.
“We found Tate,” she said.
He held her gaze for a moment, and Mel was pretty sure he saw the swirling vortex of doubt inside of her, and then he nodded as if he was telling her he knew there was something else and that he knew she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.
“How is he?” he asked, letting her go.
“He quit his job, he’s moved out of his apartment, we found him hanging out in the park, and now he’s working for me,” she said. She opened the freezer and found a frozen pizza. She held it up, and Joe nodded.
“Wow, that’s a pretty big life downshift,” he said as he took a seat at the breakfast bar. “Did he say why he’s doing all of this?”
Mel took a bottle of wine out of her wine rack and handed it to Joe, who reached for the corkscrew while she got two glasses out of the cupboard.
“He says it’s because I said he had everything handed to him and that he didn’t know how to earn anyt
hing on his own,” she said.
“Harsh.”
“Well, I said it when we were at the rodeo, and I only meant that he wasn’t going after Angie because she was a challenge and he was chicken. How was I supposed to know he was going to scrap his entire life?”
“No argument here,” he said.
“Now Angie is mad at me, and we’re not exactly on speaking terms,” she said. She unboxed the pizza and slid it into the oven as Joe poured the wine.
She knew she sounded as if she was feeling sorry for herself, and she knew she was, which only made her feel even more lousy. Because Sam Kelleher had been murdered, and she was pretty sure if someone had given him a choice, he’d have chosen to have his best friend not speaking to him instead of being dead.
“Angie will get over it,” Joe said. “It’s probably misdirected anger, and she’s really mad at Tate.”
“I don’t know,” Mel said. “We didn’t speak all day except for one time, and that didn’t go well.”
Joe pushed a glass towards Mel. “Is there anything else you need to tell me?”
Mel felt a hot flush warm her face. She took a sip of wine and studied him over the rim of the glass. She had a moment of panic that he knew that Martinez had pretty much asked her out and told her to rethink her engagement. Should she bring it up or let him do it?
“Are you all right, Cupcake?” He reached out and took her glass away. Mel felt a fuzzy warm glow bloom inside of her and looked down to see that she’d drained the glass.
“Oh. Oops,” she said.
She looked back up and saw his chocolate brown eyes looking at her with such concern that she wished she could just kiss him and make all of the doubts and nonsense she was feeling go away.
“What is it?” he asked. “Just tell me.”
“I don’t want to get married,” she said.
Whatever he had been expecting, that was definitely not it. He blew out a breath, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. He glanced down at the counter, picked up his glass and took a long sip and then put it back down.
“I see,” he said.
“No, you don’t,” she said.
Going, Going, Ganache Page 14
