“I promise,” she said. “Besides, I have Captain Jack with me, and Tate is now living in Oz’s truck in the parking lot, so I feel pretty well covered.”
“I heard about Tate,” he said. “The brothers have heard about him, too.”
“Uh-oh,” Mel said. “Do tell.”
She relaxed back into the cushions. Talking about the brothers with Joe was familiar ground, and she smiled as she pictured Joe sprawled on his couch, debating what to do with his pack of crazy siblings. Joe was the middle of Angie’s seven older brothers, and for all intents and purposes he was the voice of reason amongst them.
“Well, Dom and Sal think he’s certifiable,” Joe said. “Tony and Ray don’t say it out loud, but I think they admire him for walking away from his fortune to prove himself.”
“What about Al and Paulie?” she asked.
“Haven’t heard from them yet,” Joe said. “But I expect there will be a split decision.”
“And what about you?” she asked. “What do you think of what Tate’s doing?”
“I think he’s doing it right,” Joe said. “I think he’s smart to do what he needs to do to make sure he’s ready to be with Angie.”
There was a pause, and then he asked, “Is that why you want to wait on getting married? You want to be sure?”
Mel stifled a groan. They had been doing so well. Why did he have to go and mention the marriage thing?
“Joe—” she began.
“No,” he interrupted her. “Forget I said anything. I’m just trying to understand.”
“I know,” she said. “And I know my not wanting to get married makes no sense to you, but I can’t explain it any other way. I really and truly do not want to get married.”
It came out a little harsher than Mel had intended, and she knew from the weighted silence pulsing between them that she had offended him. Again.
“It’s late,” she said. “I’d better let you go.”
“Yeah, okay,” Joe agreed. “Call me if you need me.”
“I will,” she said. “And the same goes for you.”
Their good nights were stilted, and Mel had a feeling that they were never going to get past this. It made her feel miserable, but she didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t want to lose Joe, but she didn’t want to marry him, either. What a mess.
To distract herself, she pulled another pile of magazines out of the box and began to read. She had a piece of scratch paper and a pen beside her, and every time she came across an article where Sam filleted someone, she wrote the name down.
She knew that both Martinez and Uncle Stan had probably already been down this list, but still, she was working with the staff of the magazine. Maybe she could learn more from them than the police could.
At the very least, it kept her from brooding about the disaster that was now her personal life. Captain Jack stretched his full length and let out a big yawn. She reached over and rubbed his belly, letting his silky-soft white fur twine with her fingers.
“Life is just easier when you’re a cat, huh, fella?” she asked.
He blinked at her, licked a paw, and went back to sleep.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Mel said, and went back to her pile of magazines.
“All right, everyone, we have to have these finished by three o’clock so they can be brought over to the gala,” Mel said. “Other than Bonnie and Justin, who showed us his mad skills at frosting the apple pie cupcakes yesterday, have any of you used a pastry bag before?”
The entire boot camp—minus Amy, who had yet to show—was assembled in the kitchen. Angie and Mel had arrived early and had begun mixing up the last of the frostings.
Brigit and Hannigan were on one side of the table with the last of the pistachio cupcakes in front of them, while Justin and Sylvia were working on the corn cupcakes, and Bonnie had the gluten-free chocolate cupcakes with the ganache icing.
“All right, let me demonstrate the pastry bag,” Mel said. She picked up the one in front of Brigit that was loaded with cream cheese icing. She twisted the bag until icing was packed down at the open tip.
The others watched as she squeezed the bag, keeping the pressure consistent. Starting at the outer edge of the cupcake, she made a perfect swirl of cream cheese frosting, and then placed a slice of fresh fig onto the top of it.
Hannigan was frowning, looking at the pastry bag with the intensity of a bomb technician trying to figure out how to defuse it before it exploded. Brigit looked intrigued.
“My turn,” she declared. She took the bag from Mel and began to squeeze. A great lopsided dollop landed on the top of the cupcake.
“Consistent pressure,” Bonnie said from across the table as she dipped a chocolate cupcake upside down into a bowl of thick, rich chocolate ganache.
“I was consistent,” Brigit argued. “The bag is defective.”
“Let me try,” Hannigan said. He took the bag from Brigit and started at the outer edge as Mel had showed them. He swirled his way in, but the frosting veered off in a different direction, and he frowned.
Brigit laughed, and he glanced up at her. “What?”
“I think your frosting needs GPS tracking to find its cupcake,” she said.
Hannigan lifted the bag and squirted a glob right onto Brigit’s nose. Mel exchanged alarmed looks with Angie, waiting for Brigit to dunk his head into the frosting bowl, but she just laughed and wiped the frosting off with a gloved finger.
“See?” Brigit asked. “You can’t even find your cupcake.”
“It’s not my fault that you’re as cute as a cupcake,” Hannigan said with a laugh.
Brigit turned a bright red, and Justin made a gagging sound across the table. Mel and Angie exchanged a look. Obviously, Hannigan and Brigit had kissed and made up.
“Okay, then,” Bonnie said. “Let’s get to it. Justin and Sylvia, you’re on the brown-butter honey, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Both Justin and Sylvia mastered their frosting techniques pretty quickly, and soon the kitchen was humming with activity.
Mel waited until everyone was engrossed in their work before she broached the subject that had kept her awake for most of the night. She was hoping to catch them off guard, so that they would talk freely, as if it were just a conversation and not a fact-finding mission by her, which of course it was.
“So, I was wondering,” she said, pausing to see if she had their attention. “Have any of you ever received death threats at the magazine?”
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Justin let out a groan. “You sound just like the police.”
“Oh, they already asked that?”
“About ten times in ten different ways,” Sylvia said.
“Well, did you?” Angie asked, looking curious.
“I have gotten a few,” Brigit said. “I always keep a record of them, and I turned them over to the police when they came into the offices and took Sam’s computer.”
“Do you know if he’d gotten any threats?” Mel asked.
“Oh, yes,” Bonnie said. “Sam took those as compliments to his journalistic prowess.”
“Stupid,” Sylvia said with a shake of her head. “If he wasn’t so vicious, he’d probably be alive now.”
“That’s harsh,” Hannigan said. “Sam was a journalist. He was doing his job.”
Everyone turned to look at Sylvia, and she shrugged.
“Do you think it was someone he wrote about who murdered him?” Mel asked. “Maybe someone who wanted revenge?”
“It seems like suing the magazine for libel would be more effective,” Justin said.
“Unless what he wrote was true,” Brigit said. “Sam didn’t slander anyone—ever. He was a journalist to the core. He only printed verifiable facts.”
“Maybe he should have been more careful about what facts he printed,” Angie said.
Mel fished a piece of paper out of her apron pocket. “I have a list of names,” she said. “Can you tell me if you think the people on this list
were capable of murder?”
Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at her.
“Where did you get that list?” Justin asked.
“I stayed up late reading twelve years of SWS and noting the name of anyone who might have had a grudge with Sam,” Mel said. “So, how about Blaise Stevens?”
“Oh, the environmentalist,” Brigit said with a small nod. “The nonprofit booted him, but he became a pitchman for the Shopping Network; apparently, he has consumption issues. He was mad, but I think he actually landed in a better spot after the article.”
Mel scratched his name off the list.
“Okay, then, how about Patrick Cleary?” she asked.
“The banker?” Justin asked. “Oh, yeah, he lost everything, including his bank, in the divorce.”
“He did leave a few tasty voice mails and e-mails for Sam,” Bonnie said. “But then he moved to Costa Rica and became an expat. I heard he has a thriving investment business down there now.”
Mel scratched that name off her list as well.
“All right—” she began, but Sylvia cut her off.
“Are we really going to discuss every person who might have had an issue with Sam? I mean, don’t we have a bigger issue to deal with right now?”
“A bigger issue than murder?” Mel asked.
Everyone was silent, and Mel got the feeling that her lack of sleep was causing her to fixate on finding Sam’s killer with an intensity that the others found off-putting. She glanced at Angie, who was looking at her in concern.
“I have to agree with Sylvia,” Brigit said.
“But—” Mel protested.
“No, we need to focus on the gala and the memorial to Sam we’re including,” Brigit said. She gave Mel a kindly look. “I know you want to help, but solving his murder is really up to the police, and today I want to focus on celebrating his life.”
“She’s right,” Hannigan agreed. “They’ve got his computer. I’m sure they have a much better record of the stories he wrote, the impact they had, and who wanted him dead because of them.”
“And they have the man power to find those people and arrest them,” Justin said. “I know it must be creepy for you to have had a killer right outside your bakery, but the police will find them.”
Mel wanted to argue that together they could whittle down the list of names to give to the police, but she could see that no one wanted to have this conversation.
Angie moved to stand beside her. “Let it go. We’ve stumbled upon enough dead bodies to last us a lifetime.”
“I know, but he died on our property—” Mel began, but Angie interrupted with a shake of her head.
Mel blew the blond bangs off her forehead. The others had gone back to work on the cupcakes, and she knew it would do no good to badger them. She tucked her list of names into her apron. At the very least, she could give the names to Uncle Stan. Maybe there was a name on there that he had missed.
They took a short break for lunch—very short—while Mel and Angie prepped the last of the frosting to be used. Despite the inexperience of the group, the cupcakes looked amazing, and Mel was certain that their cornucopia was going to look fantastic at that night’s festivities.
“So what are you two planning to wear to the gala?” Brigit asked Mel and Angie as the group resumed their places at the steel worktable.
“A clean apron,” Mel said, glancing down at her frosting coated bib.
“Oh, no, this is a little more formal than that,” Brigit said. “You’ll be at our table, of course, so evening attire would do.”
Angie looked at Mel with wide eyes.
“Oh, no,” Mel said. “You don’t have to invite us. We’ll be just as happy hanging out in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the cupcakes.”
Angie nodded vigorously.
“Don’t be silly,” Sylvia said. “Without you two there would be no gala. Of course you need to be there. Right?”
“Absolutely,” Justin said. “You have to come.”
“Agreed,” Bonnie said. “Besides, don’t you want to see what everyone thinks of our creation?”
Bonnie extended her arms, and Mel looked at the rolling rack of cupcakes. They were a thing of beauty.
“All right,” she said. “I’m sure I must have something to wear.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sylvia said. “I can hook you up. The fashion department has a storage room full of clothes.”
“Not like the poofy skirt and big hair they put us in the last time?” Angie asked, looking worried.
Sylvia laughed and the others chuckled. “No, I promise.”
Mel and Angie stood patiently while Sylvia quickly took their measurements with the tape measure she always carried in her purse. Then she shut herself in Mel’s office while she talked to her assistant on the phone, instructing her on which dresses to bring by the bakery for Mel and Angie.
Oz and Tate pulled the cupcake truck around to the alley and loaded up the cupcakes to be delivered to the hotel that was hosting the gala.
Tate and Oz were going to make the delivery and set up the cupcakes while Marty worked in the bakery, giving Mel and Angie a chance to clean up from the day’s work and get dressed.
Sylvia’s assistant brought over three different dresses for each of them, and much to Mel’s chagrin, the staff of the magazine stayed to help in the selection process.
“Oh, throw that one back,” Justin said when Sylvia held up a green one in front of Mel. “It’s going to bring out the green in the shiner Amy gave her, never a good look.”
“We can cover the bruise with makeup,” Sylvia said.
Brigit tipped her head to the side, studying the dress and Mel. “I agree with Justin. That dress is too loud for her.”
“How about this one?” Sylvia moved to hold up a sapphire blue number in front of Angie.
“I like that one,” Hannigan said.
“That’s because blue is your favorite color,” Brigit said.
Hannigan looked at her in surprise. “You remembered.”
Brigit shook her head. “No, I didn’t. Blue is everyone’s favorite color.”
“Not mine,” Bonnie chimed in. “I like yellow.”
“Yellow?” Justin asked. “No one likes yellow.”
“I do,” Bonnie insisted.
Mel noticed that Hannigan was looking at Brigit with a small smile, and she wondered if this was exactly what he’d planned. The cupcake boot camp, forcing everyone together like this, had he done it on purpose to win Brigit back? If so, did getting rid of Sam Kelleher, his rival, factor into that? By all accounts, Hannigan was a ruthless businessman, but was he a killer, too?
“Mel, hello, over here.” Angie was holding up a chocolate brown dress. “What do you think?”
Mel glanced at her friend and noticed that the entire room was watching her, even Hannigan, who must have noticed that she was staring at him.
“I think the rest of you are going to be late,” she said. “Angie and I will pick out our own gowns and surprise you.”
Brigit glanced at the clock. “Is that the time? We have to go!”
Sylvia’s assistant shoved the gowns at Mel and Angie. They caught them in their arms and, Sylvia handed Mel a small makeup case.
“The cover up in here should match your coloring, just be sure to blend, blend, blend,” she admonished. “You do not want foundation splotches or lines.”
“Blend,” Mel repeated. “Got it.”
The boot campers scurried out the door without a backward glance, and Mel and Angie hurried up the stairs to Mel’s apartment to try on the gowns.
Mel knew immediately which one of the dresses she wanted to wear. Of the pink, green, and slate blue gowns, the slate won hands-down. It was a floor-length chemise with a sheer chiffon overlay of the same color. It made her hazel eyes darken to reflect its color, its lines accentuated her height, hid her extra weight and gave her that Greek-goddess feel that was missing from her everyday life.
; Angie had a tougher time picking out her dress. Of the brown, ruby red, and sapphire gowns sent over, she was partial to the cut of the chocolate brown satin with the retro fifties-style collar and A-line skirt, but the ruby red complemented her coloring and hugged her curves suggestively, giving her the sensuous allure of a movie star.
“I like the brown,” she said to Mel as she came out of her bathroom for the fourth time. “But this red one will knock Tate to his knees.”
“Indeed,” Mel said with a wolf whistle. “The poor boy won’t know what hit him.”
“Joe would feel the same about you,” Angie said. “Why don’t you call him and invite him?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mel said. “We’re in a place called awkward right now.”
“Did you break up?” Angie asked, sounding sad.
“Not as much as we’re taking a break,” Mel said. At least she thought they were taking a break. She felt the sadness bubble up inside of her, and her throat got tight.
“It’ll be okay,” Angie said. She put her arm around Mel and gave her a hug. “I’ll make sure a picture of you in that dress just happens to show up on my brother’s phone, and the man will beg you to be his with a ring or without one.”
Mel hugged her back. She knew it wasn’t that simple, but she really appreciated Angie’s attempt to lift her spirits.
“Okay, now this is when you tell me that Tate will take one look at me in this dress and start panting, howl at the moon, and get over his need to prove himself,” Angie said.
“Sorry, I missed my cue, didn’t I?” Mel asked.
“Little bit,” Angie agreed.
Mel stepped back and studied her friend. The ruby red gown draped her curves perfectly. Her makeup was light except for the eyes and lips, where she was all long lashes and glossy red. Yep, Tate was going to have a well-deserved heart attack.
“He’s going to maul you like a bear on a trash can full of apple cores,” Mel said.
Angie blinked at her and then busted up with a belly laugh. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Mel said. “Now, let’s go get it done.”
On the way down the stairs, Mel stopped in the bakery’s kitchen to retrieve the list of names she’d created from the magazine. She’d left it in her apron, which rested on its hook by the door, but when she felt around in the front pocket, it was empty. Huh.
Going, Going, Ganache Page 19
