“So where was he the night his father died?” Tate demanded.
“I don’t know, but I don’t like this.”
“And you let her go eat dinner with him?” he yelled. “I hate this. I hate that she’s out with him and I hate that he’s probably a murderer.”
“Tate, relax,” Mel said. “We need to come up with a plan.”
“Don’t tell me to relax,” he snapped. He looked like he was at the end of his rope, and Mel wondered if he was finally getting it.
“Tate, why do you suppose it bothers you so much that Angie is dating him?”
“Because he’s a killer,” Tate retorted. “And she’s my friend. I’d be equally upset if you were dating a killer.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Mel said.
Tate gasped in outrage. “Yes, I would.”
“Listen, I know jealous when I see jealous,” Mel said. “You are jealous.”
“I am not,” he protested.
“Yeah, you are,” she said.
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
“Am—” he began, but Mel cut him off.
“Oh, forget it! If you can’t figure out why this bothers you so much, then you really are hopeless.”
“Am n—” he began, but Mel held up her hand and ordered, “Don’t say it.”
“So, what are we going to do?” he asked. “She’s out there with a probable murderer.”
Mel lifted her car keys off of the hook on the wall.
“Come on, we’re going on a stakeout.”
“Seriously?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Short of backing over him with my car? No.”
“Then let’s go.”
“ ‘Ma’am, what is the approximate dry weight of the average Madagascan fruit tree bat?’ ” Tate asked in his best Joe Friday voice.
“Dragnet, really?” Mel asked. She rolled her eyes and led the way out the door.
Thirteen
“Stakeouts are not as exciting as they sound,” Tate said.
“What do you know?” Mel asked. “You’ve been asleep for the past half hour.”
“I was just resting my eyes,” he said.
“Do you always drool when you’re just resting your eyes?”
“It’s a salivary condition.”
“Uh-huh.”
Tate stretched and yawned. He was six feet tall and pushing two hundred pounds. Mel felt herself lean over to give him more room. Why was it all of the men in her life seemed to take up too much space? Specifically, her space.
They were parked two houses down from Angie’s duplex in the neighborhood just south of Old Town Scottsdale. Rectangular brick houses built on slabs, they’d probably popped up in 1959 like fruit on a prickly pear cactus.
“What did you mean when you said I was jealous?” Tate asked.
“That’s not self-explanatory?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I’m just protective of you two, that’s all.”
“Deny, deny, deny,” Mel said. “How’s that working for you?”
“For me?” he asked. “How’s it working for you and Joe? Are you ever going to get horizontal with him?”
Mel sucked in a breath. “We get horizontal all the time.”
“I’m not talking about unconscious horizontal,” he said.
“What makes you think we haven’t been . . . conscious?”
“Oh, puleeeze,” Tate said. “I know you. Every time you get intimate with a guy you go on a baking bender.”
“I do not.... I do?”
“Three months dating Gary the barista and you created the Espresso-Shot Cupcake. Five months with the geologist from the university and you came up with the Crystal Cupcake.”
“Oh, yeah, we decorated the cupcakes with rock candy,” Mel said. “Those were cool.”
“See? That’s how I know you and Joe have not gotten naked together yet.”
“You can sleep with someone without being naked,” Mel said.
“Yeah, if you’re talking asleep-sleeping with someone,” he said. He leaned back against the passenger door and studied her. “What’s the holdup anyway? You’ve been in love with him since we were kids.”
“You knew?”
He just looked at her, and Mel let out a pent-up sigh. “It’s this stupid case of his—not that the case is stupid. It’s huge. It’s just taking up all of his time, and when I do see him . . .”
“He’s dead tired?”
“Out before the light.”
“Bummer,” Tate said.
“Yeah.” Given the direction of the conversation, Mel figured it was a good time to put to rest Angie’s suspicions once and for all. “So, it doesn’t bother you that I’m dating him?”
“Well, honestly . . .” he began, but then he swore and crouched down, dragging Mel with him. “Get down! It’s them!”
A moving headlight illuminated the inside of the car. Mel wondered if Angie recognized it. It was a classic red-and-white Mini Cooper, so it wasn’t unique, but still, Angie might be suspicious if she saw it parked on her street. Nuts, she should have parked farther away.
“What should we do?” she asked.
“Poke your head up, and see if you see her,” he said. “See if he’s with her.”
“Me? You do it.”
“You’re her best friend,” he said.
“So are you,” she argued.
“It’s your car.”
“I knew we should have taken your car,” Mel said. “What if she saw us? She’ll be furious.”
“She didn’t see us.”
“How do you know?”
The theme from Gone with the Wind flowed from Mel’s purse.
Still hunched over, she and Tate looked at each other in alarm.
“Are you expecting a call at one in the morning?” Tate asked.
“It could be Joe,” she said and fished the phone out of her bag. “Uh-oh, it’s Angie.”
“Maybe she’s just reporting on her date,” Tate said. “Bluff.”
“Hello?” Mel answered, trying to sound as if she’d just woken up.
“Don’t bother,” Angie said. “I see you. You know, if you want to be discreet, you really need to take the cupcake antenna ball off your car.”
“Damn. I’m sorry, Ange.”
“What?” Tate whispered. “What did she say? Is she okay? Did he hurt her?”
“Chillax,” Mel whispered. “She’s fine, but she sees us.”
“Oh.” Tate sat back in his seat.
“Roach just left,” Angie said. “Why don’t you two come in for some breakfast?”
“At one in the morning?” Mel asked.
“Sure, it’ll be like old times.”
“On our way,” Mel said. She shut her phone and started up her car. She pulled into Angie’s small driveway and parked behind her Honda sedan.
Angie was standing in the doorway that led from her carport to her kitchen. Tate and Mel approached with caution.
“Are you mad?” Mel asked.
“Nah,” Angie said. “I know what you’re worried about, but you’re wrong. Roach didn’t hurt his father. I know it.”
“How can—” Tate began, but Mel interrupted, finishing his sentence: “—you stand all those groupies?”
Angie looked at them and then pointed to her outfit. “You’re kidding, right? I think I am now the queen of the groupies.”
“So, where is he?” Tate asked between his teeth.
“Roach has to get up early for an interview, so we called it an early night.”
A slow grin spread across Tate’s face.
“What are you smiling about?” Angie asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just a nice night out tonight.”
Angie glanced between them and then raised her eyebrows in question at Mel, who shrugged.
“Come on,” Angie said, stepping aside to let them in. “I’ll make you two some eggs.”
Angie flipped on the radio, and they grooved
to a jazz station while they made toast, scrambled eggs, and ham. The kitchen was warm on the cold night, and the old-fashioned aqua-tiled counters were welcoming, as if they’d just been waiting for friends to gather round.
Mel watched as Tate teased Angie about her big hair. Angie laughed with him, but something had changed. Angie wasn’t looking at Tate like she used to, with her heart in her eyes. Mel wondered if Tate noticed the difference.
He seemed to be putting forth an even greater effort to make Angie laugh, so Mel figured he did notice the difference, even if it was on an unconscious level. Then she wondered when Tate would realize that he was in love with Angie. He was a man, so it could take a while. She hoped, for his sake, that when he finally did figure it out, it wasn’t too late.
“Aunt Mel, look at me!” a hip-high Darth Vader shouted as he waved a lightsaber at an equally short Luke Skywalker, who was racing away across Joyce’s backyard.
“I’m looking,” Mel yelled back and grinned. Her nephews had been battling each other all evening. She had even spent half an hour tied to an orange tree, pretending to be Princess Leia until Joe showed up and, in his best Han Solo impersonation, saved her. At which point he kissed her, making both boys gag and retch.
“I wish I had their energy,” Joe said as the boys raced by again, making all sorts of loud lightsaber noises.
“No kidding,” Mel said. They were sitting at her mother’s patio table, having just finished dinner.
“It’s all I can do to keep up with them,” Charlie said from the hammock nearby.
“Ditto,” said his wife, Nancy, who was sharing the hammock with him.
“Boys, cookies!” Joyce called from the doorway.
Darth and Luke turned on a dime and sped for the house.
“Wash your hands!” Nancy called after them.
“Aw, Mom, I just licked them clean,” Darth Vader complained. “See?”
He dropped his lightsaber and held up two sticky hands for inspection. Nancy and Joyce exchanged a look that was equal parts maternal amusement and gross-out.
“Soap. Water. March,” Joyce said.
“Aw, crud,” Darth and Luke grumbled as the door shut behind them.
“Thanks for coming down with the boys,” Mel said to Charlie and Nancy. “They’ve cheered Mom up tremendously.”
“Exhausted her is more like it,” Charlie said. “But we’re happy to be here. So, do the police have any suspects?”
“You mean aside from Mom?” Mel asked.
“And my sister’s new boyfriend?” Joe asked.
Mel and Joe linked hands. Neither one of them was happy about the Angie-Roach situation.
“They don’t really suspect Mom, do they?” Nancy asked.
“I don’t think so, but Detective Martinez stopped by the bakery yesterday, and I don’t think it was to buy cupcakes—although he did,” Mel said.
Joe sat up straighter. “You didn’t tell me about that.”
“I didn’t?” Mel asked. “Well, after last night’s concert and staying up so late with Tate and Angie, my brain is a little fuzzy.”
“I don’t like this,” Joe said. “I don’t like Martinez sniffing around the shop.”
“Well, it’s not like he thinks Mel is a suspect,” Charlie said. “I mean, you weren’t even there, right?”
“There is the dress debacle,” Mel said. “But no, I don’t think he thinks I’m a suspect.”
“Maybe he wants to date you,” Nancy said and wiggled her eyebrows.
Mel glanced quickly at Joe, who glowered and said, “Sorry, you’re off the market.”
She grinned at him. Not that she had been worried or anything, but it was good to know that Joe was still in. Maybe tonight would be the night. She felt herself break into a sweat, and it wasn’t from nerves.
An old-fashioned telephone ring sounded, and Joe fished his phone out of his pocket. He glanced at the screen.
“Sorry, it’s the office,” he said. He squeezed Mel’s hand before letting go, and then strolled over to the edge of the yard to stand between her mother’s orange trees.
“I’m going to go see if Mom needs help,” Nancy said. “Our two Jedi Knights will be covered in milk and cookies, and they’re definitely going to need baths.” She untangled herself from Charlie’s arms and shook her long, dark hair free. She kissed his head as she climbed out of the hammock.
Charlie watched her go, and Mel could tell from the soft look in his eyes that he was as much in love with her today as he had been when he first fell for her in college, maybe even more so.
“Mel, I want to talk to you about Mom.” Charlie sat up a little straighter.
“What’s up?”
“I want her to come back to Flagstaff with us,” he said.
“That’s a great idea,” Mel said. “It would do her some good.”
“I found her pacing around the house last night at two in the morning. She was checking all of the doors and windows with a fire poker in one hand and a flashlight in the other,” Charlie said. “I think she’s afraid that the murderer is going to come after her.”
“Have you seen anything that makes you think that?” Mel asked.
“No, nothing out of the ordinary has happened, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t right,” Charlie said. “I mean, she was there when Malloy was strangled. The murderer has to be a little concerned that she might have seen something.”
Mel fretted her lower lip between her teeth. “We should call Uncle Stan.”
“I talked to him this morning,” Charlie said. “If Mom refuses to come to Flagstaff with us, he’s going to stay in the guesthouse.”
“You know she’s going to refuse,” Mel said.
“Yep. I know she thinks it will look bad, plus she’d be terrified that the boys would be put in danger.”
Mel reached across the space between them and squeezed her brother’s arm. “I promise I’ll take good care of her.”
“I know.”
They were silent for a moment, sharing their worry for their mom. Then Charlie patted her hand, and Mel released him and leaned back in her chair.
“So, how’s Joe?” Charlie asked. “Treating you right?”
“Of course,” Mel said. “You know Joe. He’s a perfect gentleman.”
“A little too perfect?”
Mel frowned at her brother as he toed the ground with the front of his black Converse high-tops, keeping the hammock swaying.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Well, word on the street is that you two haven’t had a chance to bump uglies yet,” he said.
“Bump uglies? You did not just say that.”
“Uh, yeah, I did.”
“How is this any of your business?”
“Oh, don’t get all wiggy,” Charlie said. “I’m your brother. You can talk to me.”
“There is nothing to talk about,” Mel said. “The man has the biggest case of his career on the line, and he’s working 24-7. Bumpin’ uglies can wait.”
“I don’t think that sets a very good precedent for the long term,” Charlie said.
Mel clapped her hands over her ears, “La-la-la-la. I’m so not having this conversation. La-la-la-la-la.”
Mercifully, Darth Vader, who now resembled a boy, chose that moment to hurry out the back door for good-night hugs. Mel kissed his damp head and was pleased to see him scamper across the lawn to give Joe a good-night high five.
Joe winked at her, and she felt her heart lift. So what if everyone in the Valley of the Sun knew that they hadn’t gotten horizontal yet. Heck, maybe she’d wait until she married him. Married him? Did she really just think that? Uh-oh.
She glanced up and found Joe watching her. She hurriedly looked away. It would not do for him to sense her thoughts had strayed anywhere near the M word. She knew men who would flee to Mexico without a passport if they thought the girl they were dating even entertained the idea of a white gown and a limo ride. Mel didn’t know if Joe was one
of those men, and until she knew, it would behoove her to play it cool. Act casual.
Luke Skywalker appeared before her, and Mel kissed his head, too. It wasn’t enough, however, and he wriggled into her lap and demanded a story. He handed her a beat-up copy of Curious George, and she remembered her father reading it over and over and over again to her and Charlie when they were little.
She glanced at Joe, and he nodded, letting her know they had time for stories. She smiled and went in to read the two boys to sleep.
She tried not to think about what it would be like to have a child with Joe. Would it have his dark hair and warm brown eyes? Mrs. Joe DeLaura. Eep. She smacked her forehead with the book.
“What did you do that for, Aunt Mel?” Darth Vader asked. He pushed his mask up onto the top of his head to get a good look at her.
“I was trying to smack some sense into myself,” she said.
“Did it work?” Luke Skywalker asked.
“No, I don’t recommend it,” she said.
Both boys nodded, and Mel hugged them close. Well, if she couldn’t be a role model for what to do, at least she could model what not to do. Story of her life.
“Okay,” Mel said as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Joe was in the living room, waiting for her while she tried to make herself look presentable. Tonight was the night, she was sure of it. And it wasn’t that she felt goaded on to the next level because everyone seemed to feel the need to comment on their lack of momentum in that direction. Not at all.
It was merely a good night for it. Valentine’s Day was coming. There were hearts and flowers everywhere you looked. Love was in the air.
She adjusted the straps of her silky, pale blue nightie and ran her fingers through her short blonde hair. Her teeth were brushed; anything that needed to be shaved or plucked had been. She had spritzed herself with perfume, or, more accurately, she had spritzed the air and walked through it. She was as ready as she’d ever be.
Mel slowly opened the bathroom door and stepped out into her living room, which was also her bedroom. A grating sound like a logger working a chainsaw filled the room, followed by a rush of air.
Joe had one arm draped across the back of the futon and his other hand held the TV remote. He looked as if he’d been watching TV, and then his head had flopped back against the cushions. The man was as unconscious as a fighter who’d been KO’d.
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