Buttercream Bump Off

by Jenn McKinlay

  “Oh, come on, she’s your best friend, too, and she’s standing right there!” Angie pointed at Mel.

  Tate’s head whipped in Mel’s direction. His eyes bugged. Mel felt her eyes bug in return. A buzz began to fill the restaurant. Angie let out a sob and ran from the room.

  “Angie!” Tate yelled after her. He glanced at Mel, and she gestured with her hand for him to go after her. He ran.

  Mel glanced back at Marty. Elle was gazing at her with a shrewd glare.

  She looked at Marty and said, “Wasn’t that Tate Harper? The man who introduced us at the Biltmore? Odd that he’s having dinner with Roach’s girlfriend right next to us and her ‘best friend’ just happens to be lurking nearby. The same ‘best friend’ whose mother was dating my Baxter.”

  “Uh . . .” Marty stalled. He looked desperately at Mel and then said, “Help.”

  Mel approached their table, trying to weave together a basket of lies that would convince Elle that all of this was just a crazy coincidence. She wasn’t that good of a basket weaver, however.

  Elle rose to her feet and picked up her glass of champagne, which she tossed into Marty’s face.

  She sauntered past Mel and said, “Nice try, Melanie Cooper, but I’m on to you. Your mother is a suspect, but I’m not. I have an alibi. What does she have? Oh, yeah, nothing.”

  Mel could feel the entire restaurant watching her. She sidled over to Marty, who was dabbing champagne off of his dome with his napkin. With more dignity than she had in her little finger, he carefully rose, adjusted his lapels, and offered her his arm.

  On their way out, Mel and Marty walked right into Detective Martinez. He was not happy to see them.

  Twenty-one

  “Are you aware, Ms. Cooper, that we’ve had Elle Simpson under surveillance since the murder of Baxter Malloy?”

  Mel was sitting in Detective Martinez’s office while he paced back and forth and growled at her.

  “Now, I don’t care if you’re dating the head of the FBI—stay away from my case. Do not follow anyone around, do not try to question anyone, in fact, do not leave your bakery—ever! Am I clear?”

  “Crystal,” Mel said.

  “And that goes for you, too,” Martinez snapped at Marty, who was sitting in the hard chair beside Mel.

  Marty adjusted his cuffs and nodded.

  A knock on the door interrupted them, and a silver head of hair appeared. Steve Wolfmeier. Mel stifled a groan.

  “Detective Martinez,” Steve said with his hand out. “I do believe I should be present if you’re questioning my clients.”

  Martinez ignored Steve’s hand and turned on Mel with one eyebrow raised. “You neglected to mention that you’ve retained legal services.”

  “No, I haven’t,” Mel said. “Mr. Wolfmeier is an acquaintance at best.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Marty said. He looked at Steve. “Can you spring us?”

  “Absolutely,” Steve said, but Mel jumped up and interrupted.

  “That’s not necessary, is it, Detective?”

  Martinez glared at her as if he’d like to lock her up for at least a week or two or until his case was solved.

  “Is this where the party is being held?” Joe DeLaura pushed his way in around Steve.

  Mel rushed across the room to give him a hug. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Detective, do you need Ms. Cooper or Mr. Zelaznik any longer?” Joe asked.

  Mel wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Martinez looked even more irritated than before.

  “No, they’re free to go, but I meant what I said, Ms. Cooper: Stay away from my case.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  Joe ushered Marty and Mel out of the office.

  “DeLaura, can I have a word?” Martinez asked.

  Joe handed Mel his keys and said, “I’ll meet you in the car.”

  “I’ll walk you out, Melanie,” Steve offered.

  “That’s not necessary,” Joe said. He stepped between them and stood there until Mel and Marty began to walk away. Steve shrugged and leaned against the wall.

  Mel took one last look over her shoulder, but Joe went into Martinez’s office and shut the door behind him.

  “What did you think you were going to accomplish by having Marty date one of the main suspects in Malloy’s murder?” Joe asked.

  “I was hoping Marty would find out something useful to pin on Elle,” Mel said.

  “Did you really think he was going to ply her with champagne, and she’d offer up a confession?”

  “When you put it that way, it sounds ridiculous.”

  “That’s because it is ridiculous!”

  They were standing at the foot of the stairs that led up to Mel’s apartment.

  “You’re not coming up, are you?” she asked.

  “I can’t,” he said. He rubbed a hand over his face, and Mel saw how tired he looked. “I’m still sorting through some briefs for court tomorrow.”

  “I called you away to come help me,” Mel said. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. He kissed the top of her head, and even though she knew he meant it in a comforting way, she couldn’t help but feel even worse.

  “Can I pack you some cupcakes?” she asked.

  “No, but thanks,” he said. “Look, I know you mean well, but you have to steer clear of this case. Martinez isn’t kidding. If you get in his way again, even I won’t be able to help you.”

  “Is that what he told you when he called you back to his office?”

  Joe cocked his head to the side and studied her. “You are not fishing for information from me.”

  “Does that mean you don’t have any?” she asked.

  “Mel! You are the single most infuriating female I have ever met. You need to stay away from this case. Period.”

  “Tell that to my mother,” Mel said. “She’s convinced the murderer is out to get her. She’s a basket case, and she’s driving me crazy.”

  “Uncle Stan can handle your mother,” he said. “You need to focus on what you do best.”

  Mel blew out an exasperated breath. “Fine, I’ll stay in the bakery.”

  “That would ease my mind tremendously,” he said.

  This time he kissed her on the lips and waited until she climbed the steps and let herself into her apartment.

  As Mel brushed her teeth, she thought about their conversation. Technically speaking, staying in the kitchen didn’t mean she wasn’t going to keep asking questions. It just meant she’d have to do it from the bakery.

  She prepped her bed and was just climbing in when there was a sharp knock on her door. She hurried across the room. Maybe Joe had finished working early and was going to stay over with her. She smoothed out her pajamas, wishing she’d picked her slinky nightie instead of her pink flannel set with cows, but it couldn’t be helped.

  She fluffed her hair and bit her lips as she hurried over to the door. She pulled aside the curtain, and her eyes widened in surprise. It wasn’t Joe. It was Tate standing there.

  She swiftly unlocked the deadbolt and ushered him in.

  “What’s going on? Did you catch up to Angie? Is everything okay?”

  “I don’t know, yes, and hell no,” he said. He stomped past her and threw himself down on her bed.

  “Okay, you don’t know what’s going on, you did catch up to Angie, but nothing is okay.”

  Tate put his hands over his eyes. He looked like he was in agony.

  “I’m in love with her,” he said.

  Mel crossed the room and plopped down beside him.

  “No duh.”

  “You know? How?” He lowered his arms to look at her.

  “Would you really be trying to break up her and Roach if you weren’t?”

  “No,” he said. “She thinks I’m in love with you.”

  “I know,” Mel sighed.

  “I’m not,” he said. He looked at her as if he was worried she’d be offended. Mel laughed.

 
“I know that, too,” she said. “I tried to tell her, but she doesn’t believe me.”

  “Me, either,” he said.

  “What are you going to do?” Mel asked.

  “What can I do?” he asked. “She’s dating someone else.”

  “You could tell her how you feel,” Mel said.

  “What if she rejects me?”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  Tate was silent, staring up at the ceiling.

  “What have you got to lose?” Mel asked.

  “Her,” he said.

  Tate left a short while later. Mel wished she could make everything turn out all right for her friends, but she didn’t know what that meant. Tate and Angie together? With other people? Sheesh! She was barely keeping her own relationship out of the morgue.

  Instead, she turned her mind to Baxter Malloy’s murder. Someone had strangled the man with her mother’s stocking. That was an act of rage if ever there was one. Of course, given Malloy’s shady business dealings, there were more suspects than she knew what to do with, and she suspected Detective Martinez felt the same way, which was probably why he was so cranky all of the time.

  If the Hargraves had done it, it seemed odd that they would stay in town to bunk with family, especially family that was enjoying their downfall with such glee.

  There was a long list of stiffed investors to comb through, but again, murder seemed harsh when litigation might have gotten them some if not all of their money back. Which brought Mel back to Roach.

  He and his father were estranged. They hadn’t spoken in years, and yet Roach just happened to be in town when his father was murdered. And not just murdered but strangled. It would take physical strength to accomplish that, which Roach as a drummer certainly had. Then again, Angie was sure of his alibi. Mel hoped fervently that she was right. She didn’t want Angie to be hurt or, even worse, in danger.

  So, who else had a passionate reason to kill Baxter Malloy? Elle Simpson, Malloy’s bodacious girlfriend.

  She had been following Mel and her mother the day they went shopping for a dress, which meant she knew about the date. She had been checking out the competition, no doubt. Could she have gotten so angry about being removed from Malloy’s bankroll that she killed him?

  Mel had seen her temper at the museum luncheon for herself. Elle was a tad high-strung. She was certainly young enough and fit enough to have taken on Malloy, especially if she surprised him.

  If only Angie and Tate hadn’t had their blowout in the restaurant. Marty might have been able to get something useful out of Elle. Damn.

  A small, private service was held at Messinger Mortuary and Chapel. A minister gave a short sermon, and Roach offered a brief eulogy. There were only a handful of people in attendance: Angie, Mel, the band, and their crew. None of Baxter’s contemporaries made an appearance, which was not surprising, given that he had ripped off everyone he had ever known.

  Sadly, it wasn’t a celebration of a life lived well, but rather a lesson in how not to go. Mel wondered if Baxter had ever imagined his own passing, and if so, if he had pictured it like this.

  When the service was over, Roach stood by his father’s casket and received hugs and handshakes. He looked ill at ease, and Mel had to wonder if it was guilt that made him squirm so.

  Detective Martinez had crept in halfway through the service, and Mel had noticed that Roach’s leg began to bounce up and down, as if he had become agitated at the sight of the detective. Was he nervous? Was Martinez here to arrest him?

  Mel glanced at Angie, but she had eyes only for her man. If she was worried about the detective’s presence, it didn’t show.

  “Stop!” a screech came from the doorway. “I demand that you stop!”

  Mel turned towards the door. Ringed by paparazzi with flashbulbs popping was Elle Simpson.

  Twenty-two

  “I was the love of Baxter’s life!” Elle declared. “How dare you shut me out of his funeral?”

  The entire room stood slack-jawed and staring. One of the funeral directors raced forward to slam the door on the photographers, but not before a full-on flashbulb assault left them all seeing spots.

  Roach recovered first. He was still standing by the casket, but now he turned and faced Elle.

  “No, you weren’t. My mother was the love of his life, and you could never replace her.”

  Elle clapped her hands over her prominent bosom as if she’d been shot. “Who has been his constant companion for the past three years? Me. Not you, his estranged son.”

  Mel glanced past Elle to see Detective Martinez watching the encounter like it was a tennis match.

  “My relationship with my father is none of your damn business.”

  “I loved him. That makes it my business. And you have to admit it’s awfully convenient that you’re here in town, completely broke, your father’s sole heir, and—oh!—he gets murdered.” Elle made a face of mock alarm.

  “What exactly are you trying to say, Elle?” Roach looked at her as if he’d happily strangle her, and Mel realized that was a disturbing choice of imagery.

  “Oh, nothing much.” She shrugged. “Just pointing out that you feel a lot of rage towards your father. How is it you two became estranged?”

  “I really can’t remember,” Roach said. “Over something small and petty, no doubt.”

  “No doubt,” Elle agreed. Then her lips turned up in what might have been a smile if it weren’t so calculating and cold. “Oh, wait—I was dating you, and you caught Baxter and me in bed together. Terrible scene that night, if I recall.”

  “Funny,” he said, his voice as dry as dust. “I don’t remember a thing.”

  He was cool, but the damage was done. Angie was frowning, and Detective Martinez looked like he’d just won the lottery.

  Mel studied Elle. Why was she bringing this up now? If she was so convinced that Roach had killed his father, she could have mentioned this before. Mel didn’t believe that she was hurt to have been left out of the funeral arrangements. She doubted that Elle cared about that at all. In fact, the only thing she thought Elle might care about was being left out of the will.

  “I think you should go,” Angie said. She stepped in front of Roach as if to protect him from Elle.

  Elle foolishly made the mistake of dismissing Angie as a person of no importance.

  “Who asked you?” Elle snapped.

  “No one had to,” Angie said.

  She was wearing a black sheath dress with white piping along the collar and hem. Her brown hair was up in an Audrey Hepburn twist, and her skinny-heeled black pumps gave her at least four more inches of height than normal. She was the very image of a lady, until Mel noticed she was clenching her right fist.

  Mel stepped up beside Angie and looped her arm through hers. “Thank you for paying your respects, Ms. Simpson. We need to be moving along to the cemetery now. Right?”

  Roach stood glaring at Elle. She glared back. Mel wondered how long this was going to go on. Finally, she pinched Angie to get her moving.

  “Ouch!” Angie gave her an irritated look.

  Mel shooed her in the direction of Roach. Angie took the hint and put her hand on his arm. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

  Mel had a feeling the endearment was for Elle’s sake, and she marveled again at Angie’s fierce loyalty to those she cared about. It had to shock her to know that Elle was Roach’s former girlfriend.

  She looked at them, and he lowered his head to Angie’s and whispered something in her ear. She smiled at him. Then again, maybe he had already told her. Mel could only imagine what Tate was going to have to say about this turn of events.

  Roach straightened his spine and glanced at Elle. “Thanks for your condolences.”

  He kissed Angie’s hand and went to his spot at the casket. The band surrounded the casket with him, and together they carried it to the hearse outside.

  Elle was forced to move aside or be bowled over by the polished wooden box. Photographers waited
outside, but the band was oblivious as they loaded the casket and climbed into a waiting limo.

  Mel and Angie walked out together. Roach was waiting by the limo for Angie, and Mel gave her a quick squeeze before she hurried over to join him. Mel watched the door shut behind them. One of the photographers got too close, and the limo driver was forced to push him back so he could shut the door.

  “I hope she’s not measuring the curtains,” Elle jeered as she moved to stand beside Mel.

  Mel turned to look at her. Mel wasn’t generally a violent person, but there was something about Elle that made her fingers itch to slap the woman.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The Malloy men are fickle,” Elle said. “Whatever this is between them, it won’t last.”

  “I’d like a word with you, Ms. Simpson,” Detective Martinez said.

  Mel had never thought she’d be so glad to see him.

  “I don’t have time right now,” Elle protested.

  “Make the time,” he said.

  “So then what happened?” Tate demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Mel said. “I came here to open the bakery.”

  They were standing in the main room of the bakery while Mel restocked the cases.

  “When is Angie going to get here?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “They were doing a private graveside service and then going back to Baxter’s house. I just assumed she’d be taking the day off.”

  Marty bustled in from the back room, carrying another tray of Cherry Bomb Cupcakes. The Valentine’s Day crush had begun, and Mel wasn’t even bothering to bake anything that wasn’t red, white, or pink, unless it was a special order.

  “When are you going to do the drawing?” he asked.

  He was wearing the Armani suit beneath his apron, and Mel wondered if he was ever going to take it off. She had a feeling he had become overly attached to his new threads.

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “Right after our final couples’ cooking class.”

  He pumped his fist, and Mel shook her head.