Tara took a step forward, looking like she wanted to use her Taser on Mel. Mel refused to back up. Instead, she set her chin, daring the smaller woman to try it.
“Mel, sweetheart.” Joe appeared at her side and spun her around to give her a quick hug. “How are you? Sounds like it was a rough morning. Please excuse us, Detective Martinez.”
Tara stared at Joe as if her tongue had just gotten stuck to the roof of her mouth. It was a look of surprise, but not an unwelcome one.
“Hi, Joe. I didn’t know you were coming to the scene,” Tara said. Her voice was breathy and not in a hostile way but more in an I’m-picturing-you-naked-while-we-talk way.
“Not in an official capacity,” Joe said. “I’m just here for her.”
He glanced back at Mel and the concern in his eyes was almost her undoing. Almost. She was too busy watching Tara, who gave a jerky nod, spun on her heel, and stomped over toward Uncle Stan and the other crime scene investigators.
Mel knew that look. She had worn that exact expression from the first moment she had planted her peepers on Joe DeLaura when she was twelve and he was sixteen. Tara Martinez had a crush on Joe. Now her blatant hostility was coming into focus. This wasn’t about Manny at all. It was about Joe. Oh, for the love of buttercream. Mel did not need this. Not now.
“How are you, cupcake?” Joe asked. He was studying her face as if looking for any signs that she was about to have a complete meltdown.
“I’m fine, or I will be as soon as I can get out of here,” she said. “I barfed in the ball pit.”
“Oh . . . ew,” he said. He hugged her close.
Mel hugged him back, happy that her hands were clean so she could get a good grip on him. She needed to feel his solid warmth right now.
“Uncle Stan had Hank Whitaker, the ME, look me over,” she said.
Joe stepped back and looked her over from head to toe. “I’m assuming it’s to rule you out as a suspect?”
“Yeah, the victim’s head was bashed in,” Mel said. “Whoever did it would most definitely have some sort of blood spatter on them.”
He looked at her shirt. “You’re clean.”
“That’s what Hank said,” Mel said. “So, what do you think? Should I have let them?”
He nodded. “I trust Stan’s judgment on this.”
“Me, too,” she said. “Joe, I’m a little worried about the cupcakes I was supposed to deliver.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Not sure I understand.”
“They’re the breakup cupcakes you saw me working on last night,” she said. “If the police see them, they’ll know Diane was dumping Mike and they might think . . .”
“She killed him?” he said.
“Yeah,” she said.
“Well, let’s hope she has a good alibi for his time of death then,” he said. “Because speaking as a lawyer, I am quite positive that the cupcakes are going to be considered evidence.”
Seven
Joe drove Mel back to the bakery when they were done with the crime scene. She didn’t ask him to, but he didn’t really give her any option, which was a good call because even after she was cleaned up, she was shaky and edgy and guilt-ridden. There had been no way to avoid giving the cupcakes to Uncle Stan, and she’d seen Detective Tara’s eyes light up at the possibility that Mel had just handed them their prime suspect.
Joe gave his keys to Uncle Stan, who agreed to drop off his car at the bakery on his way back to the station. Mel didn’t think she imagined Detective Tara looking disappointed that Joe didn’t ask her.
She wondered how long Joe had known Detective Tara and under what circumstances they had met. Not that she was jealous; no, not at all. Still, Joe had never mentioned her, just like he had never mentioned “dating-not-dating” Diane.
“What?” Joe asked as he opened her car door for her.
“What what?”
“You’re giving me side eye,” he said.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are.”
He fell into step beside her as they crossed from the small parking lot behind the bakery, through the alley to the back door of the kitchen.
Mel was not going to get into it. She wasn’t going to say a word. Things had been so lovely between them for the past few months. She really didn’t want to ruin it with petty jealousy when she was still so rattled from finding Mike Bordow’s body that she could barely think straight.
“Detective Tara totally has the hots for you,” she said. Doh!
“Okay, I didn’t see that coming,” Joe said. He paused by the staircase that led up to Mel’s apartment above the bakery.
Mel frowned. “I didn’t, either. Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “I don’t think Detective Martinez has the hots for me, as you so delicately put it, but it wouldn’t matter if she did as I belong totally and completely to you.”
Mel felt her heart turn over in her chest with a cartwheel of joy. Even after their aborted wedding, Joe was still hers. Sometimes she just needed to hear him say it.
“All right then,” she said. “That’s that and I think I need to go shower and burn my clothes or something.”
A small smile lifted one side of his mouth. “Yeah, don’t burn anything. It looks suspicious.”
Mel returned his smile. They had had this discussion before. Didn’t every couple?
“All right.” She hugged him tight. Something about the solid build of Joe DeLaura and the feel of his big man hands on her back always made Mel feel more grounded. “Take my car to work. I don’t want you to get busted for going AWOL.”
“Meh,” he said. “You know the county prosecutor has a soft spot for you.”
“That’s because your boss has a weakness for my Key Lime Cupcakes,” Mel said. She kissed him and then let him go.
“She’s got good taste,” he said.
“Says the man who’s never met a cupcake he didn’t like,” she said.
“I’d give them all up for you,” he said.
It was a totally corny thing to say and, yes, Mel’s heart went squish at the words. Mostly, because Joe’s sweet tooth was legendary but also because the look in his warm brown eyes was 100 percent sincere. Goodness, she loved this man.
“Go,” she said. She turned and walked up the stairs to her apartment. “Before I drag you up here with me.”
Joe made to lunge after her and Mel jumped and then laughed. He grinned at her but then grew serious.
“Call me if you need me—for anything,” he said.
“I promise.”
He watched her until she went into her apartment and shut the door behind her. It was little things like that that meant so much to Mel. She didn’t need a man to take care of her; she was perfectly capable of running her business and meeting her responsibilities all by herself, but there was something nice about having a man, who loved her, watch over her just as she did him.
Then she frowned. He hadn’t really explained how he knew Detective Tara, though, had he?
After a hot shower and some therapeutic playtime with Captain Jack, Mel felt almost normal. It was amazing what an affectionate head butt from a kitten could do to lift a gal’s spirits. Captain Jack, named for Captain Jack Sparrow, natch, had been rescued out of the bakery Dumpster just a little over a year ago.
He was so named because one of his black patches of fur covered one eye, giving him a decidedly piratical look. Mel loved him all the way to her squishy middle and given that he had been with her through some of the darkest days of her life, she wondered sometimes who had rescued who.
With a last kiss and a squeeze, Mel grabbed her phone, locked up her apartment, and headed downstairs to tell the bakery crew what had transpired that morning. They had to be wondering where she had gone since she should have returned two hours ago.
She
unlocked the kitchen door and strode inside. Angie was seated at one of the steel worktables with her cousin Judi LaRocco Franko. The two of them had their heads pressed together, looking at an enormous binder.
“Look at how they decorated the pews with pewter tulle here,” Judi said. She tapped the page and Angie nodded enthusiastically. “We could absolutely do something like that.”
Judi was a short and blond version of Angie. She had a laugh that was contagious and eyes that twinkled, and, like Angie, she was fierce about protecting those she loved, especially her husband, Chris, and their two beautiful daughters, Ciera and Arianna.
“Oh, I like that,” Angie said. “Fancy but not over-the-top. But what about the wedding favors? I have no idea what to do for three hundred and fifty people.”
Judi furiously flipped through the book until she got to the page she wanted, which she then turned to show Angie.
“I can take care of that for you. We’ll go traditional Italian—your mother will be so happy—and I’ll make the bomboniere for you.”
“Oh, Judi, I love you,” Angie cried, and she hugged her cousin in a hold that strangled.
“No problem, sweetie,” Judi said. She smiled at Mel over Angie’s shoulder, then she looked alarmed. She patted Angie’s back. Hard. “Can’t breathe.”
“Sorry, sorry!” Angie let her go. “I’m just so grateful. You’re really saving my life.”
Mel frowned. Really? Who had been dragged to fifteen bridal shops until they found the dress? Who had smelled eight bazillion flowers until Angie settled on one? Who had baked five thousand sample cupcakes for Angie’s cupcake tower? Okay, that was a slight exaggeration, but still. Mel had. Mel had been all in and now, now she was being replaced by Judi?
“Hi, Mel, how are you?” Judi asked.
She smiled at her and it was so genuine and warm, Mel couldn’t be mad at her. She could, however, be annoyed at the bridezilla.
“Hi, Judi.” She smiled at her and then turned to Angie with a frown and said, “Since you asked, Judi, I’ve been better, given that just a few hours ago, I was hip-deep in a ball pit at a party supply store with a dead guy.”
Both Judi and Angie sat staring at her. Then Judi shut the big binder with a snap.
“Look at the time. I’ve gotta go,” she said. “Angie, I’ll call you later.”
With that, Judi tucked her binder under her arm and headed for the swinging door that would lead her into the bakery and out the front to freedom from the crazy.
Feeling bad for being so blunt, Mel called after her, “Be sure to take some cupcakes for the girls, on the house.”
Judi gave her a wave and a worried smile and fled. Mel couldn’t blame her.
Angie pushed the stool Judi had vacated toward Mel and said, “Explain.”
Mel never got the chance. There was a shout out front and Marty’s voice barked like a guard dog, “Hey, you can’t go back there!” right before the door Judi had just left through was slammed open and Diane strode into the kitchen with Elliott on her heels.
“Hey!” Marty was right behind them, looking like he’d drag her back by the hair if he had to. Mel held up her hand to stop him.
“It’s okay, Marty,” she said.
He glared at Diane. “Next time you wait until I get the boss for you. Got it?”
Diane glared back at him. “Whatever, old man.”
Marty opened his mouth to argue, but Angie, obviously sensing big things were unfolding, spun him around and shoved him back out into the bakery.
“Is that the service bell?” she asked. “Sounds like you have a customer.”
Once Marty was gone, Angie looked at Mel with wide eyes. Well, at least Mel had gotten Angie’s mind off of her wedding for a moment.
“Mel, what happened?” Diane cried. “I made the 9-1-1 call like you asked but then because I wasn’t at the scene, the dispatcher ended the call and I haven’t heard anything from anyone.”
“You might want to sit down while you hear this,” Mel said. She glanced past Diane and saw Elliott standing behind her. She nodded at him to sit, too, but he was too fixated on Diane to pay her any attention.
Diane slid onto a stool and Angie did, too. Elliott remained standing at Diane’s back while Mel paced as she talked.
Mel recounted the morning’s events from the time of their phone call. She told Diane what Mike had looked like and that the police had arrived and she’d been detained. When she got to the part about being handcuffed, Angie let out a few colorful expletives that Mel appreciated.
Diane, however, waved at her to continue. Mel tried to keep the gore to a minimum and explained that she hadn’t had her phone much of the time. As if it was a show-and-tell, she took it out of her pocket and held it up, then she noticed she had missed several calls and texts from Diane.
“Sorry,” she said.
Diane sagged dramatically against the table, buried her head in her arms, and began to weep. Elliott patted her back and made soothing sounds. Given that Diane had sent her to dump the guy, Mel found her hysterical weeping a little over-the-top.
Angie moved to stand beside Mel. She put her arm around her shoulders and gave her a solid half hug.
“Tough morning,” she said. “Are you okay?”
Mel slumped onto an available stool and rested her head on her shorter friend’s shoulder.
“I’ll be okay.” An image of Mike’s crushed cabeza flashed through her mind and she shivered. Angie tightened her grip and Mel took comfort in that.
Diane’s weeping was getting quieter and Mel stared at the back of her head. Her blond hair was in lovely disarray. Her outfit was a cute floral sundress and strappy pink sandals. All she needed was a parasol and she’d look the perfect part of an ingénue, a poor innocent, incapable of murder.
Mel frowned. Suddenly she felt as if she’d been played.
“Diane,” she said. Diane kept her head down. That wasn’t going to work. Mel needed to see her eyes. “Diane, look at me.”
“What?” Diane asked with a dramatic hair toss. Mel noted her makeup wasn’t even smudged.
“Did you kill Mike Bordow?” Mel asked. “Did you kill your fiancé?”
Eight
Diane gasped. She put her hand over her heart as if she had just taken a bullet to the chest.
“I am shocked,” she cried. “How could you, Mel? How could you think that after all that we’ve been through together? You know what sort of person I am, especially after what I did for you.”
Angie glanced at Mel. It was a speculative look. Mel had never told her about the debt she owed to Diane. She had brushed it off as a silly college thing, but now she could see that Angie suspected more. It made Mel feel guilty squirmy inside and frankly she’d felt all the feels she wanted to feel for one day.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that you had me track him down to deliver breakup cupcakes,” Mel said. “That doesn’t speak well of a relationship and usually in a case of murder—”
“Murder?” Diane gasped. “Why would you say he was murdered?”
“Um . . . because his head was bashed in,” Mel said.
Diane clapped her hands over her ears and Elliott gave Mel a reproving look. Mel looked at Angie for backup but Angie shook her head and whispered, “Harsh.”
“Okay, fine, given the nature of the way I found him, it appeared he was encouraged toward his end. Better?”
Diane let out a wail and buried her face in Elliott’s shirtfront.
“Or not,” Angie said.
A knock on the back door of the kitchen made Mel start. No one but employees used that door and they all had keys; even Joe had a key. Mel exchanged looks with Angie and rose from her stool to go open the door. As if sensing something was amiss, Angie went with her.
Mel unlocked the door and opened it. Standing on the back stoop was Uncle Stan a
nd, oh goody, Detective Tara.
“Mel, we’re looking for your client Diane Earn—” Uncle Stan began, but Tara didn’t wait for him to finish as she opened the door wider and pointed inside.
“Oh, and look at that, she’s here,” she said. “Shocker.”
Detective Tara pushed past Mel and Angie and strode into the kitchen. Uncle Stan gave Mel a sheepish smile and followed his new partner into the room.
“Who is that?” Angie whispered to Mel.
“Long story,” Mel said.
“Really? I can’t wait to hear it,” Angie said.
“Diane Earnest?” Detective Tara barked.
Diane leaned back from Elliott and swiftly swiped at her eyes. Mel noted that this time her makeup had given up its water resiliency and was now streaked down her face. Mel tried not to dwell on why this made her feel relieved. She believed her friend; really, she did.
“Y—yes?” Diane blubbered.
“We’ve been looking for you, Ms. Earnest,” Tara said. “Any particular reason you came running here to see your . . . friend?”
Mel did not like the way she said that word. It was full of innuendo and not in a good sexy way; more like a creepy you-hired-your-friend-to-kill-your-fiancé icky way. She gave Uncle Stan an outraged look and he shrugged.
“Can you tell us where you were this morning?” Tara asked.
“I . . .” Diane glanced at Elliott for reassurance and he nodded. “I was at work.”
“And did you hire Melanie Cooper for a job?” Tara asked.
Diane nodded.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Tara held her hand to her ear as if she was hard of hearing.
Mel turned to Uncle Stan. “Okay, enough. Take charge of her or I’ll call Steve Wolfmeier and have him shut you down.”
“Ah,” Uncle Stan gasped and put a hand over his chest in mock outrage, looking very much like Diane had moments ago, except he was older, grayer, a dude, and clocked in easily at double Diane’s weight. Mel glared and he added, “All right, relax.”
Caramel Crush Page 6
