“Come on, Oz,” she said. “Let’s get back to the bakery. We need to sell some cupcakes.”
Mel tried to ignore the DeLaura brother, Sal, who tagged along behind them. She knew they had worked out a schedule, and there was nothing she could do about it until she convinced Joe to call them off.
Tony was manning the front counter when they stepped inside. As soon as she took in her precious pink and chrome bakery and heard Elvis’s voice crooning form the jukebox, Mel felt all of her tension slip away.
It seemed as if she’d been away for weeks instead of just a day and a half. The sights and smells of all things familiar comforted her in a way nothing else could, and for the first time since Angie had been poisoned, she felt her shoulders sink down from around her ears.
“How’s business been, Tony?” she asked.
“Steady,” he said. “How did the competition go?”
Mel and Oz exchanged a look. “We don’t know for sure, but I think we pulled it out.”
“I’m going to call Angie,” she said. “Oz, will you and Tony restock the front display case and make a list of what we’re low on?”
Oz bobbed his shaggy head.
Mel went into her office and shut the door. She dialed Angie’s room number at the hospital and waited. Angie picked up on the third ring.
“Speak to me,” Angie said.
“It went well today,” Mel said. “Oz has skills.”
“I know. Ray already called me. He said your dessert was irresistible.”
“Apparently.”
“He also said you were unhappy with them and tried to have Joe call them off. What happened?”
“He didn’t tell you he mangled a dessert?”
“No, he told me,” Angie said. “I get that. I’d have kicked his butt myself, but he said you looked weird after you called Joe’s office. He said he got the impression someone wouldn’t put your call through.”
“My god, that man has big ears,” Mel said.
“You have no idea,” Angie agreed. “So what happened?”
“It was no big deal,” Mel said. “I’ll talk to Joe about it later. How are you feeling?”
“Good enough that Dr. Patel is letting me out today. They’re doing the paperwork as we speak,” she said. “And I’ll be assisting you at the contest tomorrow.”
“Ange, do you really think you should?”
“It’s one hour, and it’s really important to me to compete, okay, more accurately, to win.”
“All right, if the doctor says it’s okay,” Mel said. “Do you need me to drive you home?”
“Nah, Tate’s got it,” she said. Her voice sounded tight, and Mel knew it was none of her business but she asked anyway, “Has he moved into the hospital officially, then?”
“Pretty close,” Angie said. Her voice sounded embarrassed, and she hastily added, “You know he’d do the same for you.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Mel disagreed.
“Well, that’s because you have Joe, but if Joe was out of town, he would,” Angie said.
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Mel said. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Absolutely,” Angie said. “See you tomorrow.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Mel hung up, feeling more grateful than she could express that Angie was okay and being released from the hospital. She never wanted to be that terrified ever again.
In the quiet of her office, she took a moment to go over the details of the past few days. Someone had murdered Vic. Although there were obviously several people with plenty of motive, she still had no idea who had the most to gain by his death.
She would have pinned it on Jordan just because she didn’t like her, but Angie had been right—without Vic, Jordan probably would fade into obscurity. So that left Bertie, who had just gotten Vic’s job, but then why did he need to kill Vic? He already had the job. Then there was Dutch. He hated Vic and blamed him for his failed career. But if he was working out a new situation with Bertie, then why risk it all by committing murder?
Mel felt her pupils contract. She was so tired of thinking about all of this. Every time she felt like she had a lead or an inkling of an idea, it slipped through her fingers like a puff of smoke, refusing to take any solid shape.
The only thing she did know was that Angie had been poisoned, and as much as Mel had balked about it, it did seem that it had been directed at keeping them out of the competition. Still, it seemed just crazy for a competitor to go that far to win. The only thing she knew for sure was that she had almost lost her best friend, and that made her angry, angry enough to take on a killer.
Twenty-two
Mel spent the rest of the day in the kitchen, baking. It was the most therapeutic thing she could think of to do. She took a break about midafternoon and ran up to check on Captain Jack.
She opened the door to her apartment, half expecting to be attacked like he’d done to Joe, but no. No white little fur ball launched himself at her when she stepped inside.
In fact, he was nowhere to be found. She searched the bathroom, the kitchenette, and under all of the furniture. There was no sign of his little snow white body. Her heart began to pound in her chest. Had he gotten out? He was so little. What if he went back to the Dumpster? What if the garbage trucks came, and he got hauled away like so much trash? No, this was not trash pickup day. She checked the cupboards, thinking that maybe he had gotten trapped inside one.
She was on her hands and knees checking the cabinet under the sink when she felt someone watching her. It was a peculiar feeling. Slowly she turned around. There sat Captain Jack, studiously licking one paw, while he glanced at her with his pale green eyes.
“Where did you come from?” she asked.
He stretched his body in a long arc and ambled over to her. He purred as he rubbed his little face against her arm, and she had a feeling he was angling for more food. Joe had been good enough to pick up proper cat food and kitty litter and drop it off earlier that day, for which she was grateful.
Mel scooped up Captain Jack and held him until they were nose to nose.
“I’m feeling very fragile lately, so don’t scare me like that again,” she said.
He batted her nose with a paw.
“Fine, cuteness will get you a little snicky-snack,” she said. She gave him a small portion of canned cat food and some dry as well and watched while he attacked his dish. When he was finished, they played an intense game of chase the yarn ball until Captain Jack started to look droopy and he began to knead her lap.
She put him on his preferred pillow and headed back downstairs. She had a special order for tomorrow that she needed to get done, and she wanted to help Oz lock up.
She really needed to do something about Oz. He had undeniable talent. He was still in high school, but he would be graduating soon. With his skills, she’d love to see him go on to the Scottsdale Culinary Institute. If only Vic were still alive. She could have asked him to use his influence to help get Oz in.
A wave of anger hit Mel low and deep. It was this sort of moment that brought the loss of Vic back to her like a punch in the chest. Yes, he had been the sort of person that sucked all of the oxygen out of the room, but he had also had an eye for talent and he nurtured it in those he deemed worthy. Mel had been one of the lucky ones. She couldn’t help thinking what he would have done with Oz and how sad it was that Oz wouldn’t get that opportunity.
The bakery was hopping when Mel returned. Oz and Tony were dashing between the counter orders and the tables. Elvis was keeping a moving beat, and the sound of laughter sprinkled the air with a mix of guffaws and giggles.
“Oz!” Mel called to him while she yanked on her apron. “Why didn’t you call me for backup?”
“I figured you could use the break,” he said. “Besides, it didn’t get crazy busy until about ten minutes ago.”
“I’ll take the counter if you two can handle the tables,” she said
.
Oz and Tony nodded, and they split up to man their separate stations. Mel didn’t have a chance to talk with them again for another hour and a half. By the time she kicked Tony out and they flipped the sign to Closed, it was eight o’clock, and the display case was all but empty. The walk-in cooler was looking pretty bare as well.
“It’s official, Oz,” she said as they both sank onto booth benches and put their feet up on empty chairs. “I am going to have to start paying you, and you’re already due for a raise.”
He gave a low laugh. “I think that’s against the internship rules.”
“So is skipping school to work here,” Mel said.
Silence greeted her words.
“Oz?” she prompted.
“I hate school,” he said. “It’s a stupid waste of time. I’ve learned more since I’ve been here than I have in a whole semester there.”
Mel was silent. Oz was huge for his age. Six foot three with a burly build, more piercings than she cared to count, and the few times she’d seen his eyes, he was wearing thick black eye liner.
She had come to suspect that although he looked pretty tough on the outside, he was a big marshmallow inside. Bullies loved targets like Oz. The bigger the victim, the tougher the bully felt.
Mel didn’t doubt that the same type of bullies who had made her chubby years hell on earth found Oz an easy target as well. Still, he couldn’t be missing school.
With the booth backs between them, she felt as if they were in a retro fifties confessional. Maybe that was why Oz had been square with her. She glanced down; she could see his size thirteens sticking out of his bench. The tips of his Converse high-tops kept tapping against one another. He was nervous; he was afraid he was in trouble. Mel decided to put him at ease.
“I was the fat kid in school,” she said. “From grades K through eight, I was the porker, the one who always had a candy bar stashed in my cubby, my backpack, my locker. I even put one in my training bra once. It melted. Not a good plan, but it was an especially bad term.”
She glanced down. The Converse had stopped tapping.
“I was lucky,” she said. “My dad was a funny guy, and he always knew just what to say to make things better. I never realized what a gift that was until he was gone. But I also had a couple of friends, Tate and Angie, who got me through the worst of it. Oh, I still got picked on in high school, but it wasn’t as bad.”
“I never knew my dad,” Oz said. “My friend Lupe looks out for me, but she’s younger and we’re not in a lot of the same classes.”
“Do you feel afraid?” Mel asked.
Oz was silent for a while, and then he said, “No, just sad.”
Mel lifted up her arm and rested it on the back of the booth. After a moment, almost hesitantly, Oz’s hand appeared beside hers. She patted his hand and then asked, “Do you want me to come to your school and kick some bully ass?”
A shocked laugh erupted from Oz, and like the rest of him, even his laugh sounded too big and it boomed around the room, making Mel laugh with him.
He sat up and peered over the back of the bench. “That would be something.”
“If I bring Angie, it’ll be ugly,” she said.
A grin appeared below his shaggy bangs.
“Oz, I’m going to write your counselor a note about what all has been happening here, and I’m going to take full responsibility for your absences, but you have to promise me you’ll start going to your classes and maintaining your grades.”
“Do I still get to work here?” he asked. His voice was just above a whisper.
“Absolutely, but not before your last class, which I believe lets out at noon, correct?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Okay, I don’t want to see you before twelve thirty, then,” Mel said. “And I wasn’t kidding. We’re going to work out a way for this to be a paid internship. You have certainly earned it.”
His grin flashed back into place, and Mel felt relieved that she hadn’t screwed up. Of course, she still needed to convince his counselor that this was a good idea, but she’d worry about that later.
Captain Jack was still asleep on his pillow when Mel went into her apartment. At least he hadn’t slipped into that alternate dimension cats seemed capable of disappearing into on a whim. She did not need to be scared like that again.
Mel checked her messages. The first was from Joe telling her that he was on duty to watch Angie at her house tonight. Mel thought about stopping by, but knowing Angie, she was probably full up on people at the moment. Besides, it would be good for them to have some time together.
The second message was from Mel’s mother, Joyce.
“Melanie, dear Joe told me that he is watching his sister tonight, such a good man, and we both agreed that you should spend the night with me.” Here the message paused. “Are you there, Melanie? Please pick up. Oh, you’re probably still closing up. All right, I’ll call back in a half hour. Love you. Bye.”
Even though Mel had always had voice mail, her mother always seemed to think she could hear the messages being recorded. Mel had tried to explain voice mail to her mother, but it hadn’t taken.
She glanced at the clock. Her mother would be calling back in ten minutes. Mel didn’t want to spend the night at her mother’s. She knew she had to be careful, but really, who could poison her in her own apartment?
Now the trick was going to be avoiding talking to her mother at all costs. Joyce wielded guilt like a swordsman used a rapier. Mel would be tucked into her old bed at her mother’s faster than she could say “no thank you” if she spoke to her directly.
She supposed she could go down and hide in her kitchen and get some baking done, but the idea did not appeal. She could unplug her phone and just ignore it, but then her mother would probably drive over to check on her.
She paced around the small room, trying to pinpoint what exactly was making her so reluctant to go stay with her mother. She couldn’t describe it, except to acknowledge a feeling of restlessness that was consuming her from within, licking at her like the flames of a slow-burning fire.
There was so much on her mind between Vic’s murder, the challenge to the chefs competition, and Angie’s poisoning that Mel felt as if her brain was full. She knew she wouldn’t feel better until she knew what had happened to Vic and who had poisoned Angie.
She thought about the conversation between Dutch and Jordan. If Grace hadn’t interrupted, she may have learned more about what they had done.
Now what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t exactly go to Dutch, admit she’d been eavesdropping, and demand an explanation. And she definitely couldn’t approach Jordan, who was quite clear in her dislike of Mel. Who else would know if the two of them were in cahoots? And who would care other than the police, who really couldn’t do anything without more than hearsay to go on?
Grace. If anyone cared about what happened to Vic, it was Grace. Mel glanced out the window. It was dark. She decided to take her car over to the Valley Ho and see if Grace had learned anything about how Vic had died. If Uncle Stan was right and Vic had been poisoned, too, then it stood to reason that the police would tell Grace first.
Mel left a light on, patted Captain Jack on the head, and locked up her apartment. With a renewed sense of purpose, she headed toward the lot where her car was parked.
Twenty-three
Perhaps it was just the crazy week she’d been having, but Mel clicked the unlock button on her key fob and jogged to her car. She always parked under one of the two streetlights in the parking lot, and she climbed into her car and locked the door, feeling an urgency she couldn’t explain.
She turned the key and stomped on the gas, moving the stick shift through the first three gears as she built up speed. Luck was on her side. Five traffic lights to get through and not one was red.
She pulled up in front of the valet. It wasn’t the one she’d had watch her bike. She handed him her keys and hurried through the main door on her way to Grace’s r
oom. She supposed she could use a courtesy phone, but for some reason she didn’t want to take the time.
She took the elevator up and hurried down the hallway. She knocked three times and waited. She felt awkward in the hotel hallway as if she were up to no good, but that was ridiculous. She was just checking on a friend. Yes, Joe would be furious that she hadn’t taken someone with her, but this was Grace, for pity’s sake. Mel had known her as long as she’d known Vic.
The door opened and a woman in a fluffy white dressing gown answered. Her hair was wrapped in a towel, but Mel could see right away that it wasn’t Grace.
“I’m sorry,” Mel said. “I’m looking for Grace Mazzotta.”
“You and everyone else,” the woman huffed. “You’re the third person today to come knocking. I’m really going to have to complain.”
“Do you know where she is?” Mel asked.
“No, like I’ve told everyone else, I don’t know her,” the woman snapped. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a bath waiting.”
She shut the door with a firm snap, and Mel knew there would be no point in trying to ask her any more questions.
Great, now what? She supposed she could call Uncle Stan, but he probably didn’t know anything yet. She could try and talk to Dutch, but he was the king of deny, deny, deny. She’d seen him when he tried to date three girls at the same time when they were in cooking school. He had been such a cad back then, and judging by the conversation she’d overheard between him and Jordan, he hadn’t changed much.
No, she needed to talk to Grace. She went back to the elevator, where there was a small table with a courtesy phone. She dialed the front desk and waited for the very gracious clerk to answer.
“Hi, this is Melanie Cooper,” she said. “I’m a friend of Grace Mazzotta’s. I was hoping to stop by her room for a quick visit, but I’ve misplaced the room number. Could you assist me?”
“Certainly, Ms. Cooper,” the clerk said. “Let me check with Mrs. Mazzotta.”
Death by the Dozen Page 17
