“I can’t even imagine how devastated she is,” Mel said. “Joe and I were planning to go, too. Did Tate say whether they have any suspects?”
“No. He called a while ago and said the police have no one in custody except for Cassie, but I just don’t see her murdering Elise, Blaise, the driver, or the caterer,” Angie said. “I don’t understand what the police are thinking. Do you think they know something we don’t?”
“Maybe,” Mel said. “Uncle Stan is playing it pretty close to the vest, but I’ll bet Steve is going to prove Cassie had an alibi for those other murders and then the case against her will unravel.”
“Unless they think someone else killed Cassie’s vendors and that the murders are unrelated,” Angie said.
“But that makes no sense,” Mel said. “They all have to be connected somehow.”
“I agree, but how?” Angie asked.
“What do the caterer, the driver, and Blaise have in common?” Mel asked.
“They were working Elise’s book signing?” Angie said.
“Why?”
Angie made a face. “Because Cassie hired them, obviously.”
“Why?”
“Mel, I love you like a sister but if you ask me why one more time,” Angie warned.
“Just hear me out,” Mel said. “We know Blaise’s business was centered in the area, just like the driver and the caterer.”
“Meaning what?”
“If they were all the preferred businesses of the Palms neighborhood, then it stands to reason that the person who killed them was someone who used their services who felt betrayed by them,” Mel said.
“You’re thinking Elise got some of her information from these businesses and used what she learned in the book?” Angie nodded. “That makes sense.”
“A photographer would have access to all sorts of behind-the-scenes information,” Mel said. “What if Blaise had been hired to do some skeevy boudoir shoot?”
Angie made a face and said, “Or a driver? Who knows what happened in the backseat of his car while he was schlepping these rich people around town?”
“And Brianna the caterer,” Mel said. “We’ve walked into some weird situations of our own when delivering cupcakes to a party.”
“Do you think Stan is considering this?” Angie asked.
“I’m going to call him and find out,” Mel said. “But I’m betting they’ll find that whoever killed all of the vendors is someone who used all of them and believes that the vendors gave Elise information about them to use in her book.”
“There’s only one problem with this theory,” Angie said. “Blaise wasn’t the sort to gossip. I just can’t see him talking to Elise about another client.”
Mel nodded. Blaise was a good guy, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t accidentally told Elise something and it got back to his client.
“Maybe he didn’t, but the murderer believes he did,” Mel said.
“That I could see,” Angie said. “Especially if this person is operating from a place of rage. Why let Cassie take the fall for it, though, unless they have a beef with her, too?”
“Well, she is publishing the book, so it’s perfect revenge for that,” Mel said. “The murderer is probably thrilled that she’s been arrested and questioned, and if she gets convicted, well, that will work out well for the real murderer, won’t it?”
“You sound pretty sure of this,” Angie said.
“I have to be,” Mel said. “The alternative is that Cassie is the murderer, and that is unacceptable.”
Thirteen
The bakery and last-minute wedding details took all of Mel’s time over the next few days. She checked in with Cassie daily, but Cassie, who had been let out on bail because it could not be proven she was a flight risk, was keeping a low profile. She hadn’t gone to work, letting her staff run the bookstore. She hadn’t even gone home because Steve, her attorney, felt it best that she stay out of the media spotlight.
Instead, she holed up in a townhouse in a gated community that Steve’s law firm kept for just this purpose. When Mel called Steve to thank him for looking out for Cassie, he told her that with Cassie’s fingerprints on the murder weapon and the fact that she would inherit the rights to Elise’s book, the case was going to be a battle.
“But it’s a battle you think you can win, right?” Mel asked.
“I’m going to try,” he said.
Mel was standing in the bakery kitchen, putting the final touches on a batch of marble swirl cupcakes—both the cake and the frosting were swirled vanilla and chocolate. They were the special of the day and she was late getting them out front. Marty had already barked at her twice about it.
“You know, I have a theory,” she said.
“Oh, this should be good.” Steve did not even try to mask his sarcasm.
“Don’t be a hater, it is good,” Mel insisted. “I’ve been reading the book and—”
“Then you know Elise didn’t use anyone’s real name,” he said. “Making it difficult to prove who she was vilifying.”
“Yes, but she did use all of their distinguishing characteristics,” Mel said. “Hair Plugs—”
“Ugh, he was the worst,” Steve said.
“You’re reading the book?”
“My client published it and it’s critical to her case,” he said. “Of course I read it.”
“Past tense? Read it? That fast? Oh my god, you read it before she was your client,” she said.
“What? No, I didn’t,” he protested.
“Oh, come on,” Mel said. “Admit it. The Palms is most of your client base, it’s only natural that you should read it. Oh, no, you’re not in it, are you?”
“Oh, hell no!” Steve said. “I’d never let that happen. I may be an ambulance-chasing dirtbag, but I’m not trashy novel worthy, not yet.”
Mel laughed. “So, how many of your clients were in there?”
“Several,” he said.
“Any of them worth considering for murder?” she asked. “And if so, would that prove to be a conflict of interest for you?”
“No, my clients are the type to ruin you financially, not with a pen to the back,” he said.
“But you’d let Uncle Stan know if you thought there might be someone he should take a closer look at, right?” she asked.
Steve was silent for several seconds. Mel could tell he was carefully debating his answer.
“Possibly,” he said.
“Not a ringing endorsement of your trustworthiness,” she said.
“Client confidentiality,” he said. “It’s a thing.”
“Whatever. I think the moral imperative here is that you don’t let an innocent woman go to jail for a crime she didn’t commit.”
“Mmm.” It was the most noncommittal grunt Mel had ever heard.
“Is there any way I can see her?” she asked.
“No,” Steve said. “If you have information or questions, I’d prefer you go through me. I don’t want to risk having any reporters find her.”
“That makes sense,” she said. “How is she holding up, for reals? Don’t give me the press answer.”
“She’s . . . scared,” he said. “She’s built that business up from nothing and now she stands to lose it all. She’s definitely scared and a little angry.”
Mel couldn’t help but notice an admiring note in Steve’s voice that she’d never heard before.
“You like her,” she said.
“And I’m hanging up now,” Steve said.
“Oh my god, you really like her,” she said.
“How do you figure that?” he asked. “What could I possibly have said that played into your whatever it is that’s going on in your head?”
“Does she know?”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Did you hear that nose?” he
asked. “That was me, banging my head on my desk.”
“Well, that’s an extreme reaction,” she said. She was trying very hard not to laugh. “A simple, ‘Why, yes, Mel, I do like her very much’ would have sufficed.”
“You’re out of control,” he said. “Just because you’re all engaged to DeLaura and everyone around you is getting married does not mean the rest of the planet is pairing off, too.”
“If you say so,” Mel said. “But I’m telling you, your tone of voice gave it away.”
“Ugh,” he groaned. “So maybe I like her a little. I mean, I’m a defense attorney; most of my clients are guilty as hell and it’s all I can do to get them a reduced sentence. In my line of work, it’s rare to have a client that you just know is innocent.”
“Oh, you know it, huh?” Mel asked.
“Okay, I’m officially hanging up now,” he said. “Anything you want me to pass along to Cassie?”
“Tell her not to worry, and use your big-time lawyer voice to make it sound sincere,” Mel said.
“Will do,” he said. “So, tell me the truth. Did you have even one twinge of ‘Oh, hey, I should really have given Steve a chance’ during this embarrassing conversation?”
Mel laughed. “I’m sorry, no. You know I’ve always belonged to Joe.”
“And the hits keep coming,” he said. But he didn’t sound upset, more resigned. “Hey, Mel, I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’m happy, too.”
Steve ended the call and Mel glanced down at the sparkly diamond on her finger. She’d been so consumed with Tate and Angie’s wedding that she hadn’t given much thought to her own wedding to Joe. Maybe it was time to get moving on that.
“Mel, there you are!” The back door to the bakery slammed open and there stood Ray.
“Are you looking for me or your favorite Chocolate Peanut Butter Cupcake?” Mel asked.
“You, but if you have a cupcake to throw at me, I won’t say no,” he said. Ray strode into the bakery in his usual black leather jacket and jeans.
Mel marveled at how he looked like he really belonged on the Jersey shore and yet he had spent most of his life in Scottsdale, Arizona, a town known more for golf than goodfellas.
Mel moved to the cooler and plated two of Ray’s favorites. There was still coffee in the pot that was hot, so she poured him a cup of coffee, too.
“All right,” she said. She put the cupcakes in front of him at the table. “What do you have to tell me?”
“I heard from a very reliable source that there is video of Elise Penworthy’s ex threatening her right before the book came out,” he said.
“Seriously?” Mel asked. “That would be huge. Who has the video?”
“That’s the problem,” Ray said. He paused to take a bite out of one of the cupcakes. He was still chewing as he explained, “Word is the second wife has it and she’s holding it over husband dearest as leverage in their marriage.”
“Huh, so the Child Bride is no fool,” Mel said. “I bet he’d do anything to keep that video from surfacing.”
“I’m thinking you need to have a chat with wife number two,” Ray said.
“Oh, sure, how am I supposed to make that happen?”
Ray polished off the last of the cupcake and took a sip of coffee. “My same source told me she’s taking tennis lessons at her country club.” He paused to look at his phone. “In a half hour.”
Mel narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you telling me this and not Uncle Stan or Detective Martinez?”
“Do you really think either of them is going to listen to me?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
Ray held his hands wide in a gesture that indicated there was her answer.
“My source also said that she suspects there is something going on between Child Bride and her tennis pro.”
Mel’s eyebrows rose. “That’s some source you have.”
Ray gave her a grin. “It’s the tennis pro’s wife.”
“Okay, hold up,” Mel said. “How do you know the tennis pro’s wife?”
“We went to school together,” he said. “She’s a nice girl. She also asked me to get the money shot on her husband and the Child Bride so she can file for divorce and take him to the cleaners. Full disclosure, the money shot is worth five hundred smackers.”
“Oh my god, so you have a whole other agenda going?”
Ray shrugged. “I can’t get into the club, but you can.”
“How do you figure?” Mel asked.
“You look the part,” Ray said.
“Meaning what?”
“You’re all tall and blond,” Ray said. “Total country club material, plus I had my friend put you on the roster. You’ll be able to scoot right in and ask questions.”
“You’re crazy,” Mel said. “The rehearsal for the wedding is in three hours. How am I supposed to get to the country club and then back to the church in time?”
“I’ll drive you,” he said.
Mel glanced down at her hot pink apron over her jeans and white T-shirt. “Not really dr—”
Ray held up a garment bag that had a lady’s tennis outfit in it.
“You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah?” a shout sounded from the kitchen’s swinging door. “Well, you snore!”
Marty burst into the kitchen looking pink in the face and irritated.
“Problem?” Mel asked.
“Oz is the worst roommate ever,” Marty said. “And I say that as someone who lived with Olivia Puckett, the most anal-retentive roommate ever!”
“It is a studio apartment; maybe you need to find someplace else to live until you’ve sorted things out with your daughters and decided what’s happening with Olivia,” Mel said.
“You can bunk with me for a small fee,” Ray said.
Marty glared at him. “No.”
“Marty, that’s rude,” Mel said.
“Sorry. No, thank you,” Marty said. “I’ll figure it out. Maybe I’ll sleep in the van tonight.”
“No, we talked about this,” Mel said. “No more sleeping in the van for anyone. If your daughters caught you doing that, you know they’d haul you back home in a heartbeat.”
Marty pointed a bony finger at the bag. “What’s that?”
“Mel’s outfit,” Ray said. He thrust it at Mel. “Speaking of which, we need to get going.”
“Where are you going?” Marty asked. “The wedding rehearsal is in three hours.”
“The Palms Country Club,” Ray said. “We’ve got a lead on who might have killed Elise. Mel is going undercover to see what she can find out. She’ll be back in plenty of time.”
Marty glanced between them and started to take off his apron. “The Palms? Hang on, I’m coming with you.”
“You?” Ray asked. “How are you going to fit in at a country club with a tennis pro?”
“Are you kidding? I can ace being a tennis player. All I have to do is know when to jam the drop-shot lingo at them. Besides, if I make a call indicating I’m looking to be a member and they run my financials, they’ll be all over themselves to let me in. It’ll give me a chance to snoop around and see if I can learn anything of interest.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Ray said. “You’re loaded. If you change your mind about needing a place to sleep, my fee just went up.”
“Why do I get the feeling that this is a bad idea—so, so bad?” Mel asked.
Ray thrust the bag at her. “Go.”
* * *
• • •
The Palms Country Club sat in the heart of the neighborhood. It was built in the fifties to cater to the wealthy and it had never changed. Mel chose to drive her car, and she turned onto the palm tree–lined drive into the country club, stopping at the g
atehouse.
A man in uniform—a goldenrod-colored polo shirt with a palm tree logo embroidered on the upper left, and navy pants—leaned into her car window. He took in her tennis outfit, and Marty in his Bermuda shorts and golf shirt beside her. He glanced between them, obviously trying to figure out if they were related or if Marty was her sugar daddy. Mel had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
“Good afternoon, may I help you?”
Ray was under a blanket on the backseat of her car and Mel hoped the guard didn’t see the lump he formed. She decided to turn her charm meter up to that of super cheerleader wattage.
“Hi, I’m a guest,” Mel said. She did big gestures while she talked, hoping to keep the guard’s eyes on her. “I’m Melanie Cooper, and I brought my friend Martin Zelaznik with me, as he’s considering membership.”
“How do,” Marty said. He leaned forward so the guard could get a better look at him. The guard studied him for a minute and then wrote Marty’s name down on the clipboard.
“I’m going to call ahead and let someone in membership know you’re coming,” he said. “Just a moment.”
He ducked back into his booth.
“Is he gone?” Ray asked. “Ow, ow, ow, my back is seizing up.”
“Hush,” Marty said. He faked a coughing fit on the off chance the guard heard Ray.
“Here you go, Ms. Cooper.” The guard came back with a paper parking slip for her to hang on her rearview mirror. “Guest parking is just to the south of the entrance. Enjoy your day.”
“Thank you,” she said. She sped away from the station and through the open gates. “Okay, we’re clear. You can get up now.”
Ray burst out from under the blanket like a whale breaching the ocean’s surface. He sucked in a great gulp of air as if he’d been suffocating.
“Settle down,” Marty snapped. “Sheesh, you’re all red in the face and sweaty looking.”
“I don’t like small dark spaces,” Ray said.
“You were under a blanket,” Marty retorted. “Relax.”
“Both of you, pipe down,” Mel said. “I need to get to the tennis court in two minutes.”
She parked and they hurried from the car. Mel’s outfit was about two sizes too big and she wasn’t sure if she was mad at Ray for thinking she was bigger than she was or not. As it was, her skirt was being held up by a row of safety pins. Ray carried her tennis racket for her. He told her if anyone asked who he was she was to tell them he was her bodyguard.
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