Wedding Cake Crumble

by Jenn McKinlay

  “It’s more what you’d call a fashion malfunction,” Mel said. She glared behind her. “Isn’t that right, Ray?”

  “How is this my fault?” he asked.

  “Mel, there you are.” Uncle Stan was waiting just inside the church. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his expression did not have his usual happy-to-see-her glow.

  “You look mad,” she said.

  “I’m not mad,” he said. “More like irritated. Annoyed. Put out.”

  “What did I do?” she asked.

  “Why don’t you tell me, Sharapova?” he asked.

  “Oh, you heard,” she said.

  “Only because the undercover we had watching Mallory Cavendish happened to catch the whole thing on camera. Mel, you’re the niece of the lead investigator and you’re engaged to a county prosecutor. The defense will have a field day with this.”

  “Oh.”

  “I sense some familial issues happening here,” Judi said as she glanced between them. “I feel for you, I do, but we have a wedding rehearsal happening right here, right now. So. Move. It.”

  With that, Judi dragged Mel into the antechamber, shutting the door in Uncle Stan’s face.

  “Talk later, Uncle Stan,” Mel yelled through the door.

  “Men. Sheesh, do they not get it? This is a wedding!” Judi raised her hands in the air as if asking the divine for patience, and then she spun on her heel and went back the way she came, calling over her shoulder, “Angie, I’ll have your dad knock on the door when we’re ready.”

  Mel turned around to see Angie standing with the other bridesmaids. She had two sisters-in-law and three nieces and then there was Mel. One of the nieces, Kaylee, a junior bridesmaid, looked Mel over from head to toe.

  “That’s some savage fashion you have going on there,” she said. Then she took a picture that Mel was pretty sure was going to be all over Snapchat in a matter of minutes. Just what she wanted, to be shredded by fifteen-year-olds. It was like nothing had changed since she was fifteen.

  “Hey.” Angie broke free from the crowd, looking impossibly lovely in a red chemise dress that flared at mid-thigh. “What happened?”

  “Noth—”

  Angie raised her hand in a stop gesture. “Please, you know I’ll get it out of you one way or another and they’re going to come get us in a second.”

  Mel blew out a breath. “Okay, Ray, Marty, and I went to talk to Mallory Cavendish at her country club because there was a rumor that she was having an affair with her tennis pro and Ray was offered five hundred bucks for a picture by the tennis pro’s wife.”

  “What?” Angie blinked. Then she shook her head. “That’s Ray for you, always working an angle.”

  “Well, turns out they are having an affair,” Mel said. “In fact, Mallory was with Anton—that’s his name—at the time of the murder, but Anton’s wife—aka the woman Ray is working for—threatened to toss Anton out of the country if he cheated on her, so Mallory can’t come forward.”

  “Wow, it’s like a telenovela,” Angie said. “But in English.”

  “Half Italian,” Mel corrected her. “Anton is quite the master of the romance language. It gets better. Mallory has video of her husband threatening Elise but she’s afraid to come forward with it because he apparently has video of her doing the same, so they’re at a stalemate.”

  “Oh, man.” Angie stomped her foot. “I was here prepping the church all afternoon. I missed all of the good stuff.”

  “Not all of it,” Mel said. “Uncle Stan is here and he is not happy with me. Apparently, Mallory was under surveillance and my association with the lead investigator and a county prosecutor would not be viewed in a favorable light.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s what I said,” Mel sighed.

  “Chin up,” Angie said. “Look at it this way: Now that they know Mallory has an alibi, they can pursue other leads. Really, if you think about it, you did them a big favor by weeding her out.”

  “Genius!” Mel said. “I’m totally using that argument with Uncle Stan.”

  “Angie, love, are you ready?” Angie’s father, Dom DeLaura Senior, peeked around the door. He looked intimidated by all of the females in the room.

  Judi bustled around him, clapping her hands, completely unintimidated. “Okay, girls, showtime!”

  The women all hustled to the door. Mary, Angie’s sister-in-law, handed her a colorful bouquet made out of ribbons. Angie looked down at it and then up at Mel.

  Her brown eyes glowed and she said, “Wow, I’m actually getting married.”

  Mel hugged her tight and then hurried after the other women. They lined up by height, with Mel being last because she was the tallest, but also because she was maid of honor.

  She peered down the long aisle into the pretty church, with the afternoon light shining through the tall stained-glass windows at the end of the room making the front of the church glow in a rainbow of color.

  The weight of it suddenly hit Mel. The importance of the role she was to play as her two best friends pledged their lives together. She watched as the girls started to walk down the aisle in single file. She glanced ahead and saw Joe standing next to Tate.

  Judi was right. This was the most important thing happening in their lives right now and she couldn’t be running all over town, trying to figure out who murdered Elise Penworthy when Angie and Tate needed her.

  As she took her first step down the aisle, she vowed that until her two best friends took off for their honeymoon, this wedding was her number one priority. She would see them achieve their happy ever after if it was the last thing she did.

  Fifteen

  “Oh my god, I’m starving,” Angie said as she and Mel slipped into the ladies’ room at the Arizona Biltmore to primp before dinner.

  Thankfully, Mel had been able to pop into one of the resort clothing shops and buy a pretty skirt that would get her through dinner and not make her look like she was fleeing parochial school.

  “So, what’s next on the investigation?” Angie asked.

  Mel shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “I am tapping out.”

  “But what about Cassie?” Angie protested. “She needs you.”

  “She has Steve,” Mel said. “She’ll be okay. Plus, we’ve scratched one person off of the suspect list.”

  “Not to get hung up on a technicality, but does that actually help her?” Angie asked. “Or does it just make her look guiltier?”

  “And we’re done with this conversation,” Mel said. “You are getting married tomorrow and that’s what you should be thinking about.”

  “If I think about it I get nervous,” Angie said. “It’s much better for my mental health to contemplate murder.”

  There was a sound of flushing and one of the stalls opened. Mel and Angie exchanged a look as Tate’s mother came out.

  “Hi . . . er . . .” Angie stalled out as Mrs. Harper went to wash her hands.

  “Oh, Angie,” Mrs. Harper said. “Don’t you think it’s time you started to call me Mom?”

  “Absolutely, Mrs. . . . er . . . Mom?” Angie said.

  Mel turned away to hide her smile.

  Mrs. Harper washed her hands and took a fresh white towel out of the basket on the counter. As she dried her hands, she said, “I know exactly what you mean about the wedding jitters. I was a nervous wreck when Mr. Harper and I got married. I don’t remember a thing.”

  “Really?” Angie asked. A frown line formed between her eyebrows.

  “I know, isn’t it ridiculous?” Mrs. Harper asked. “You spend a fortune on a day that you don’t remember a thing about. Promise me you’ll pause during your big day and take a few moments to notice things. Like your flowers, the music, the sound of people laughing and talking, and the first sight of Tate when you walk down the aisle. Pictures are nice but you want t
o try and remember the feelings.”

  She squeezed Angie’s hand as she passed them on the way to the door. “Oh, and, Mel, I really liked the skirt you had on at the rehearsal. Very fashion forward of you.”

  The door closed after her and Mel looked at Angie. “And there goes the politest woman who ever lived.”

  “I know. Fashion forward—only Emily Harper could come up with something nice to say about that skirt. You looked like you were missing your saddle shoes and pet poodle.”

  Mel laughed. “It felt as awkward as it looked. Come on, Tate’s going to get antsy if we don’t go out there. He’ll think you pulled a runner.”

  Angie turned to look at Mel and her big brown eyes went even wider. “Mel, what would you do if I did?”

  “Huh? What?”

  Angie grabbed Mel’s hands in hers and bit her lip. “If I decided I couldn’t marry Tate; would you help me?”

  “Oh, no, you’re not getting cold feet, Ange,” Mel said. “I mean it. You have loved him for years. How can you second-guess marrying him?”

  Angie looked down at the floor. “I have to know. You’re my maid of honor, would you help me? Would you help me run away?”

  “No,” Mel said. She didn’t even think it over. She squeezed Angie’s hands tightly in hers and said, “I would hog-tie you and throw you in a sack, then I would get Joe to do the same to Tate and then we would throw the two of you in a locked room until you figured it out. Because, Angie, you love him and he loves you and if ever there were two people who were made for each other it is you two.”

  Angie dropped Mel’s hands and opened her arm wide and hugged Mel tight. “And that is why you are my maid of honor!”

  Mel studied her friend through a narrowed gaze. “Was that a test? Because that would really be lousy.”

  “Not a test so much as a reassurance for me that if I freak out, you’ll do what needs to be done,” Angie said. She slipped her arm through Mel’s and danced on her feet. “I’m going to marry Tate. This time tomorrow, I will be Mrs. Tate Harper.”

  Angie’s exuberance was impossible to ignore and Mel hugged her friend to her side. “Thank goodness!”

  Together they left the ladies’ room to join the party. Mel saw Joe talking to Uncle Stan and she made her way to them, knowing full well she was likely in for another lecture. The two of them had their heads together as if what they were discussing they did not want overheard. Mel’s curiosity was fully engaged.

  “Talking about the case?” she asked as she popped up between them.

  “Mel!” Uncle Stan jumped and put his hand on his heart. “Quit sneaking around like that. In fact, quit sneaking around period.”

  “I didn’t sneak,” Mel said. “Ray asked me for a favor and I went because I thought it might help Cassie.”

  “It didn’t.” Uncle Stan frowned.

  “I know, but at least now the police and the district attorney can take Mallory Cavendish off of their suspect list and focus on finding the real killer.”

  “You’d better tell her, and emphasize how she is to stay out of this investigation,” Uncle Stan said to Joe. Stan looked grim and then he glanced across the room and saw Mel’s mother, Joyce. His face softened and he gave them a brisk nod. “Excuse me.”

  Mel watched as he went to join Joyce. Since her father had passed, Uncle Stan had watched over Joyce, Mel, and Charlie in his stead. Mel had always been grateful to him for trying to help fill the dad-sized hole in her heart, but right now he was on her very last nerve with his bossiness.

  Then again, if Joyce was seeing someone, maybe she needed Uncle Stan to step in since Joyce wasn’t sharing with Mel. She should have asked Uncle Stan if Joyce had told him who she was seeing. She’d bet he’d already run a background check on the guy if she had. Hmm.

  “You okay?” Joe asked.

  Mel turned back to him and leaned into his side. “Yeah, I just feel as if things have been strained between me and Uncle Stan lately and I don’t know how to fix it.”

  Joe was quiet for a second and then said, “The Elise Penworthy murder is a pretty high-profile case. He’s got to be feeling the pressure, and having you associated with the case even peripherally is not going to make his job easier.”

  “I suppose, but what choice do I have? I can’t abandon my friend. Still, it feels like something more than that is off,” she said. She glanced back at Joe and found his warm brown gaze on her. “So, what did Uncle Stan think you should tell me?”

  Joe blew out a breath and put his hand on the back of his neck. He looked wary and regretful. This could not be good.

  “The county prosecutor has decided to charge Cassie Leighton with the murder of Elise Penworthy.”

  “What?” Mel cried. Several heads snapped in their direction and she lowered her voice, although it was an effort. “That’s preposterous.”

  “They feel that the evidence is strong and only going to get stronger,” he said.

  “Did you talk to her? Did you tell her that you know Cassie couldn’t possibly have done this?”

  “No, because I don’t know that,” Joe said.

  Mel stepped away from him, looking outraged. “But you’ve met her several times. You’ve always liked Cassie.”

  “Yes, but that’s before she was named as the prime suspect in an investigation for which my office is responsible. I can’t just wave them away from the case because my fiancée is friends with the main person of interest.”

  “What did Steve have to say about this?” Mel asked.

  “I have no idea,” Joe said. “Because of my relationship with you and your relationship with Cassie, I’m recused, as it could be considered a conflict of interest.”

  Mel studied his face. He didn’t say it but it was there in the firm set to his lips. He was disappointed to have been removed from one of the biggest cases to hit his office in months.

  “I’m sorry,” Mel said. “I never want you to have to choose between me or your career.”

  It was then that he hit her with his patent-worthy Joe DeLaura smile. With a dimple as an accent mark, his lips swooped up, showing off a slash of white teeth and making Mel’s insides flutter. He’d been doing that to her since the very first day she set eyes upon him.

  He cupped her face with one hand and lowered his mouth to hers in a swift, sweet kiss. “Cupcake, there was no choice. It’s you, always you.”

  And just like that Mel was a big dopey pile of mush. She kissed him back and hugged him hard. She was going to marry this man.

  “Now I’m going to ask you something that will likely make you mad, but I’m going to ask anyway,” Joe said.

  Mel stepped away from him so she could look him right in the eye. “Go ahead.”

  “Please stay away from this case,” he said. “I know Cassie is your friend, but whoever killed Elise is likely the same person who killed three other people. That’s big-time homicide—as in crazy, out of control, nut job—and I want you away from it.”

  “Is that your professional description of the murderer?” she asked.

  “The county prosecutor is not fooling around,” Joe said. “She wants whoever is responsible locked up, and if the state can prove it was one person, she’s going to ask for the death penalty. You cannot get involved in this, Mel.”

  Mel narrowed her eyes. “Are you forbidding me?”

  “Which part of my body should I cover if I say ‘yes’?” he asked.

  “The most vulnerable,” she said.

  Joe sighed. “You know I won’t tell you what to do, but I’m asking you as your fiancé and the man who wants to spend his life with you, please stop investigating the case against Cassie. She has Steve in her corner and even though I hate to admit it, he’s a hell of a defense attorney.”

  Mel stared at him. Refusing him anything went against her nature, but she also didn’t want
to lie to him.

  “Joe, I just don’t know if I can turn away from someone who needs me,” she said. “I can promise you I won’t go looking for trouble, but if I find out something of interest, I’m going to follow up on it.”

  Joe frowned. It was clearly not the answer he’d been hoping for. Mel laced her fingers with his and swung his arms like they were kids on a playground.

  “I promise I’ll be very careful and not do anything dumb,” she said.

  He shook his head and she knew he was formulating his argument. This was the down side to being with an attorney—they were very good at arguing their case and they really liked having the last word.

  “Hey, Joe, tell Paulie he’s not allowed to wear white socks tomorrow,” Tony yelled across the room. “I mean, come on, he’s supposed to be representing the DeLauras.”

  Joe leaned close to Mel and whispered, “This conversation isn’t over.”

  “Joe!” Paulie called. “Tell Tony I can wear whatever I want.”

  “You’d better go before they start communicating with their fists,” Mel said.

  “All right, we’ll talk later. I don’t know what the big deal is with white socks. Personally, I’m just relieved he’s not wearing his Iron Man ones.”

  “Go. Before it gets ugly,” she said.

  “Fine.” Joe kissed her forehead and gave her hand a quick squeeze.

  Mel could feel that he wasn’t happy leaving the conversation here. Like Stan, she could have told Joe what he wanted to hear, but she didn’t want to lie to either of them and deep down she knew they both preferred the truth even if it gave Uncle Stan heartburn and caused Joe to worry.

  Joe walked over to where his six brothers stood bickering. The middle of the seven, Joe had played the role of mediator for as long as Mel had known the DeLaura family. She studied the ridiculously handsome group of men in order of birth; Dom, Sal, Ray, Joe, Paulie, Tony, and Al. Dom, the oldest, was starting to go gray, his daughters were almost grown, and they were lovely as Angie’s bridesmaids. Most of the other brothers were following his lead—married, or about to be, with kids in the mix—while just Ray, Tony, and Al were unattached.