Buttercream Bump Off (25 page)

“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.

“You know, a lot of people have entered,” she said. “You may not win.”

He grinned at her. “I have a gut feeling about this. So good, in fact, that I’ve already asked Beatriz and she said yes.”

“Oh, Marty.” Mel bit her lip.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “My gut is never wrong.”

He hurried back to the kitchen and Mel gave Tate a worried look.

“You’re going to have to put him on the payroll,” Tate said. “Especially, if he’s planning to borrow more of my suits.”

“Oh, you recognized it, did you?”

“It wasn’t hard,” Tate said. “I’m happy to contribute to the cause, but next time let me pick the giveaway.”

“Absolutely,” Mel said. “Sorry about that.”

“So, do you think Angie is going to dump Roach over the Elle situation?” he asked. He sounded hopeful.

“I don’t know. It was a surprise, but it was also years ago.”

“Why do you suppose the police haven’t arrested either Elle or Roach?” Tate asked. “Obviously, they have the strongest motives.”

“They must have really good alibis,” Mel said.

Tate was still for a moment. “You don’t think . . . ?”

“What?” Mel asked. She glanced up from where she was arranging cupcakes in the display case when he didn’t answer right away. “Tate, what are you thinking?”

He stared at her, but Mel got the feeling he wasn’t really seeing her.

“Nothing,” he said. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Call me when Ange gets in,” he said. “I’m worried about her.”

“Will do,” Mel said. She watched as he disappeared through the door. She had a feeling he wasn’t telling her everything.

The bells on the door chimed, and Mel glanced up, hoping to see Angie. Instead, a woman in an overly large sun hat, enormous celebrity-style sunglasses, and a gray trench coat entered the bakery. She had long dark hair that was at odds with her gently lined face. It looked like a bad dye job or a wig.

Mel was silent for a moment. Then she heaved a sigh.

“Mom, what are you doing?” she asked.

“Shh,” Joyce hushed her. “I’m incognito.”

“Not really. I mean, if I recognized you, that should tell you something,” Mel said.

“You’re my daughter,” Joyce said as she lowered her glasses to peer over the tops. “Of course you recognized me.”

“Is there something happening, Mom, that you need a disguise?”

“The murderer is after me,” Joyce said. “I’m sure of it. I feel eyes upon me wherever I go, and I saw strange footprints in the backyard.”

“Those could be Charlie’s,” Mel said, trying to calm her mother down. She had so been hoping that her mother wouldn’t find those footprints.

“He doesn’t wear shoes like that,” Joyce said. “Now listen, I don’t want you to worry . . .”

The front door chimed, and Mel glanced up. Looking as suave as ever, Jay Gatwick strolled in and smiled at her.

“Afternoon, Melanie,” he said. “You’re looking as lovely as a freshly picked rose.”

Mel laughed. “Flattery will get you free cupcakes.”

“Just speaking the truth,” he said. “I believe you have an order for Poppy’s book club.”

“It’s in back,” Mel said. “I’ll just go grab it.”

When she returned, Jay was trying to make small talk with her mother, who had pulled down the brim of her hat and was ignoring him.

“Jay, this is my . . .”

“Myra,” her mother interrupted. She kept her face averted and held out her hand to Jay. “Myra Streusel.”

Mel wondered if it was obvious to Jay that her mother had just read her made-up last name off of the menu board. Probably.

“A pleasure,” Jay said. He returned her handshake.

“If you’ll excuse us a moment,” Joyce said. She tugged Mel over to the side and whispered, “Listen, I have to go. I’m going underground until all of this blows over.”

“Underground?” Mel asked. “Where? In that old bomb shelter in your yard?”

“No, that’s just an expression,” Joyce said. “You can reach me at my cell number. Ginny and I are going to a spa under assumed names.”

“And you’d tell me where, but then you’d have to kill me,” Mel said.

“Laugh if you must,” Joyce said. Her tone made it clear she was feeling injured by Mel’s lack of dramatic concern.

“I’m not laughing, Mo—
Myra
,” Mel said. She hugged her mom tight. “Go with Ginny and be safe. I’ll call you if I hear anything on this end. Does Uncle Stan know your plan?”

“Yes,” Joyce said. She hugged Mel back hard. “I’ll be in touch. Remember, no matter what happens, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Mel said. She watched her mother go and shook her head. She wished she was going to hide out at a spa for a few days. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with Angie and Tate and Marty and the contest . . . oh, yeah, and the murderer who seemed intent on messing up the lives of everyone Mel cared about.

“Is everything okay?” Jay asked.

Mel glanced up. “Yes, sorry. I’m a little preoccupied.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but wasn’t that your mother?”

A laugh burst out of Mel before she could stop it.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that Mom is trying to be in disguise. She’d be dreadfully disappointed that someone who met her only once was able to identify her.”

“Oh, well, I could only do it because she was standing next to you. You’re the spitting image of her.” Then he raised one eyebrow and said, “Forgive me for asking, but why does she need a disguise?”

“She’s convinced that Malloy’s murderer is after her,” Mel said.

“Has something happened?” he asked. “She should have protection.”

“My Uncle Stan is keeping a close eye on her,” Mel said.

“Still, a murderer on the loose is disturbing. Poor Poppy is still having night terrors about it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mel said. “Give her my best, won’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“No!” Angie slammed through the front door. The bells clanged as if disturbed from a nap. Both Mel and Jay started at the noise.

“Angie, I can explain,” Roach said. “Detective Martinez got to Elle. That’s why she crashed the funeral. She’s scared, and she’s trying to make me look guilty.”

He was following behind her, but she spun around and held up her hand.

“No, I don’t want to hear it! There’s a big difference between ‘I was comforting a friend the night my father was murdered’ and ‘I was with a former girlfriend the night my father was murdered.’ ”

Mel’s eyes went wide. Roach had been with a former girlfriend on the night his father was killed? Elle?

“Well, I’m just going to . . .” Jay trailed off as he scooped up his cupcakes and headed towards the door.

Mel couldn’t blame him. Angie looked so angry, Mel half expected volcanic ash to begin raining down upon them.

“You lied to me!” Angie said.

“No, I didn’t!” Roach argued. “Look, Elle showed up at my hotel saying she and my father had broken up. She was distraught. I tried to console her. That’s all.”

Angie glared at him. “Define
console
.”

“What?” he asked.

“Was the consoling done with clothes on or off?”

“On!” Roach put a hand over his heart. “I swear on my life, on your life, on Mel’s life . . .”

“Hey, leave me out of this,” Mel said.

“If you’re lying, Roach Malloy, I will put an evil eye on you for the rest of your days that will shrivel your privates and turn your drumming muscles into rhythmless noodles,” Angie warned.

He looked duly impressed. “I’m not lying. Look, I know we just met, and it’s been under unusual circumstances, but I am crazy about you. I will never do anything to jeopardize what we’ve got. I promise.”

Angie looked somewhat mollified. Roach pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Mel looked away just as Marty came back through the kitchen door.