Buttercream Bump Off (9 page)

No, Mel suspected that Tate was afraid that if he and Angie hooked up, then their triad of friendship would suffer. Given that it was the thing that had seen them through awkward adolescence and turbulent college years, and now maintained their stability in adulthood, well, she understood why he hesitated.

Mel had only discovered recently that Angie had been in love with Tate since they were kids. Mel had never guessed, would never have guessed, if it hadn’t been for Tate’s recent engagement. Angie had been beside herself, and Mel had finally figured out that it was because she was in love with Tate. But if Mel hadn’t figured it out, then she couldn’t be terribly surprised that Tate hadn’t either. Angie was very good at hiding her feelings.

She watched Tate closely. How did he feel about Angie having a date? He looked pensive, but that could mean anything.

“Who’s the guy?” he asked, taking a long sip from his beer.

“No one you know,” Mel said. “He came into the shop today.”

“A total stranger?” he asked. Pensive switched to alarmed. “She’s going out with a stranger? Do the brothers know about this?”

Mel laughed. “I don’t think she’s going to tell them.”

“What about Joe?” Tate asked. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I hadn’t planned to,” Mel said. “Since we’re going on the date, I’m not that worried.”

“We’re going?”

“Yes, Angie scored us tickets to his show,” Mel said.

“Show?” Tate raised an eyebrow.

“Are you ready for this?” Mel asked and Tate nodded. “Angie has a date with Roach from the Sewers.”

Tate’s jaw slid open. “You’re kidding. I love those guys.

He sang the lyrics just as badly as Angie, and Mel was suddenly grateful that Roach was not here to hear it.

“So, Roach came into the shop? That is so cool.”

“Sort of,” Mel said. “Do you know his real name?”

“It’s
not
Roach? Really?” He lifted the bottle to his lips.

“No, it’s Brian Malloy.”

Tate lowered his beer. “No way.”

“Way.” Mel took a long sip of her beer. “And now he’s got the hots for Ange, and we’re all going to his show tomorrow night.”

Tate looked confounded, but before Mel could say anything else, her phone chimed. She knew it had to be her mother looking for a status report.

She flipped open her phone. “Relax, Mom. I took care of it. The dress has been destroyed.”

“Interesting,” a man’s voice said. “And why exactly did you feel the need to destroy a piece of evidence?”

Mel felt all of the blood drain from her face. She knew that voice. It was deep and growly and sounded like it was in a perpetual state of annoyance. It was Detective Martinez from the Paradise Valley Police Department, and he did not sound happy.

“On a scale of one to ten, how mad are you?”

Silence was Joe’s only response.

“Because it’s really hard for me to tell with your jaw clamped shut like that.”

It was late, and they were driving from Joyce’s house to Mel’s apartment. Detective Martinez had questioned Mel and her mother for two hours upon learning that Mel had burned her mother’s dress. For some reason, he didn’t believe her mother thought the dress was cursed, but instead thought they were trying to destroy evidence. He’d even sent a forensic unit over to Tate’s to take samples from the grill.

The interrogation only ended because Uncle Stan and Joe arrived and went nose to nose with Detective Martinez. When the detective accused Joe of covering up for his girlfriend, Mel was sure Joe was going to slug him. The detective even grinned at him as if hoping Joe would lose his cool. Instead, Joe had turned to Mel and said, “Get your things. This interview is over.”

Uncle Stan had muscled Detective Martinez out the door on their heels and slammed it in his face.

While Joe helped Mel into his car, she heard the detective call, “This isn’t over, DeLaura.”

“Oh, yes, it is,” Joe muttered under his breath before he roared out of her mother’s driveway.

“What were you thinking?” Joe finally spoke. “Do you have any idea how this looks?”

“Bad?” Mel guessed.

“Detective Martinez is now suspicious that your mother had something to do with Malloy’s murder,” he said. “They were looking at Malloy’s son, but now . . .”

“Funny you should mention him. Brian, right? Yeah, well, Angie’s got a date with him,” Mel said. Joe whipped his head in her direction with an incredulous expression.

She wasn’t proud of herself, but Mel knew that one way to stop Joe from being mad at her was to throw Angie under the wheels of the overprotective-big-brother bus. She felt a little bad about it, but she promised herself she’d make it up to Angie one day.

They turned into the parking lot behind the bakery, and Joe stomped on the brakes of his black Prius, making them screech.

“Explain,” he demanded. He hit the button to lock the doors of the car, keeping Mel right where she was.

“Roach, aka Brian Malloy, came into the shop today because he thought I was the woman dating his father, and he thought I killed him for some nefarious reason of my own,” she said. “Angie set him straight, and I think he was quite taken with her, because he asked her out, and she said yes.”

“But he’s . . .”

“A drummer in a rock band, who goes by the name Roach,” Mel said.

“I was thinking he’s a murder suspect, but the rock-band thing isn’t winning me over either,” he said.

“Quite a pickle, isn’t it?” She reached over Joe and pushed the button to unlock the doors. “I’m guessing you want to go talk to her, so I won’t keep you. Call me.”

She shoved open her door and was halfway out when a strong hand grabbed the tail of her shirt and hauled her back into the car. She landed back in her seat with a thud.

“Why do I get the feeling that dating you is career suicide?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer but kissed her with an incendiary heat that made Tate’s grill seem like a Bunsen burner.

“Go,” he said, releasing her with a rueful smile. “Flip the light on twice, so I know you’re safe.”

Mel scraped her limp body off the expensive leather seat and hurried up the staircase to her apartment above. She unlocked the door, peered inside the studio apartment, and flipped the light switch off and on so that Joe knew she was safe. She watched as he drove away and then collapsed onto her futon with an exhaustion she hadn’t known was possible.

The first person in the door when the bakery opened the next morning was Mr. Zelaznik. He shuffled in and demanded a four-pack of cupcakes and a glass of water.

“Breakfast of champions,” Angie said as she went to fill his order.

Mel had been watching Angie all morning. She hadn’t said anything about Tate or Joe, so Mel was left to wonder if either of them had said anything to Angie about her date.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, Tate strolled in. He looked pensive—again.

“How did it go last night with the detectives?” he asked, taking a seat at the counter.

“It could have gone better,” Mel said. She opened the back of the display case and began shifting cupcakes to make room for a fresh batch of Orange Dreamsicle Cupcakes. It was one of her favorites, an orange cupcake topped with vanilla buttercream and garnished with a candied orange peel.

“What detectives?” Angie asked as she came back from delivering Mr. Zelaznik’s water.

Mel hadn’t told Angie about the night before, because she didn’t want to have to admit that she’d blabbed about Angie’s date to save herself.

“It was no big deal,” she said. “They just had some more questions.”

“No big deal?” Tate gaped. “They impounded my grill.”

“Come again?” Angie looked between the two of them as if they’d suddenly started speaking Swahili.

The bells on the door jangled, and in strode Roach, looking every inch the rock star that he was. Angie broke into a smile at the sight of him, and he grinned at her in return.

Hopping up and leaning over the counter, he planted a kiss on her that did not give Mel the impression that this was new territory for him.

“I missed you,” he said, tossing his long black hair over his shoulder. “I have a few hours before rehearsal. Come away with me.”

“I . . .” Angie glanced at Tate and Mel. “Um . . . we ran into each other at RA, the sushi restaurant, and . . .” Her voice trailed off, and her cheeks flushed bright pink.

“Ange, I don’t think . . .” Tate began, but she froze him with a hard stare and said, “Let’s keep it that way.”

Angie glanced back at Roach. Then she took off her apron and tossed it onto Tate’s shoulder. “You can cover for me, right partner?”

“But . . . but I . . .” Tate stammered.

“I’ll meet you guys later for the show,” she said. She tucked her hand around Roach’s elbow, and with a wave he led her to the door. It shut behind them with a soft sigh, and Tate turned to Mel.

“She’s dating that? Our Angie is dating that?”

“Tate, you knew it was Roach from the Sewers. He looks just like he does in his videos. What’s the surprise?”

“How is it he knows her well enough to kiss her like that?”

“I guess they had a good time last night.” Mel shrugged.

“Last night?” Tate huffed. “Before I had a chance to check him out? He could be a murderer! Has she thought of that? Huh?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go there if I were you,” Mel said. She still had scorch marks from Angie’s temper yesterday when she’d forbidden her to date a possible murderer.

“Did you see those tattoos?” Tate continued. “They look like jailhouse tattoos to me.”

“I thought he looked cool,” Mr. Zelaznik said around a mouthful of cupcake. “I bet I could get any babe I wanted if I looked like him.”

“Well, who asked you?” Tate snapped.

Mel tied the apron on Tate, ignoring his hysterics.

“Why don’t you go get another batch of cupcakes from the cooler?” she suggested. “I think you need some time to chill.”

Tate grunted and, still muttering, banged through the door to the kitchen.

Mel shook her head. It appeared Angie had finally gotten Tate’s notice. But judging by how happy she looked with Roach, maybe it was too late.

Tate helped Mel load the cupcake display case. From his silence, she could tell he was still fuming about Angie and her date. She put him to work wiping down the tables before the post-lunch rush while she boxed up several special orders in back and put them in the cooler to await pickup.

Tate was just putting away his cleaning supplies in the closet when his phone rang its distinctive James Bond theme. He yanked it out of his pocket and checked it.

“Yes! I’ve been waiting for this,” he said to Mel. “Do you mind if I take it in your office?”

“Not at all,” she said.

She glanced at Mr. Zelaznik, who had looked up from his cupcakes and crossword, and they both shrugged.

While it was quiet, Mel decided to fold up some four-pack boxes. In addition to Mr. Zelaznik’s three entries today, there had been five more entries in the Fairy Tale Cupcake contest this morning alone. Most surprising was the fact that they were men. Mel had a feeling that with Valentine’s Day rapidly approaching, guys were looking for something special for their significant others, and wasn’t a night on the town topped with cupcakes just perfect?

Maybe there would even be a run on four-packs of cupcakes. She was crouched down behind the counter to pull out a stack of flat boxes to be folded into four-pack carriers when she heard the door chime.

“I’ll be right with you,” she called.

“Where’s Angie?”

“Is she in back?”

“We need to talk to her.”

“Pronto.”

Uh-oh. Mel stayed hunkered down behind the counter. The DeLaura brothers were here. It sounded like all seven of them. No, Joe would have called her if he was coming over. That meant the rest of them were here, and they were not going to be happy when they found out Angie wasn’t.