Dark Chocolate Demise (11 page)

Oz returned from the boys' house, looking a bit ragged. Mel couldn't get any details out of him, but it seemed the boys had talked his ears off during the entire walk, and Oz wasn't sure if they were geniuses or sociopaths. Mel was afraid if they didn't stop fixating on Marty, they were going to find out where the boys stood whether they liked it or not.

Out of his scary outfit, Al worked diligently until closing. Mel had told him he could leave since Angie was gone, but he gave her a funny look and refused. Of course, Marty gave him all of the grunt jobs, so Al's day passed in a blur of mopping the floor, wiping the tabletops, and refilling napkin holders.

When it was finally time to lock up for the night, Mel felt her shoulders suddenly drop from around her ears. She hadn't realized she'd been so tense all day waiting for something, something bad, to happen.

She stepped outside to release the front door from its open position. It was swinging shut when a foot wedged itself in the gap, stopping it.

“I'm sorry, we're closed,” Mel said through the opening, not releasing the door.

“It's me, Mel, let me in.”

Mel didn't need to look. She knew that voice.
Manny!

She pushed the door open, and the detective stepped into the bakery.

“Go ahead and lock it,” he said.

Mel turned the dead bolt and spun to face him.

“You here alone?” He sounded unhappy.

“No,” she said. “Marty, Oz, and Al are in back.”

“Where's Angie?” he asked.

“Tate took her home,” Mel said. “She's struggling with the whole situation.”

Manny nodded. Mel took a moment to study him. He was in his usual perfectly pressed khaki trousers and white dress shirt. His tie was loose and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He was also carrying a duffel bag.

Mel pointed to it and asked, “Running away?”

“More like having a sleepover,” he said.

She frowned at him but he gestured her forward and said, “Let's go release the troops.”

They walked into the kitchen. Oz and Marty shook hands with Manny. They had warmed considerably to the detective since he had saved Mel's life six months before. Oz even banged knuckles with him. Al did not look nearly as pleased to see him.

“So, what brings you here?” Al asked after a grudging handshake.

“Joe,” Manny said.

Mel felt all of the blood drain out of her face. She sucked in a breath and asked, “Is he all right?”

“Oh, damn, yeah,” Manny said. “He's fine. I swear. He's totally fine.”

“You might want to lead with that next time,” Marty said.

“Noted,” Manny agreed. “No, I'm here because Joe asked me to . . . watch over you.”

“Oh,” Mel said. “Well, you don't need to. I have the brothers coming in rotations. So, believe me, we're full up on testosterone around here.”

“Yeah, well, Joe, Stan, and I agreed that I should take the graveyard shift.”

Mel felt her pulse pound in her ears. “The what shift? Graveyard, meaning you're spending the night?”

“Hey there, roomie,” Manny said. Then he winked at her.

Al whipped out his cell phone and began furiously tapping a text message with his thumbs.

Oz and Marty exchanged a glance.

“Well, I'll sleep easier knowing you're watching over our girl,” Marty said.

“Me, too,” Oz said. But with the unfiltered candor of youth, he added, “But what is Joe thinking?”

“Clearly, he's not,” Marty said. “Now let's go mind our own business.”

With a wave, he and Oz headed for the back door.

Al's phone beeped. His eyes scanned the screen. “This can't be right! He's says he knows Manny is here and, yes, he sent him. Obviously, this case has caused the man to crack.”

“Come on.” Marty grabbed Al's arm and pulled him out the back door. “If I know Mel, she's going to have something to say about this in five, four, three . . .”

The back door shut behind Al, and Mel turned to Manny and yelled, “No! Absolutely, not! This is ridiculous!”

“Tell it to your boyfriend,” Manny said. “He and I agreed. You need watching by a trained professional.”

“What am I, five?” Mel asked. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she realized she sounded as crabby as Marty. What was happening to her? She checked the appliances, shut off the lights, and led the way out the back door.

Manny looked her over and Mel swallowed. It was a look that scorched.

“Nope, you're not five,” he said. “But you and Angie have managed to disable most of the brothers, haven't you?”

Mel refused to comment lest she incriminate herself.

“Look, I'm not thrilled with this assignment either,” Manny said. “But you are in danger, and both Joe and I take that very seriously.”

Mel was surprised by how much it smarted to hear that he didn't particularly want to be here, either. She ignored it.

“Listen, I appreciate the concern, I do,” Mel said as she locked up the bakery and began to walk up the stairs to her apartment. “But shouldn't you be camped out at Angie's?”

“We have a squad car parked in front of her place,” he said. “Plus she has Tate watching over her. You, however, are stubbornly not at your mother's.”

“I'm not going to put her in danger,” Mel said as she unlocked the door to her apartment.

“Aha!” Manny said as he followed her inside. “You admit it. You know you're in danger.”

“I admit no such thing, but I would never put my mom in danger if there is even a remote, as in Antarctica remote, possibility that she could be harmed.”

“Very noble of you,” Manny said. He bent down and unhooked Captain Jack from his pant leg and kicked the door shut behind him. Captain Jack purred and rubbed his head against Manny's chest. Mel felt a fleeting moment of envy and then shook her head.

“Not noble,” Mel said. “Just sensible. Speaking of which, this is not.”

Manny leaned back and studied her. “Are you worried about being alone with me all night?”

His voice was a low, gruff growl and Mel felt it all the way down to her toes.

“No!” she protested. The denial was supposed to come out strong and sure like a heroine in a Jane Austen novel when she still hates the hero. Unfortunately, Mel's voice came out high and squeaky. Manny smiled.

“You. Can't. Stay.”

“Have. To.” He muscled past her into the living room. “I ordered takeout and it should be arriving any minute.”

“You ordered . . .” Mel's voice trailed off as she stared at him. She was hungry. “What sort of takeout?”

“Vietnamese food from Noodles Ranch,” he said. “I ordered plenty to share.”

“Oh, I love how they use mint in their dishes. I didn't think they delivered,” Mel said.

“They don't. Stan does,” Manny said.

“Which of us is Uncle Stan checking up on, you or me?” she asked.

Manny crossed the room with Jack still in his arms. He sat at her small breakfast table and began to unpack his laptop while still holding the purring cat.

“You, definitely you,” Manny said. “Stan knows I'll do what I'm told.”

“So, he's afraid I'll kick you out?” Mel asked.

“Frankly, I'm surprised you let me in,” Manny said. His dark eyes met hers in a questioning glance. Mel looked away, unsure of what he was looking for and not wanting to give him any mixed signals.

Mercifully, a knock at the door sounded and Mel went to answer.

“See who it is first,” Manny ordered.

Mel glanced through the peephole. Uncle Stan stood waving at her with one hand while the other held a big white plastic bag.

She pulled open the door and gestured for him to enter. Uncle Stan buzzed her cheek as he passed her as if having two detectives over for dinner was normal for Mel.

She glanced around her apartment. It was a tiny studio with a futon that was currently in couch position, a small kitchen, a tiny bathroom, and a corner breakfast table that would barely fit the two men, never mind her.

“Uncle Stan, while I appreciate dinner . . .” Mel began but Stan interrupted her.

“Save it,” he said. “In case you're thinking this is negotiable, I'm going to disabuse you of that notion right now.”

“So, I don't even have any say over who sleeps in my house all night?” she asked.

“No, you don't,” Stan said.

“Don't worry, I won't be sleeping,” Manny said.

They both gave him a dark look, and he gestured to his laptop. “I meant I'll be working. Sheesh!”

Uncle Stan plopped his takeout bag on the table and shrugged out of his jacket, which he tossed onto the futon. Mel knew defeat when she saw it. Uncle Stan, for all his teddy bear hugs and unflagging support, was also as immovable as a mountain when he made up his mind about something.

Mel turned away from them and went to retrieve plates and silverware and napkins. While she banged around in the kitchen, she heard them talking. She couldn't make out what they were saying, so she suspected that they were talking in low tones for just that purpose. Well, too bad; if they were going to have a meeting in her house, they were going to pony up the info.

“So, what's happening with Kristin Streubel's murder?” Mel asked as she joined them. “Any suspects in custody?”

“We aren't at liberty to . . .” Uncle Stan started, but Mel cut him off with the universal hand signal for
stop right there, buster.

“Save it,” Mel said. “If you think I'm going to put up with being assigned a babysitter and not know what's going on, you need to rethink. Immediately.”

“She might be able to help,” Manny said. “She knows Scott and Kristin.”

Uncle Stan popped open one of the brown takeout boxes. He seemed to be pondering his choices, but Mel knew better than that. He was trying to decide whether to let her into the investigation or not. Years of experience told her it would do no good to rush him.

He loaded up his plate with some of the grilled pork, noodles, and egg roll. The smell made her mouth water, and she peered over his shoulder into the box while Manny unpacked the rest of the boxes. By silent agreement they waited until everyone's plate was loaded. Mel sat down on the wooden trunk she used as a coffee table when the futon was in couch position.

Captain Jack yowled at her and she gave him a piece of the pork to occupy himself with. Being a fierce hunter, he had to pounce on it a few times before he'd even consider taking a nibble.

Mel waited until Uncle Stan had a mouthful before she said, “So it would seem pretty clear that Frank Tucci is responsible for Kristin's death, whether indirectly or not, so what have we uncovered so far that will lead us to an arrest?”

Uncle Stan finished chewing as if he hadn't even heard her. Manny glanced at her with a twinkle in his eyes.

“She's so cute when she's determined, isn't she?” he asked.

Mel glared at him. She was not going to be provoked. She was going to maintain constant steady pressure and bend them to her will.

“‘Cute' was not exactly the word I had in mind,” Stan said.

Mel heaved a put-upon sigh. “Is there a reason I can't know what's going on?”

“The less you know the better off you'll be,” Uncle Stan said.

“Has that really worked out for us in the past?” Mel asked.

“You know what Tucci looks like, right?” Uncle Stan asked.

“I'd have to live in Siberia not to,” Mel said. “He's on the news every night. He's got a thick head of gray hair, he's short with a plug for a nose, and he wears oversized square glasses and really expensive suits.”

“Good,” Uncle Stan said. “If he comes into the bakery, leave.”

“Given that he's locked up, I don't think he's going to be popping in for an Orange Dreamsicle cupcake any time soon,” Mel said.

“I think he's partial to Red Velvet,” Manny said. At Mel's questioning look, he added, “I know everything about him, even the brand of toilet paper he uses.”

“Eating here,” Uncle Stan said through a mouthful.

“Sorry,” Manny said before he shoved two chopsticks full of food into his own mouth.

“What do his goons look like?” Mel asked. “Maybe I saw them at the zombie walk.”

“Because they decided to have a cupcake before they iced Kristin Streubel?” Uncle Stan asked. “No, forensics did a sweep of the area. Kristin was killed on the other side of the park. They probably carried her while she bled out and then dumped her in the coffin a) because it was a great spot to dump a body and b) because they thought she was Angie and this was a clear message to Joe.”

Mel felt her insides clench tight. Memories of Kristin and how happy and beautiful she had looked on her wedding day flashed through Mel's mind. It hurt like a physical blow to the chest to realize she had died such a vicious and cruel death. Then she thought of what the boys had told her about Scott Streubel and the mystery woman with blue hair. She put her plate of food aside.

“Are we sure they thought it was Angie?” Mel asked. She thought about Angie's meltdown and wished they could prove that Kristin was the intended target, as awful as that reality was, for Angie's peace of mind. If Angie got wind of how cold and methodical Kristin's death had been, Mel really didn't think Angie could handle it, especially if she thought it was even remotely her fault.

Uncle Stan let out a weary sigh. “We're not sure of anything, and we have the feds crawling up our backside wanting in on the case.”

“If we can tie the murder to Tucci, we can put him away for a much longer stretch or maybe even permanently,” Manny said.

He had his detective face on. His square jaw was set and his black eyes were flat and bottomless with determination.

“What does Scott say? Does he think Kristin was the target?” Mel asked. “Joe said he was devastated, but what if he wasn't? Not really.”