Red Velvet Revenge (24 page)

She lurched out of bed and put her feet on the floor, realizing that the bed next to her was empty and neatly made with hospital corners and fluffed pillows. Angie was already gone, and Mel hadn’t even heard her get up.

She hustled over to the bathroom and found it empty. She raced through her morning routine, which, with her short blond hair, was not so much a routine as it was a wash-and-go.

She locked the door behind her and pounded down the stairs, eager to get to the rodeo and find out if anything had happened with the van last night. She’d had a fitful sleep worrying about her product and her employees, and not necessarily in that order.

As she approached the van, she was surprised to find Tate and Angie working together. They didn’t seem on exactly chummy terms, but they weren’t nose to nose arguing, either. There was no sign of Marty or Oz.

She tried to gauge her friends’ expressions as she approached. Angie had her lips pursed and was looking miffy, while Tate’s shoulders were clenched almost as tightly as his teeth. They were working together but looked as though they were actively trying not to touch each other. Yeah, not easy to do in a van the size of a closet.

She skirted the line that had already formed and climbed into the back.

“Need any help?” she asked.

“Sure, take my spot,” Tate said. He didn’t even look at her. He pulled his apron over his head, dumped it onto a shelf, and climbed out the back.

“Something I said?” Mel asked.

“No, I’m sure it’s probably something I said,” Angie answered. She leaned out the window and took the next order.

Mel slipped on her apron and joined her in the window.

As the next customer stepped up, Mel felt a grin spread over her face. She couldn’t help it. Wearing a pink cowboy hat, clown makeup, a striped shirt, and suspenders was a rodeo clown.

“Good morning,” she said. “What can I get you?”

The clown blinked at her and then pantomimed eating corn on the cob.

“Sorry, no corn here,” she said. “Cake pop?”

The clown gave her a mockingly suspicious look, and Mel heard a few people in the line chuckle. Then he mimed cutting a steak and taking a bite off of a fork.

Mel chuckled and shook her head. Then she held up one of each of the four cake pops and said, “Vanilla, chocolate, red velvet, or lemon.”

The clown jumped in the air in glee or surprise—Mel
wasn’t sure—but it scored some laughs, and Mel noticed that his performance was drawing even more customers to the truck.

The clown took the two cake pops and then began to walk away.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Angie said. “Those will cost you.”

The clown hid behind the lady behind him in line and looked at Angie over her shoulder. The lady laughed, and so did Mel. Angie did not look amused.

“Pony it up, big boy,” she said. She gave him her best DeLaura scowl.

The clown took one exaggerated step back to the truck and offered Angie his hip pocket.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Angie said. “I am not going to fish through your pockets for you. Let me hold the cake pops.”

The clown wagged his hip at her, the crowd laughed, and Angie glowered at him again. Knowing she’d lost the public opinion poll, she dutifully hung out of the window to reach into his pocket.

“You’d better not be getting any jollies out of this,” she said as she pulled a rubber chicken out of his pocket.

Mel had to press her lips together to keep from cracking up, but she could see even Angie was tucking in a smile.

The clown jumped back, as if startled to find a rubber chicken in his pocket. Then he turned and offered his other hip to Angie. She gave him a feigned look of exasperation but bravely reached in and pulled out two perfect pink roses.

Angie laughed and went to hand them back to him, but he shook his head and stepped back, pointing the cake pops at the two of them to indicate there was a rose for each of them.

“Oh, thank you,” Mel said as Angie handed her the other one.

“Consider your tab paid,” Angie said.

He jumped up and clicked his overly large heels together. Angie reached out the window and tucked the rubber chicken under his arm. The crowd laughed and clapped as he hunkered down and walked like a duck away from the cupcake truck.

Mel found two water bottles and put a rose in each one. The crowd outside had surged with the visit from the clown, and they were kept steadily busy for the rest of the morning.

Marty was the first to show up for the afternoon shift. He looked no worse for the wear, considering his condition last night. He climbed into the back of the van and started to tie on his apron when Mel noticed he was wearing something else on his hip.

“Marty! What the heck is that?” she asked.

“Oh, this?” he asked with a shrug. “It’s nothing.”

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” she asked. “That is not ‘nothing.’”

Angie turned from the window to see what was happening.

“Oh, my god, Marty Zelaznik, are you packing?” she asked.

Twenty-seven

“Aw, this little thing?” he asked as he pulled the gun out of its holster.

Both Mel and Angie fell to the floor. Mel folded her arms over her head, knowing that even her upper arm flab couldn’t stop a bullet, and yet, her instincts screamed duck and cover, and she was incapable of lowering her arms.

“Marty, put that away!” she ordered. “Now!”

“It’s not even loaded,” he said, putting it back in its holster. “I already shot all of the bullets out of it.”

“What?” Angie asked.

“When?” Mel demanded.

“Or should we ask who?” Angie said.

“No, no,” Marty said. “Lily was giving me shooting lessons. She’s a sharpshooter, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Angie said. She rose up from the ground and held out her hand. “Hand it over, cowboy.”

Marty grumbled but he unstrapped his holster and handed it to Angie.

“New rule,” Mel said. “No guns in the cupcake van.”

“Aw, come on,” Marty said. “What if we get robbed?”

“We’re not going to get robbed,” Mel said.

She pointed to the window, where a woman with two young girls was waiting. Marty gave a “humph” and stomped toward the window. She watched as Angie wrapped the belt around the holstered gun and looked around the van for a place to put it.

“Have all of our men completely lost their minds?” Mel asked.

“That’s assuming any of them had a mind to lose,” Angie said. “Which I’m beginning to doubt very much.”

Mel shook her head. “Marty, I’m going to return the gun to Lily. Loaded or not, I don’t want Oz anywhere near that thing.”

“Fine,” he said. He sounded as recalcitrant as a five-year-old, and Mel had to curb the urge to twist his ear.

“I’m starving,” Angie said. “I’ll go with you.”

Mel glanced out of the van to see Oz making his way toward them, holding several enormous tubs. She quickly put the gun down and reached out of the open back of the van to take one of the tubs while Angie took the other.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Vegan cupcakes,” he said. “Ruth let me use her kitchen again, so I spent the morning baking.”

Mel beamed at him.

“Oz, have I ever told you how much I love your self-directedness?”

He bobbed his head. “Yes, but I never get tired of hearing it.”

Angie grabbed the other tub, and Oz climbed into the van, taking up any available space. He took his tubs back and heaved a heavy sigh.

“Is something wrong, Oz?” Mel asked. He sounded melancholy, which was unusual for the even-tempered teenager.

He heaved an even deeper sigh. He seemed to consider telling her something, but then he shook his shaggy head.

“Nah, I’m fine,” he said.

Mel and Angie exchanged a glance. Angie gave her a tiny headshake, which Mel understood to mean she should let it lie.

“All right,” she said. “But if you change your mind and want to talk…”

Angie handed Mel the gun, and Oz jumped back, slamming into the freezers.

“What? Are you going to shoot it out of me?” he asked, putting his hands still holding the tubs of cupcakes in the air.

“No, this is Marty’s,” Mel said. “He fancies himself a sharpshooter now.”

“I never said I was a sharpshooter,” Marty protested. “But I did blow some nice holes in the target, thank you very much.”

Angie rolled her eyes. “It belongs to Lily Hazard. We’re going to return it, as we have a new rule: No guns in the cupcake van.”

“That’s cool with me,” Oz said. “I’m all for peaceful resolutions.”

“Yeah, you say that now, but just wait until someone defrosts all of our cupcakes again.”

“We still wouldn’t shoot them, Marty. Am I clear?” Mel said.

Marty looked pouty, but he agreed. “Fine.”

Mel and Angie jumped out of the van.

“I have my phone; call me if you need backup,” Mel said.

They acknowledged with a wave that had a bit of a buzz-off feel to it.

Mel looked at Angie and asked, “Do you think we’re all getting a little sick of each other?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Spending twenty-four/seven together in a place that smells of horse manure, handing out cupcakes and cake pops, while people are getting shot and gored by pitchforks…Yeah, that might strain the bonds of friendship just a bit.”

Mel had to admit she was missing Joe and Captain Jack and her futon even more than she had expected. And she realized that one of the best things about getting away was discovering how much she loved home.

She tucked the gun under her arm and fell into step beside Angie.

“Whoa, look out! She’s got a gun!” A shout sounded from the barbecue pit.

Mel looked over to see the Bubbas with their arms raised in mock surrender.

“Hey, we know we’re beating you, but you don’t have to get violent,” Billy said.

Mel looked at Angie. “Maybe I was premature in taking this gun away from Marty.”

“It is tempting,” Angie said. Then she turned to the Bubbas, raised her voice, and shouted, “The gun isn’t for shooting you; we just thought some of your customers might like us to put them out of their misery.”

A few people in line laughed, and the Bubbas frowned.

“Hardy har har,” Bob retorted.

“Then again, with a comeback like that, it might be considered a public service to put
you
out of our misery,” Mel said.

Billy cuffed Bob upside the head, and they exchanged heated words.

“Hey,” Angie called out, breaking up their tiff. “The closing ceremonies are tonight after the bronco busting. Are you two ready to tally up sales?”

The Bubbas exchanged a panicked look. But then Billy glared at her and said, “We compare total sales after the bronco busting. Then you can cram yourself into a pair of Daisy Dukes and schlep some barbecue.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Angie said. “I have a feeling you’re going to be in the pink.”

The Bubbas paled. Mel and Angie exchanged a grin and strode toward the road that would lead them to the ranch house. Even if Lily wasn’t home, Mel felt better leaving the gun there than anywhere else.

The crowd surged around them, heading to the vendors’ tent and the arena. Mel could hear the audience in the arena laughing, and she wondered if their clown was doing his show. She wished she had time to watch him.

The road was dusty, and it kicked up a fine brown dirt
that found its way into every crack and crevice of Mel’s sneakers. She doubted even a run through the washing machine was going to save them.

Mel and Angie climbed the porch steps and knocked on the front door. Mel had no idea if anyone was home. She was hoping for Tammy, since that would alleviate an awkward scene between Angie and Lily. As the door was pulled open, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, and she fished it out.

She checked the display. It was Uncle Stan. She handed the gun to Angie and gestured for her to hand off the gun. She glanced up as she answered her call and saw Lily standing in the doorway.

Angie gave her an outraged look, but Mel shrugged and walked to the end of the porch. Angie was just going to have to be a big girl about this.

“Hi, Uncle Stan,” she said. “What’s the good word?”

She could hear Angie’s voice behind her and hoped she was being civil, but really, there wasn’t much Mel could do if she wasn’t.

“I don’t know that I would call it a good word,” Uncle Stan said.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Well, I didn’t find much on Shelby Hazard that you don’t already know. I did do some digging into the rest of the family. It seems Hannah Hazard, Slim’s sister, wasn’t killed in a car accident,” he said. “She died in childbirth.”

“No, that can’t be right. Lily was very clear that it was a car accident. Why would she tell me that?” Mel asked. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that the front door
was closed, so Angie had obviously gone inside with Lily. Uh-oh.

“I don’t know,” Stan said. “The records are sealed, so there’s no telling who adopted the baby.”

“The father?” Mel asked.

“Not listed on the birth certificate,” Stan said.

“Did you find out anything else about the family?” Mel asked.

“Slim is clean,” he said. “No record for either him or his oldest daughter. His first wife died of cancer when she was fairly young. The second wife, Tammy, was a Texas beauty queen. She was married to an older man before Slim. He was very wealthy, oil money. He left her a nice inheritance, but the bulk of his money went to the kids from his first marriage. It seems she’s really good at the second-wife thing.”