Vanilla Beaned (11 page)

“Let's not forget that among the many things I own, you are one,” Byron said. He loomed over Holly. To her credit, she tipped up her chin and met his malevolent stare straight on.

“Not for long,” she said. “Negotiations are under way, and I will be opening my new business in a matter of months.”

“A bakery,” he scoffed. “You're giving up this”—he paused to gesture at the house and the car—“to wake up and bake tiny little cakes every morning. You're going to be as fat as a suburban housewife in a matter of weeks.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “But at least I'll be happy. I'll own my life for the first time in years. No more grueling hours in rehearsals, no more exhausting photo shoots, no more being paraded around at your corporate parties like a trophy.”

“No more fame, no more fortune,” Byron countered. “No more seeing your ten-thousand-dollar smile up on the billboards all over the city. Are you really sure you want to give all of that up?”

“Yes!” Holly cried emphatically. “I am done. I am out. I have spent the past five years scraping together every extra nickel so that I could be free. Face it. You don't own me any longer.”

Rage, white hot and terrifying, flashed over Byron's
features much like the initial whoosh of the fire that had exploded out of the first bakery they had looked at.

“You're going to fail, and then you'll come crawling back,” Byron said. He said it with the supreme confidence of the obnoxiously wealthy. Think it and it happens even if you have to pay someone to make it happen. His smug smirk made Mel want to slap him, and she admired Holly for not doing exactly that.

“I'm not coming back,” Holly said. “And I'm not going to fail.”

Byron opened his mouth to argue but Tate cut him off. He wrapped an arm around Holly's shoulders and said, “No, you're not. Not with all of Harper Investments behind you.”

If he had punched Byron in the face, he couldn't have gotten a better reaction. The man actually staggered back a step. Angie flashed her man a smile full of pride and Mel wanted to give him a high five, but she figured that could wait.

“You're Tate Harper of Harper Investments?” Byron asked. “I thought you left the business.”

“Does anyone ever really leave the family business?” Tate asked. He was oozing all of his old corporate cutthroat charm and Mel realized she'd sort of missed seeing this side of him.

“You can't be making that much money in cupcakes,” Byron said. He looked uncertain.

Tate grinned like a cat that had just trapped a mouse between two slices of cheese. “You have no idea.”

Byron's nostrils flared. The four of them stared at him. He pointed a finger at Holly and snapped, “This isn't over.”

“Yes, actually, it is,” she said. She pointed her thumb at the house. “I'll be out at the end of the week. Don't come here again until I'm gone or I'll call the police.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Byron strode to the limo and got into the back, barking orders at the driver as he went.

The driver reversed out of the driveway as if he were outrunning the law. Mel wondered if the threat of calling the police had made Byron that twitchy. As soon as the automatic gate closed behind them, Holly sagged in relief.

“Are you all right?” Mel asked.

“I will be,” Holly said. “Remember when I said this house wasn't worth the price I paid, well, I didn't pay for it in cash. It's Byron's house. I've been allowed to live here so long as I did whatever he asked, whenever he asked. I am so done with it, all of it.”

Mel was silent, taking in Holly's plight without judgment while feeling equally determined to help her get out from under Byron's thumb.

“Popcorn,” Angie said. “I need popcorn and peanut butter cups.”

“Nah, that was more of a Frito and Ding Dong episode,” Tate said.

Holly broke out in a surprised laugh. “Which one of us is the Ding Dong?”

“Byron,” Mel said. “Definitely, Byron.”

“Really?” Angie asked. “I was thinking he was more of a Ho Ho.”

Tate wrapped her in a hug and kissed her forehead. “You didn't punch him in the nose. I'm so proud of you.”

“You should be,” Angie said. “It took great restraint on my part.”

“Come on,” Mel said, following Holly into the house. “Let's go decompress.”

Twenty minutes later, they were sprawled in the enormous family room, watching
Viva Las Vegas
while eating buckets of buttered popcorn washed down with lemonade and chocolate ice cream.

Mel had to admit as Elvis and Ann-Margret shook their way across the screen, she was feeling better. But wasn't that the whole point of a movie, to take you out of your own scary miserable life and transport you to another one?

Angie and Tate were both staring at the screen, but Holly was curled up on the end of the couch, her fingers plucking at the edge of the pillow she had in her lap. Mel thought maybe the movie wasn't working for Holly, and it was time to go to the source of all comfort.

She nudged Holly and said, “Come on, let's go snarf some cupcakes. They always make everything better.”

A ghost of a smile slid over Holly's face and she pushed up from the couch and followed Mel down the hallway to the kitchen. They went right to the walk-in refrigerator and began to haul out the containers of cupcakes.

“Milk?” Holly asked.

“Always,” Mel said.

Holly poured them each a glass and they sat at the large granite counter, pried the lids off the cupcake containers, and reviewed their selections.

“When I first decided to open up Fairy Tale Cupcakes,
I was sure I would fail,” Mel said. “I don't think I got a full night's sleep for months.”

“Did you have someone driving cars through the front of the shops you looked at leasing?” Holly asked. She lifted a carrot cake cupcake with cream cheese frosting out of the container.

“No, but I did take a huge loan from my best friend, which is the number one taboo of friendship,” Mel said. “I was sure I would lose Tate's money and then his friendship in that order.”

“But you didn't,” Holly said.

“No, and you won't, either,” Mel said. She gestured to the containers around them and then selected a cherry cola cupcake. “You have real talent, Holly. You can do this and I'm not just blowing sunshine up your backside, I really mean it. I've eaten a lot of cupcakes in my time, and I'm telling you, there are people out there that I wouldn't let toast a Pop Tart, never mind run a bakery—are you listening to me?”

Mel glanced up from her monologue to see Holly staring past her at the dark window.

“Don't freak out,” Holly said. “But I think I just saw someone run past the window. It could be Byron. It could be my stalker. Oh, god, maybe Byron is my stalker, and if he is, do you think he's here to kill me?”

Mel carefully put down her cupcake. Dang it, she'd really wanted to try that one.

“Okay, we need to get you away from the windows,” she said. “Let's pretend you're going back for more milk.”

She chugged down her glass and handed it to Holly, who took it and went around the island to the refrigerator. Once Holly opened the door, Mel got up and stretched her arms, trying to look casual. As she did so, she snapped the light switch off, making the room dark.

Holly yelped and slammed the fridge door closed. Mel scurried around the counter to join her and together they hunkered down and peered over the edge of the counter at the windows.

The UV-tinted glass made it hard to see, and Mel strained as she looked for any sort of motion out in the
pool yard and the desert beyond. The sound of their breathing was the only noise she could hear.

“Maybe I imagined it,” Holly said.

“Maybe,” Mel said.

“Maybe it was a cat or a coyote,” Holly said.

Mel saw a flash outside. It was fast. But it was definitely running on two legs. Her heart pounded in her chest.

“You didn't imagine it. I saw him, too,” she said. “Come on, let's get back to Tate and Angie.”

They kept the lights off, making their way back by crouching low and running. When they entered the room, Tate and Angie were kissing.

“PDA now?” Mel asked.

Tate and Angie broke apart, looking guilty.

“Sorry,” Angie said. “We didn't hear you come in.”

“That's because we had to sneak back here because we saw someone creeping around the outside of the house,” Mel said. Her voice went higher in pitch with each word, making her sound on the verge of hysterics, which she was.

“What?” Tate bolted up off the couch. He grabbed his phone off the table and began to press the screen.

“It's true,” Holly said. “They ran past the window while we were in the kitchen.”

“Did you recognize them?” Angie asked. “Do you think it was Byron or one of his goons?”

Holly shook her head. She pointed to Tate. “I saw his face when he realized who you were. He may be mad at me, but he won't do anything to damage his rep in the business community. He's afraid of you and your influence.”

Tate nodded as if he'd expected as much. He glanced
down at his phone and frowned. “I'm not getting a signal.”

Angie picked up her phone. “I'm not, either.”

Mel and Holly checked their phones, too. They had no signal, either.

“Do you have a landline?” Mel asked Holly.

She shook her head. “No, since it's Byron's house I never had the phone connected.”

“What could cause this?” Angie asked. She was staring at her phone like she wanted to shake it or smack it.

“A cell phone jammer,” Tate said. “Someone doesn't want us to be able to call out.”

“Do you think it's . . .” Angie paused.

“What?” Tate asked. He frowned at her. “What are you thinking?”

“Do you think it's the zombie apocalypse?” Angie asked. Her eyes were huge.

“The what?” Holly asked.

“Long story,” Mel said. “Suffice to say, Angie has not been a fan of zombie stuff for a while now.”

“I think it's my stalker,” Holly said. She straightened her back. “Maybe having you all here with me has drawn them out of hiding. You should leave. I can handle myself. I've been waiting for this showdown for a while now.”

Mel put her arm around Holly's shoulders and said, “Like we'd leave you. You're one of us now.”

“Damn straight,” Tate said. “The three of you need to get into the car in the garage and go. Meanwhile I'll go out and circle the house and see if I can flush them out.”

“Oh, no, you won't,” Angie said. “I'm not letting you
go out there alone. What if there's more than one person?”

“I'll be careful,” Tate said. “If you won't leave, then the three of you can stay in here. There are no windows so there's no way for the stalker to know you're here.”

“Does he honestly think we're going to follow orders?” Angie looked at Mel.

“You're not going outside,” Tate said.

“Neither are you,” Mel said. She looked at Holly. “You stay here. The rest of us are going to sweep the house.”

“I can't let you—” Holly protested but Angie cut her off.

“We have to,” she said. “We can't hide in here when the person responsible for Scott Jensen's death might be right outside and we have no way of calling the police.”

That sobered them all.

“Fine, here's how this is going to go,” Tate said. “I'll scout the downstairs, check the perimeter, and make sure all windows and doors are locked. You two can check upstairs to see if you can get a visual. Keep the lights off and do not stand directly in front of the windows. Clear?”

“Sure, but then what?” Angie said.

“If we can pinpoint where the person is, I can run to a nearby house and get help,” Tate said. “But first we need to know what we're dealing with.”

Angie was shaking her head, rejecting the idea, and Tate pulled her forward and pressed his forehead to hers. “Let's argue after we've scouted the sitch.”

“We can do that,” Mel said when Angie looked like she was going to disagree. She looked at Holly. “Lock yourself in here when we leave.”

Holly hugged her middle. “I'm not good with this.”

“You have to think about Sydney. You're a mom and she needs you. You have no choice,” Angie said. Her voice was final.

They left the room, leaving Holly in the dark. Mel squeezed her hand on the way out.

“If you need us, yell, yell as loud as you can,” she said.

Holly nodded. They closed the door behind them and snuck down the hallway back to the main part of the house.

At the staircase that swept up to the second floor, Tate crouched low, dragging both of them down with him.

“Okay, stay away from the windows, hide in the shadows, and scream if you need me,” he said.

“Same to you,” Angie said. She looked at him with an intensity that made Mel look away.

“As you know from our trips to Belmont Park in San Diego, I can scream like a girl when required,” he said.

Angie laughed then she grabbed his face and planted a kiss on his lips that was so fierce, Mel wondered if it was Angie's way of putting a lip-lock protective spell on her man. She hoped it was and she hoped it worked.

“Go!” Tate ordered and the two of them scurried up the staircase, staying low on the cold marble steps.

There were windows perched on the wall high above them, and Mel knew there was no way anyone could see them; still she felt better staying as low to the ground as possible.

“This way,” Mel said. She headed to the side of the house that overlooked the backyard. She went right into the master bedroom and noted that the floor-to-ceiling
windows and sparse furniture were going to make it difficult to hide from anyone looking in.

“Belly crawl?” Angie asked.

“Yeah,” Mel agreed. “Let's split up. You take those windows and I'll take these.”

They both dropped to the ground and worked their way across the tile floor until they were perched on the edge of the room, hugging separate walls and looking down.

“On three,” Angie said. “One, two, three.”

On three, they both popped up just a tiny bit and scouted the yard below.

“See anything?” Mel asked.

“No,” Angie said. “Next room?”

“Yes, back up slowly,” Mel said.

They scurried back and repeated the process with the next three rooms. When they'd finished their sweep of the grounds from upstairs, they headed back to the staircase except they couldn't find it.

“Where are we?” Angie asked. “Wasn't the staircase here?”

“I have no idea,” Mel said. “But then I'm the person who gets lost in the mall.”

“We have to get downstairs,” Angie said. “Tate and Holly need us.”

“We will,” Mel said. “There has to be more than one way down.”

“Do you think there's a servants' staircase?” Angie asked. “Where would it be?”

Mel thought about all the rooms they'd been in. “We didn't go into the laundry room, maybe it's in there.”

They double backed to the laundry room they had just passed. Sure enough, opposite the entrance was another door. Mel opened it and found a staircase.

Angie flicked on the light switch and together they crept down the stairs, trying not to make any noise. The door at the bottom opened into the mudroom off the garage. A bag of golf clubs was propped in the corner and Mel paused to take two putters out, one for her and one for Angie. She really hoped they didn't have to use them.

They came to another unfamiliar hallway. There were no windows so they moved quickly down the corridor. Mel was beginning to wonder if they'd fallen through some wormhole into another dimension when she heard the sound of footsteps up ahead.

“Ta—” Angie called out but Mel clapped a hand over her mouth.

“We don't know who that is,” she whispered in Angie's ear.

Angie nodded and she released her. Together they moved silently up the hallway. Mel's nerves felt stretched to the point of breaking. Was it Tate? And if not, who was out there? Who was scouting the house? What did they want?

She peered around the corner at the end of the hallway and saw the back of a rhinestone-studded white jumpsuit with a cape.

She gasped and the Elvis impersonator peered over his shoulder at them.

Mel didn't hesitate. She swung her putter right into the back of Elvis's knees, knocking him to the ground with an “Oomph!”

She lifted her putter again to brain him and Angie stepped up to do the same when another Elvis appeared around the corner.

“Stop! It's us!” he cried. He ripped off his black wig and gold-framed sunglasses. His bald dome shone in the dim light. “It's me, Marty, and that sorry throw rug you're about to beat is Oz.”

“Oz!” Mel dropped her putter and crouched beside him. Oscar Ruiz, known as Oz to the bakery crew, was an up and coming young pastry chef who worked in the bakery around his culinary school schedule. Mel had hired him as a student intern the year before and he had never left. “What are you doing here? I almost clobbered you.”

“Almost?” Oz groaned, rubbing the back of his knee. “Remind me never to take you on in mini golf.”

“We came to see if you were all right,” Marty said. He reached down and hauled Oz to his feet. “Shake it off, kid.”

“All right?” Angie roared. “You two scared a year off of my life. What were you doing skulking around the house?”

“We weren't skulking,” Marty protested. “We called your cell phones, we knocked on the door and rang the bell, but no one answered. Luckily, Manny managed to use his badge and detective speak to convince the security guard to buzz us in and use the key he keeps on file to enter the house.”

“Manny?” Mel asked.

“You called?”

She spun and saw Manny Martinez walking down the stairs toward them with a uniformed security guard right behind him.

“What are you doing—”

“Ayeeeh!” The screech cut off Mel's words as Holly came sliding into the foyer and launched herself at Manny, taking him down in a tackle that could have cemented her a position on an NFL defensive line.

“Holly, wait—” Mel began but her voice was cut off by the sounds of shots.

“Get down!” the security guard yelled.

They all hit the floor as one. Glass from the windows above the stairs shattered and fell. Mel covered her head, waiting for the shower of shards to stop.

The silence that followed the sound of breaking glass was filled with the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears.

Mel glanced up and saw that everyone seemed okay. Manny and Holly were still in a tangle of limbs, but he had rolled over to protect her from the glass with his back. Marty and Oz were out of the range of the glass while Angie and Mel were covered. The security guard had his gun out and was already rising to a crouched position, despite the gash in his arm that was oozing blood.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

Angie ignored him and was already rising to her feet, shaking the glass from her hair. “Where's Tate? Has anyone seen Tate?”