Dark Chocolate Demise

by Jenn McKinlay

  It wasn’t a walk back to the bakery so much as it was a jog. The only time Mel had been pushed this hard was when she’d signed up for fitness boot camp, in a not-very-well-thought-out plan to work off some excess buttercream. When the vein in her forehead had gone 3D and throbbing on her, she’d quit.

  They circled an in-ground fountain near the edge of the park and stopped as two men squared off in what was obviously an altercation. The bigger of the two men had arms the size of hams. Mel could tell just by looking at him that he was a gym rat, the sort of guy who checked his muscle definition in every reflective surface he passed.

  Tate tried to usher them around the men, but Angie stopped him. “We might be needed.”

  Tate opened his mouth to protest, but the two men shouting drowned out whatever he might have said.

  “Do you have any idea how much I spent on this?” the bigger man shouted as he grabbed the smaller man by his scarf. “You’re going to give back every dime!”

  “Hey! Let me go!” Mel recognized Chad Bowman, the coordinator of the zombie event, by his scarf and his rectangular glasses. “Listen I can’t be held accountable for something like this. How could I possibly know a woman was going to be shot?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care, but you’d better be insured, because I want every cent I spent on promo, swag, and merch back. I mean who the hell is going to want a souvenir T-shirt from an undead event where a woman was actually killed?”

  “You might want to let him go,” Tate said as he approached the duo. “There are cops everywhere.”

  Muscles, as Mel had started to think of him, glared at Tate as if he was ready to engage in another fight, but then he shook his head and shoved Chad away from him. He ran a hand through his close-cropped blond hair in exasperation, making it stand up on end in aggravated tufts.

  “You’re right, it’s not worth it,” the man said.

  “You know who is behind this, don’t you?” Chad asked.

  They all looked at him in surprise.

  “Chad, if you know something, you really need to go to the police,” Mel said.

  “They won’t believe me,” he said. “But just so you all know, it’s the government.”

  “The government killed that woman?” Tate asked, clearly thinking he had missed something.

  “Yes,” Chad said.

  “Why?” Marty asked, his voice full of derision. “Why would the government kill her?”

  “To break up the event, because it’s too close to the truth. The dead being reanimated, it’s going to happen,” Chad said. He smacked a fist into his open palm as if to emphasize his point.

  “You’re crazy.” Muscles just shook his head and walked away. Apparently, he’d heard enough.

  “I’m not. There’s a gas that if unleashed on the masses would render us all zombies,” Chad said. “The government is keeping it a secret.”

  “Oh, brother,” Marty groaned and began to walk, pulling Oz and Mel with him. Tate and Angie fell into step behind them and, undeterred, Chad walked with them.

  “It’s true,” Chad said. “They don’t want the people to have zombie walks, because then we might know how to deal with the real thing when they attack us with it. They want to keep us stupid.”

  “They don’t need to help with that,” Marty muttered under his breath, and Oz snorted.

  “Only the government has the cure, man; I’m telling you unless we figure out a way to stop them, we’re going to become brain-eating crazies,” Chad exclaimed. He spread his arms wide to emphasize his point.

  “One of us is already there,” Oz said and this time Marty guffawed.

  Marty, Oz, and Tate closed ranks around the girls, making it very clear that they were leaving and Chad was not welcome to come along.

  “Lord-a-mercy, that boy is dumber than dirt,” Marty said as soon as they were out of earshot.

  “Conspiracy theorist,” Tate said. “I hear they have issues.”

  He glanced around at the mass of people pressing their way out of the park with them and then exchanged a cautious look with Marty. The three men became abruptly serious. Tate picked up the pace as they continued walking back to Old Town.

  Once inside the bakery, Tate hustled the remaining customers out of the building and closed and locked the door. He was pulling the shades closed when Joyce, who’d been behind the counter, looked at them all and asked, “What on earth is going on?”

  No one answered. Joyce glanced at their faces and then clutched her chest.

  “Oh, no, not again,” she cried. She looked at Mel as if she just couldn’t believe it. “You found another body, didn’t you?”

  “Not just a body,” Tate said. “A body that looked just like Angie.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Angie protested. “If you looked beyond the wedding dress and the long brown hair, we really didn’t look much alike, and I bet after all of the makeup is off, you’ll find we looked nothing alike.”

  “Angie.” Tate’s voice was impatient. “We’re not arguing about this. You and I are leaving town.”

  “Again with this?” Angie asked. “Where exactly are we going to go?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But we’re out of here. I want you out of Frank Tucci’s reach until this case Joe is trying is over.”

  “You have lost your mind,” Angie said. She looked at the others as if expecting backup.

  Oz and Marty both looked up as if the ceiling’s paint job suddenly needed a visual inspection.

  “I think he’s right,” Mel said. She braced for Angie’s rebuttal, which predictably came out of her like cannon fire.

  “Aw, come on,” Angie argued. “Not you, too. How can you agree with this?”

  Mel looked at her friend and gave her a sad smile. “It’s simple, really. When I thought that was you in the coffin, I died a thousand deaths. I never, ever, ever want to feel that way again. Ever.”

  “But—” Angie started to protest but Tate cut her off.

  “No, this is not negotiable,” he said.

  Angie turned to look at him, and something in his fierce expression must have tipped her off that this was not the time to argue.

  “My clothes are up in your apartment,” she said to Mel. “Okay if I grab a quick shower and change?”

  “Go for it,” Mel said. She felt the tension in her shoulders ease. Angie was going to be smart about this. It was going to be all right.

  “I’ll walk you up,” Tate said. Angie nodded.

  “I’ll lock the back door behind you,” Oz said. He followed them into the kitchen. As soon as the door swung shut behind them, Mel and Marty collapsed into seats at a center table.

  Joyce went into the kitchen and came back minutes later with a steaming pot of coffee and three mugs. Oz came in behind her and joined them.

  “You three look like you could use a pick-me-up,” she said. “Now can you tell me what happened exactly?”

  Marty gestured to Mel. “You saw more than I did.”

  Mel nodded. She told her mother everything, only pausing when Joyce gasped and covered her mouth with her hand as if to keep from crying out. When Joyce nodded, Mel continued right up until they arrived at the bakery.

  “What did your uncle say?” Joyce asked. “Does he think Angie was the target?”

  “I didn’t get a chance to talk to him,” Mel said. “Manny pretty much threw us out of there. I don’t even know when we’ll be able to go and get the van.”

  “We’ll go back and get it,” Marty said, gesturing between himself and Oz.

  The door to the kitchen opened, and Tate and Angie reappeared. Gone was any trace of their zombie makeup, Mel noted with a prick of jealousy. Her own skin felt shrink-wrapped, as if it couldn’t breathe through the heavy makeup, and she felt greasy and grubby all over.

  A knock on the fro
nt door made them all jump. Mel rose to go answer it, but Joyce grabbed her arm.

  “Mom, if it’s a hit man, I’m pretty sure he’s not going to knock,” she said.

  Joyce let her go with a quick nod.

  Marty and Oz both stood and crowded Mel all the way to the door.

  “Really?” she asked. Having them breathe down her neck was not helping her nerves in the least.

  “Yes, really,” Marty said. “Until we know who it is.”

  “Mel, it’s us, Al and Paulie, open up,” a man’s voice shouted.

  “How do we know it’s them?” Joyce asked.

  “Paulie, if you hit me with that fake arm one more time, I swear I’m going to shove it right where the sun—”

  “It’s them,” Mel said. She unlocked the dead bolt and pushed the door open. “Hey, guys.”

  Al and Paulie jostled their way into the room. Mel glanced past them out onto the street. Could she really afford to close the shop just because they were all on edge about a murder?

  What if it had been Angie in the coffin? Her heart felt like a lump of ice in her chest. She slammed the door and locked it. She’d figure out what to do when all of the facts were in.

  “We came as fast as we could,” Al said. He crossed the room to where his sister stood, looked her over, and then hugged her hard. Paulie did the same.

  “We ran into Stan and Manny,” Paulie said. “They told us what went down. I’m sorry you had to go through that, Mel.”

  He doubled back and gave her a quick hug. Al took his place when he was done.

  “We were on the other side of the park when word came that there had been a shooting,” Al said. “At first no one believed it, but when the crime scene van arrived people started to freak out. It’s chaos over there.”

  “I said to Al right away, ‘I bet Mel and Angie are in the middle of this,’” Paulie said.

  He helped himself to one of the mini sample cupcakes Mel put out on the counter every day; today’s flavor was the strawberry banana, a strawberry cake with banana-infused buttercream. He popped it into his mouth in one bite and reached for another. Angie smacked his hand away.

  “He did,” Al confirmed. Then he looked at his sister. “And you were, weren’t you?”

  “Only because the body was stuffed into our coffin, and Mel happened to find it,” Angie said.

  “And because we thought it was you,” Tate added.

  He sounded breathless at the mere idea, and Mel felt bad for him. She knew exactly how he was feeling: relieved and yet still terrified that the hit had been meant for Angie. Then she felt horrible because Scott didn’t get to feel the same relief about his wife, Kristin. Instead, he was left with just grief.

  “Uncle Stan and Manny will figure it out,” she said. “Whoever killed Kristin Streubel won’t get away with it.”

  “You knew her?” Joyce asked.

  “I met her just once,” Mel said. Then she sighed. “At her wedding.”

  A thumping knock sounded on the front door. Again, they all jumped. Marty was closest to the front window and he peered out behind the shade.

  “Holy bananas!” he cried.

  “What is it?” Mel asked.

  “Looks like the undead are preparing to storm the place,” he said.

  Mel glanced out the window. If she were in a horror film, she would have started screaming. A mob of zombies ten rows deep was standing on the front patio.

  Marty turned to look at her. “What do we do?”

  Eleven

  Mel saw a mother with two little girls dressed as princess zombies. They all looked traumatized and Mel realized that what had started as a fun family outing for them had taken a nasty turn. They needed some comfort stat.

  “Tate, take Angie home and stay there,” Mel said.

  “But—” Angie started to protest but Mel cut her off.

  “No,” Mel said. “Until we know for sure that you weren’t the target, I want you out of sight.” When Angie looked about to protest again, Mel gave her a pleading look and said, “Please.”

  “Fine, but only until we have more information,” Angie said. “I’ll be back at work tomorrow.”

  Tate looked relieved and flashed Mel a grateful look.

  “We’ll go out the back and I’ll lock up behind us,” he said.

  He gave her a quick hug and Mel took the opportunity to whisper, “Keep working on her.”

  Tate nodded when he let her go. As soon as they disappeared into the back, Mel crossed to the door. She glanced at Al and Paulie.

  “Are you two willing to stay on as cupcake bouncers?” she asked. “Anyone acts up, you take them down, no questions, no hesitation.”

  “With pleasure,” Al said. He cracked his knuckles, looking a little too eager.

  “Dial it back a little,” Mel said. “I’m not looking for a lawsuit. I just want to contain any crazy.”

  The brothers nodded and assumed their positions by the door.

  Mel nodded at Marty and he flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN and she unlocked the door. She could only hope that among the living dead that poured into the bakery, no one was a killer.

  The next three and a half hours passed in a blur of buttercream. The zombies were ten deep at all times, and other than the fifteen minutes she escaped to go shower, Mel was on duty for all of it. And for the first time since it had opened, Fairy Tale Cupcakes ran out of cupcakes.

  After the last customer had departed, taking Mel’s last Blonde Bombshell with them, she closed and locked the door even though it was still two hours until official closing time.

  Joyce and Marty collapsed into a booth while Oz lay down on the counter, looking like he might never move again. Mel surveyed the wreckage of the shop with weary eyes. Good thing they’d closed early, because it was going to take her a few hours to clean up the crumbs, paper liners, wadded-up napkins, and used glassware that had been left behind.

  Al and Paulie had gone outside to do a sweep of the building. They came back in through the back door and collapsed in another booth.

  “The building is clear,” Al said. “And with Tony’s surveillance system in place, if anything funky happens, we’ll know.”

  Mel wondered why she didn’t find this as reassuring as he meant it to be.

  “I’m going home and taking a hot bath,” Joyce said. “Do you want to come with me, Melanie?”

  “No, I can’t,” Mel said. “Not until I know what’s going on. Besides, I need to do some serious baking.”

  “We’ll keep an eye on her, Mrs. Cooper,” Al said.

  “Thank you,” Joyce said. “You’re good boys.”

  “Marty and Oz, why don’t you two call it a day, too?” Mel asked.

  The two men exchanged a worried look.

  “I’ll be fine,” Mel said. “I’ve got these two and apparently a camera all spying on me.”

  “Not spying,” Paulie protested. “Surveilling.”

  “Is that even a word?” Al asked.

  “Sure it is,” Paulie said. “As in, ‘I’m surveilling the sitch.’”

  “Another made-up word,” Al said.

  Mel rolled her eyes and then made a shooing gesture with her hands at the others. “Go before I change my mind and make you suffer with me.”

  “Come on, Joyce, we’ll walk you to your car,” Marty said.

  Joyce paused beside Mel to give her a fierce hug. “Be careful. If you change your mind, come over no matter how late.”

  “I will,” Mel promised. She followed her mother through the kitchen, locking the door behind Joyce and her escorts.

  Mel turned around and found Al and Paulie raiding the walk-in cooler.

  “Uh, Mel, I don’t want to alarm you,” Paulie said. “But you’ve been robbed.”

  “What?” Mel asked.

 
“See for yourself!” Paulie said. “There are no cupcakes in here. None.”

  Mel relaxed against the steel table that sat in the center of her kitchen.

  “I haven’t been robbed,” she said. “We sold out.”

  “Ah!” he gasped, looking horrified.

  “That’s a good thing, dummy,” Al said. “It means business is good.”

  “Yeah, but I’m hungry,” Paulie whined.

  Mel was about to offer to make him some eggs, when a noise sounded from the front of the bakery.

  “Get down!” Al ordered.

  Mel dropped to the ground behind the table.

  “Don’t move,” Paulie said. “We got this.”

  She peered under the table as the two brothers scuttled their way to the swinging door that led to the front of the bakery.

  Al eased the door open and Paulie rose up behind him and leaned on his back so they could both peer through the crack.

  “Do you see anyone?” Al asked.

  “No, open the door a bit wider,” Paulie said.

  “Ugh, I would but I can’t support you and open the door,” Al complained. “How much do you weigh, anyway?”

  “It’s all muscle,” Paulie snapped.

  “Really?” Al asked. “’Cause it feels like a lot of baby fat pressing on me.”

  Bam! The kitchen door was shoved open, smacking the brothers back onto the ground. Paulie clutched his forehead. Al moaned and grabbed his nose.

  “Who’s there?” Mel grabbed a cooking pot from the rack under the table and jumped to her feet. She was not about to let anyone cut off her right hand over a sandwich or anything else.

  “Me, it’s just me,” a voice answered, sounding forlorn.

  Mel glanced at the kitchen door to find Chad Bowman standing there, still in his zombie hipster getup, looking lost and confused.

  “I was in the bathroom,” he said. “The next thing I knew the lights were off and the front door was locked. I couldn’t get out.”

  Mel lowered the pot and blew out a breath. Her closing procedures had been shot to heck tonight. No one had checked the bathroom.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. She walked past Chad and led the way back into the main bakery. “We forgot to check the customer bathrooms. I’ll let you out.”