Dark Chocolate Demise

by Jenn McKinlay

  “Oh,” Joyce said.

  “Eat up,” Mel ordered. “This might be our last meal.”

  “Not funny,” Joyce said. “But at least it’s a good one. Maybe if you praise the food, he won’t kill you.”

  “I’ll cling to that,” Mel said. She tried to savor her Crab Louie, but even with avocados and black olives, it tasted like dirt.

  When they had lingered as long as they could and kicked around four other ways to get out of there without having to meet with Vincent, Mel finally pulled her napkin from her lap and tossed it onto her cleared plate. She couldn’t ever remember a time where she had felt as if she was literally throwing in the towel.

  “Okay, Mom, call me,” Mel said.

  Joyce took out her phone with shaking fingers. She dialed Mel’s number and Mel felt her phone vibrate in her hand. She answered it and checked the display to see that the call was connected. She carefully put her phone in her purse and kept the top of her bag open for the best reception.

  “Okay, I’ll go pop in on Vincent and you hit the restroom,” Mel said. Joyce kept her phone to her ear as if she was taking a call. She nodded, letting Mel know she had heard her through the phone as well.

  Mel threw a fifty down on the table as a tip for Meatball. If things turned ugly, this might be the tip that saved her life. A guy couldn’t kill a woman who gave him a fifty-dollar tip on lunch, right?

  Twenty-four

  Once in the restaurant, Mel stopped by Heather’s hostess station while Joyce went on to the bathroom.

  “Hi,” Mel said. She noticed her voice was breathy, probably because she felt like hyperventilating, and her palms were sweaty. “Um, Vincent asked me to stop by his office on my way out.”

  Heather glanced up. She looked Mel over as if trying to decide if Mel was competition or not. She gave Mel a scornful look, making it very apparent that, no, Mel was not considered a threat.

  Mel knew it was ridiculous to feel insulted, but she did. She stood straighter and pushed her bosom out a bit as she followed the sashaying Heather passed the entrance to the kitchen and down a dark hallway at the back of the restaurant.

  Heather rapped lightly on the office door. She looked back at Mel and then said, “Vincent, that baker is here to see you.”

  She made it sound as if Mel was pursuing Vincent instead of Vincent being the one who had asked to see her.

  “Great, send her in,” Vincent called from inside.

  Heather pushed open the door, and Mel brushed by her. She had a feeling Heather was trying to intimidate her by not moving out of the doorway enough for Mel to go through. Mel was forced to rub up against Heather’s hip, and that’s when she noticed the bulge at Heather’s upper thigh. She’d seen Uncle Stan’s Glock enough to know exactly what the bulge was. The woman was packing!

  Mel scuttled quickly by the woman, feeling her heart pound in her chest. As the door swung shut and Heather click-clacked away on her stilettos, Mel let out a pent-up breath.

  The interior of the office was surprisingly bright and airy, painted in a soft eggshell color. The red maple furniture was upholstered in bold shades of green, giving the room a surprisingly upbeat feel.

  Framed awards for Best of Phoenix and Best in Arizona lined the wall as well as pictures of Frank Tucci and Vincent Tucci with celebrity diners.

  “Mel, thanks for stopping in,” Vincent said. He stood up behind his desk. “But where is your mother?”

  “She went to freshen up,” Mel said. “I’m sorry, I have to . . . do you know your hostess carries a gun?”

  Vincent lowered his head and gave her a small smile of understanding. “You saw that, huh?”

  “More like felt it when I walked by her. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten in a place where the hostess is armed,” Mel said. “I know it’s Arizona and all, but . . . yikes.”

  “Heather is more than a hostess,” Vincent said. “She’s my personal bodyguard.”

  “Bodyguard?” Mel asked. Her voice sounded faint.

  “Since my father’s incarceration, he’s made some threats,” Vincent said. “I have to be very careful.”

  “Oh,” Mel said. She felt herself relax. That, at least, made sense.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “No one has tried to kill me, lately. You’re perfectly safe here. Go ahead and have a seat.”

  He gestured to one of the green chairs on the other side of his desk. Despite his reassurances, she wondered if he could see how her knees were knocking together.

  “I have to confess, I have a personal motive for inviting you back to my office,” he said.

  Mel swallowed and she was pretty sure she heard a yip come from her phone. She ignored it. Tossing her blond bangs out of her eyes, she hoped she looked casual when she asked, “Oh, and what’s that?”

  “I desperately want to talk shop with someone who understands,” he said.

  “Shop?” Mel asked. “But I don’t know anything about the restaurant business.”

  “I’m not talking about restaurants,” he said with a small smile. “I’m talking culinary arts.”

  “You mean baking?” Mel repeated

  “Yes,” he said. “I don’t think I told you before that I went to culinary school.”

  Mel couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d poked her with a cake tester. “Really? Savory or sweet?”

  “Sweet, definitely sweet,” he said. “I was one of three males in my class.”

  “What was your specialty?” she asked.

  “Pâte brisée,” he said.

  “Hmm, my favorite piecrust,” Mel said. “To be perfect it has to be rich and buttery with a crisp and crumbly texture, which is so tricky to master. In France, I learned to make pâte brisée with aged cheddar and then fill it with apples, cinnamon, and raisins. It was melt-in-your-mouth amazing.”

  Vincent leaned forward. “You have to share the recipe. My best was a frangipane pear tart.”

  “Almond custard and pears,” Mel said with a sigh. Her nerves vanished with the talk of food. “Perfection.”

  Vincent grinned. “I thought so. I do miss it. Sadly, when you have to sit on this side of the desk there is no time for playing in the kitchen.”

  “I know what you mean,” Mel said. Quite unexpectedly, she found herself confiding in Vincent about her fears of franchising. “My partners want to take the bakery to the next level.”

  “You sound reluctant,” he said.

  “I’m not,” Mel said. “No, that’s a lie. I’m terrified that the quality will suffer.”

  Vincent gave her a sympathetic smile. “That’s because you’re an artist.”

  Mel felt her face grow warm under his praise. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I would,” he said. He looked very earnest. “I’ve seen your work. You have a true culinary gift, Melanie. Don’t let anyone diminish that.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll do my best. You’ve never considered franchising the restaurant?”

  “No,” Vincent said. He looked away and then he looked back and Mel got the feeling something was bothering him. “Listen, I lied to you.”

  “Oh,” Mel said. “So, you didn’t go to cooking school?”

  “No, that’s true,” Vincent said.

  “Oh, good because I really want that frangipane pear tart recipe,” she said.

  “It’s yours,” he promised. “What I lied about was my father.”

  “The Frank in Frank and Mickey’s?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “Thank goodness my mother didn’t live to see this disgrace, god rest her soul.”

  He crossed himself and Mel wondered if she was supposed to do the same. She was pretty sure she wasn’t so she stayed still, hoping her lack of motion wouldn’t be too obvious if she was supposed to cross herself.

  “What I lied about was say
ing my father had made some threats,” he said. “It’s more than that. My father has tried to kill me.”

  “Oh,” Mel said. She knew her mouth was hanging open a bit, but she didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry seemed woefully inadequate.

  “Listen, Melanie, my father is an evil man, and I don’t doubt he’s guilty of everything he’s been accused of,” Vincent said. Mel’s eyes went wide. “I know it’s shockingly disloyal of me to admit that.”

  “Do you have proof?” Mel asked. She was thinking Joe’s case could be made if Frank’s son testified against him.

  “No, unfortunately,” Vincent said. “My father kept all of his business dealings from me. On her deathbed, my mother made him swear that he would never let me become a part of the life. As far as I know, it’s the only promise my father has ever kept.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Mel asked.

  “Because I’ve been watching the news,” Vincent said. “That woman who was killed at the zombie walk, she wasn’t just a random victim.”

  “What do you know?” Mel asked.

  Vincent cursed. “Nothing for sure, but I know my father is behind it. That woman’s body was put in a coffin in front of your cupcake van. Do you think that was a coincidence?”

  “I don’t know,” Mel said.

  “It wasn’t,” Vincent said. “That woman is married to that man who works in the prosecutor’s office, right?”

  It was public information, so Mel nodded.

  “Melanie, it could have been you,” he said. She glanced up at him in surprise, and he added, “Everyone knows you used to date Joe DeLaura. And doesn’t his sister work for you, too?”

  Mel’s throat felt suddenly dry and when she swallowed, it hurt. Vincent was confirming her worst fears.

  “Joe and I are no longer together,” she said.

  “That won’t matter to my father if he suspects that DeLaura still cares about you,” Vincent said.

  “He doesn’t,” Mel said. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to lie when Vincent seemed to loathe his father as much as she did, but her instincts were guiding her.

  “Why would your father go after Joe’s sister?” Mel asked.

  “To destroy him,” Vincent said. “It would work, wouldn’t it?”

  Mel didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

  “Do you think the woman who was murdered was supposed to be one of us?” she asked. She was pleased that her voice didn’t shake when she asked the question.

  “As I told the police, I don’t know,” Vincent said. “My father has kept me out of that part of his life. But would I put it past him? No. Melanie, until my father is locked away for good, I must warn you to be very, very careful.”

  Mel nodded. Her heart felt like a stone sinking in her chest. She did not want to report this conversation to Angie or anyone else for that matter.

  A knock sounded on the office door right before it was shoved open, and Heather stepped into the room.

  “The beer distributor wants to talk to you,” she said. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking between them with an unhappy expression on her face.

  Mel didn’t need to be told twice. She rose from her seat and Vincent did the same, coming around the desk to join her. He put his hand on her lower back as they walked to the door.

  “We’ll have to get together again and compare cooking tips,” he said. “You know, when things are . . . calmer.”

  “Absolutely,” Mel said.

  “And I really do want to get Fairy Tale Cupcakes in here and on our menu,” he said.

  “That would be great,” Mel said. She felt as if her enthusiasm was forced since all she could think about was Vincent’s revelation that Angie may very well have been the one marked for death.

  She shivered and felt Vincent’s hand move up and down her back in a soothing gesture. He leaned close and whispered, “Remember what I said. Please, be careful.”

  “I will,” Mel whispered back. “Thank you.”

  Once outside the office, she turned and bolted down the hallway. She could feel Heather’s narrowed gaze on her back, which did nothing to calm her nerves. Holding her purse up to her face she saw that her phone connection was still open. She picked it up and put it to her ear.

  “Mom, meet me by my car,” she said.

  “Sorry, cupcake, there’s been a change of plan.” It was Joe who answered. “Now do exactly as I say.”

  Twenty-five

  Mel gasped.

  “Don’t say my name,” Joe ordered. “Just act casual and get your butt outside. Your mom is already out here.”

  Mel was halfway through the restaurant and saw Meatball standing by the bar, watching her leave. She gave him a little wave just as she would have had this been a normal lunch. To her relief, he waved back. Yes, the tip had definitely been worth it.

  Mel stepped out into the daylight. She blinked against the sun’s brightness and scanned the area, looking for her mother.

  She heard Joe expel a relieved breath on the phone. Then he ruined it by sounding bossy. “Walk right to your car, do not turn around, do not pause, do not even think about avoiding me by trying to catch the city bus.”

  “Fine,” Mel said. She trudged across the parking lot, where she had left her Mini Cooper. When she got there she glanced in to see Joe back in his redneck disguise, sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, holding her mother’s phone to his ear.

  She opened the passenger door and climbed in. Joe barely waited until she’d shut the door before he hit the gas and zipped out of the parking lot.

  “Where’s—” Mel began but Joe interrupted her.

  “Joyce is with Stan, who is taking her home,” he said. His jaw was clamped so tight Mel was surprised he could get the words out. “It’s probably best if you do not speak right now.”

  Mel was about to argue, but self-preservation made her close her yap. Joe was the most even-tempered person she’d ever met, but he did not look like that now. In fact, his resemblance to Angie when she blew a fuse was alarming to say the least.

  He drove to the lot behind the bakery, where he parked in her usual spot. Mel went to climb out but Joe halted her by putting his hand on her arm.

  “We need to talk. Your apartment. Now.”

  Mel did not like his tone, but wisely realized that this might not be the best time to point it out to him. Instead, she got out of her car and strode across the alley to the stairs that led up to her apartment. She could hear Joe behind her, mostly because he was stomping his feet as if trying to exercise his foul mood on the steps.

  Mel unlocked her door and pushed her way in. Captain Jack was snuggled in his favorite blanket and only blinked at the interruption before burying his nose in his tail and falling back to sleep.

  “How did you know—” Mel began but Joe interrupted her again.

  “No,” he said. He ripped off his beard and hat and pillow gut and stood in just a loose gray T-shirt and jeans. He shoved his hands through his hair. “I get to ask the questions.”

  “Shouldn’t you be in court?” Mel asked. She was hoping he’d forgotten and would now have to hurry back.

  “We’re recessed for the day,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. “Explain yourself.”

  “There’s nothing to explain,” Mel said. “Mom wanted to go out for lunch, so we went to Frank and Mickey’s.”

  “How dumb do you think I am?” he yelled.

  Mel blinked. Joe sounded crazy mad. He never sounded crazy or mad. In fact, she couldn’t recall a single time when they’d been dating where Joe had yelled at her like this. And since they weren’t dating, she really didn’t know where he got off thinking he could yell at her like this right now.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” she said. She planted her hands on her hips and assumed her fighter’s stance. “D
on’t you raise your voice to me.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Joe asked. “This is nothing. You’re lucky I didn’t storm into that restaurant and carry you out over my shoulder caveman style.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  Mel shook her head. There was no way she should find this domineering male thing he had going on attractive. And yet a tiny little feminine part of her swooned, which made the liberated woman inside of her vomit. She put her hand to her forehead. This was all too much to process.

  She turned on her heel and headed to the giant ceramic cupcake on the counter where she kept her candy stash. She lifted off the lid and peered inside.

  It was a sad state of affairs in there. She had a few stale chocolate hearts left over from Valentine’s Day and half of a candy cane from Christmas. St. Patrick’s Day wasn’t known so much for candy as it was for beer, so that wasn’t helpful. Thankfully, Easter was only a few weeks away. After that there really wasn’t a good candy holiday until Halloween. Someone really needed to get on that. The Fourth of July needed its own candy with foil-wrapped chocolate stars or chocolate flags or something.

  “Candy?” Joe asked. “You’re foraging for candy now?”

  He leaned over her shoulder to check out the stash.

  “Can you think of a better time?” she asked.

  “That’s pitiful,” he said, eyeing the contents.

  “Don’t I know it,” Mel said. She reached in and grabbed the two hearts. She held one out to Joe. He was the only person alive who had a sweet tooth to rival her own.

  He took the heart and gave her a severe look. “Do not think that by taking this candy I am in any way saying that what you did today is okay.”

  “Noted,” Mel said. She unwrapped her candy heart and shoved it in her mouth. “But I don’t like shouting, so if you could dial it back that would be great.”

  Joe shoved his chocolate into his mouth, too. Mel wondered if it was to keep himself from yelling at her again. She glanced back into the cupcake. Barren was the word that leapt to mind. She sighed. If she had been planning to bribe him, she was out of luck.