Dying for Devil's Food

by Jenn McKinlay

  “Huh,” Dwight grunted. “Smart.” His tone was grudging. Mel ignored him.

  They continued combing through the photos. It was painstaking and at the end of an hour, she felt as if her eyes were glazing over. Between Tucker’s pictures and the pictures posted on the class reunion’s website, Megan’s whereabouts were accounted for to the minute in the time after Cassidy disappeared from the pictures to go to the bathroom. One thing was certain, Megan never left the main room at the reunion. So she couldn’t have been the one to write Mel’s name on the bathroom wall. It had to have been someone else.

  Mel leaned back in her chair, studying the timeline on her notepad. She glanced up at the others. “It may have been Megan’s lipstick, but she wasn’t the one who wrote on the bathroom wall. She’s in pictures with everyone and there isn’t more than a minute or two between the photos. I don’t think she had time to get to the bathroom, write on the wall, and get back to the party. I think she’s innocent.”

  Dwight frowned at her and she shrugged. “Sorry. But the timeline—­it doesn’t read that it was her.”

  “What about Dan?” he asked.

  “He was with his basketball team, recounting their glory days at the bar,” she said. “According to Tim Halloran, he and Dan were together after Dan and Cassidy had their argument right up until her body was found.”

  “You need to tell Stan,” Tate said. “This opens the case back up. I mean, it could have been anyone if Cassidy was poisoned at the reunion. How many people were in our graduating class anyway?”

  “Three hundred and forty-­seven,” Tucker answered. “But only two hundred and thirty-­five came to the reunion with dates, giving us about five hundred people at the reunion at the time of . . . well, you know.”

  “Wow,” Angie said. “Our class didn’t seem that big at the time.”

  “That’s because we didn’t really hang out with anyone but each other,” Tate said. He put his arm around Angie and hugged her close. “And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

  “Me, too.” She smiled up at him. Their newlywed glow was practically atomic.

  Mel looked at Tucker and Dwight, who were still studying the computer monitor. Dwight had brought back the picture of Cassidy laughing. Both men looked pensive, but Tucker looked more indignant at the loss of her while Dwight appeared more touched by the loss, with indelible marks of grief deepening the lines around his eyes and mouth.

  “Whoever did this,” Dwight said, “I want them to pay.”

  “They will,” Tucker said. “They will.”

  The two men had nothing in common except their affection for Cassidy. It occurred to Mel that they had the potential go vigilante on this whole thing, so she decided a distraction was in order.

  “Whatever happened to Mr. Meehan?” she asked. “Did you all have him for Biology? He was a kick, wasn’t he?”

  “He’s dead,” Dwight said. “Cancer.”

  “Oh,” Mel said. She felt the shock of it reverberate inside of her. Mr. (Howie) Meehan had been one of the few teachers who’d really taken the time to get to know her. He had always provided a safe haven from the bullies in his classroom even though it always reeked of formaldehyde. She sighed. The hits just kept coming.

  Dwight rose out of his chair, pushing the seat back with a scraping noise against the floor. He looked restless, like he wanted to go do damage. He strode to the door, calling over his shoulder, “I gotta go.”

  “Dwight!” Mel called after him. He ignored her and pushed out the front door. Without overthinking it, she chased after him. “Hey, Dwight!”

  Outside the day had turned hot, waves of heat rising up from the sidewalk as the desert sun beat down. Mel took a second to acclimate herself and looked around to see where Dwight was. He’d taken a right and was almost at the corner.

  Old Town, where the bakery resided, was a kitschy collection of shops, galleries, bars, and restaurants. Housed in old western buildings complete with porches with railings and cobbled walkways, it fully embraced the love of cowboy culture from the fifties. Mel had loved it when she was a girl growing up in the neighborhood, so when it came time to open her shop, Old Town was the natural choice. Luckily, she’d been here long enough to know most of the other shop owners, so when she went running down the covered sidewalk, no one batted an eye.

  “Dwight, wait!” she cried. He was almost at the crosswalk. Before he could step into the road, she grabbed his arm.

  He looked down at her and Mel remembered the contempt and disdain he used to blast her with in school. There was none of that present. Instead, he looked agitated and helpless. Mel knew that feeling. She’d felt the kind of powerlessness he was suffering from, usually because of people like him when they went after her about her weight when she was younger, and now that she was a professional baker, she found the haters liked to go after her cupcakes.

  Honestly, some people were so full of hate. She’d gotten only a handful of one-­star reviews on the local business review sites, and she was always amazed at the outrage some people felt over the price of the cupcakes, or because they closed at eight, or they didn’t like the look of her workers just because Oz had a few piercings and they were afraid of him. Little did they know, he was on his way to being one of the best pastry chefs in the country. Truly, it seemed some people just wanted to create outrage and then hurl it back out there at anyone who would listen. Such a waste.

  If anything good had ever come out of being bullied, it was that she had developed a hide like a rhinoceros and it was practically impossible to hurt her feelings these days, because she had learned that the only opinion that truly mattered was her own.

  “What?” Dwight asked. He glared at her hand on his arm and Mel removed it. “Did you chase me down just to stare at me?”

  “Sorry, I got lost in thought,” she said. In truth, she wasn’t much of a runner and she needed a second to catch her breath.

  “I have places to go,” Dwight said.

  “I just want to say that you can trust my uncle Stan on this. He’s a great detective. One of the best. He’ll find out who murdered Cassidy,” she said.

  “And what if he doesn’t?” Dwight asked. “Or what if he does, but the golden boy who is responsible for Cassidy’s murder gets off because nothing ever sticks to him?”

  “You don’t really think Danny had anything to do with this, do you?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but you saw the picture,” he said. “Your uncle saw it, too. Megan looked furious. Maybe she didn’t kill Cassidy herself. Maybe she had someone do it for her.”

  “I find that hard to believe. There’s still Kristie to consider, among others. The important thing is that you don’t do ­anything you’ll regret,” Mel said. When he looked like he’d protest, she said, “Listen, if you do something rash like confront one of the suspects, you could damage the case the police are building. If you want justice for Cassidy, you have to let the police do their jobs.”

  “Just let me go, okay?” he asked.

  “Dwight.” She said his name just like she did her nephews’ when they were kicking up a fuss. He shook his head at her and walked away, so, yeah, the tone worked about as well on grown-­ups as it did on kids, which meant not at all.

  Mel wondered if she should call her uncle. What could she say? Dwight was on the loose and he might go after Megan or Kristie? She knew exactly what Uncle Stan would say. Did she have any proof? She didn’t. She just had a gut feeling that things were about to go sideways.

  She jogged-­walked, mostly walked, back to the bakery. Tucker was packing up his laptop and chatting with Angie and Tate while Marty manned the front counter. Oz was nowhere in sight so Mel figured he’d gone back to the kitchen now that Dwight was gone.

  “What’s with him?” Tate asked when she joined them.

  “He’s upset,” Mel said. “Understandably. He th
inks Megan had someone do her dirty work for her. I think it’s just hard to believe one of our classmates could murder another.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Tucker said. “I mean Cassidy, like her or not, was a personality that was larger than life. It’s weird to imagine the world without her.”

  Mel nodded. Although she didn’t have the same affectionate memories of Cassidy, she had to agree that her world would be different knowing that the woman who had been her chief tormentor was gone. Mel supposed she should be glad, but she wasn’t. Instead she felt oddly bereft, sort of like if she kept hitting her thumb with a hammer it would be a weird absence of pain when she stopped.

  “Did you manage to rebook your flight?” she asked.

  “Yes, in fact, I have to go or I’ll miss it again,” he said.

  “Well, thanks for your help,” Mel said. “I’m sure Uncle Stan is grateful, too.”

  “No prob,” he said. He paused. “I’m glad your timeline proves it wasn’t Megan who killed her. Nasty business to be murdered by your best friend. It’s lousy, but it makes more sense when it’s an enemy.”

  Mel looked at him. Everyone knew she and Cassidy had been at odds since grade school. Was he implying . . . ?

  “Not that I think you did it,” he said quickly, and Mel nodded. So long as they were clear on that. She had taken a polygraph after all.

  Tucker was shorter than Mel by a few inches, so she hunched down a bit to hug him. He then hugged Angie and shook hands with Tate. As he walked to the door, he called back, “Will you keep me in the loop? I want to know what’s happening, you know, if they arrest anyone.”

  “Definitely,” Angie said. “When we know, you’ll know.”

  “Cool, well, see you in another five years,” he said. He waved and the door swung shut behind him.

  “See ya,” Mel said. She turned to her friends. “So, today was bizarre.”

  “And how,” Tate said. “I almost freaked out when I saw Dwight in here.”

  “Tell me about it,” Mel said. “When he showed up, your wife was half over the counter ready to take him on.”

  “Ange, babe,” Tate said. “We’ve talked about that. You have to be careful.”

  “I was careful,” Angie said. “It was just a show of strength. I wouldn’t have mixed it up with him or anything.”

  Tate hugged her close and said, “Let’s go home.”

  Angie looked at Mel. “Are you good here?”

  Mel glanced at the clock on the wall. “Yeah, I’m going to stay late tonight. I want to send the timeline to Uncle Stan and then I have a wedding I want to start prepping since Oz has to leave for his evening class at cooking school.”

  “Can you and Marty handle it by yourselves?” Angie asked. “I’m happy to stay if you need me.”

  “Thanks, but you opened this morning,” Mel said. “Don’t worry. We’ve got this.”

  “If you say so.” Angie untangled herself from Tate, pausing to kiss his cheek before she disappeared in back to take off her apron and grab her purse.

  “Hey, I know you think the timeline lets Megan off the hook, but Dwight might be right to think someone else killed Cassidy for her,” Tate said. He didn’t name Danny specifically but Mel knew that’s who he was thinking about. “Try not to get too invested in this.”

  “What makes you think I’m invested?”

  “Because you care about her and Dan,” he said. “Mel, she was wearing the lipstick, she was having an affair with Danny—­heck, she’s having his baby. There is no one more suspect than her in Cassidy’s murder and just because she’s pregnant does not mean she gets a pass.”

  “I know, I know,” Mel said. “But I really didn’t get the killer vibe off her.”

  “What is the ‘killer vibe’?” he asked.

  “You know, the feeling that someone could actually do something that heinous; she doesn’t even have crazy eyes,” Mel said.

  “That doesn’t mean she didn’t do it,” he said.

  “She’s going to have his child,” Mel said. “They seem to have a life plan. I can’t believe she’d jeopardize it all by poisoning his wife.”

  “The wife who interfered in her getting together with him to begin with,” Tate said. “And who was refusing to divorce him. She might have been feeling desperate.”

  “You’re right,” Mel said. “I know you’re right. I’m just having a hard time accepting it.”

  “Send the timeline to Stan and go work on your wedding cupcakes,” he said. “You’ll feel better.”

  Mel hugged him close and said, “Have I ever told you how glad I am you became my friend in middle school?”

  “You might have mentioned it a few hundred times,” Tate said. “And I feel the exact same way.”

  “I don’t think I could have gotten through those years without you and Angie,” she said.

  “Same,” he agreed. “Let’s never break up the band.”

  Mel laughed. “Never.”

  Feeling better, Mel snapped a picture of her notes and sent it to Uncle Stan, then she went to her happy place, the kitchen, to work on an enormous batch of wedding cupcakes. The bride and groom had requested chocolate cupcakes with vanilla frosting, decorated with white fondant and pale pink flowers with edible pearls to look like a bride, and vanilla cupcakes with chocolate frosting and a fondant tuxedo jacket and bow tie to represent the groom. Mel liked making the fondant decorations as she found massaging the dye into the fondant to be very therapeutic.

  She waved to Oz as he departed for the night and told Marty to come get her if the bakery got busy. Then she set to work, mixing the batter up in her industrial mixer. She made the chocolate cupcakes first. Her industrial convection oven was enormous and she used cupcake trays that baked thirty-­six cupcakes at a time. While the chocolate ones were baking she set to work on the vanilla. She had just put all of the ingredients into the mixer when she heard a commotion coming from the front of the shop.

  She paused the mixer and wiped her hands off on a dish towel, then she went to see what was happening. She pushed through the door to find Danny Griffin standing on the other side of the counter from Marty.

  “What is it with you and angry men today?” Marty asked. His bald head was bright red and he was hunched over with his arms out, looking like he was getting ready to wrestle Danny to the ground.

  “Stand down,” Mel said. “He’s a friend. Sort of.”

  “You!” Danny snapped. “How could you? They arrested her. Did you know that? They just arrested Megan for Cassidy’s murder.”

  Eighteen

  “What? When?” Mel asked. She glanced at the clock. Uncle Stan had left a couple of hours ago, but he should have gotten her text by now.

  “An hour ago,” he said. “They won’t let me see her. They have her in an interrogation room at the police station. What did you say to your uncle?”

  “Nothing,” Mel said. At least that part was true; it was Tate who had told Stan of the affair. “But Uncle Stan came by when Dwight was here this afternoon accusing me of being the one who harmed Cassidy.”

  “Why would Dwight do that?” Danny asked.

  “Because Cassidy was poisoned and in his mind, I had motive and opportunity,” Mel said. “But while we were talking, he said that he went into the bathroom at the reunion and saw the lipstick that Cassidy wrote what might have been my name with. He said it was a red color, a deep, dark red.”

  “So?” Danny looked bewildered.

  Mel blew out a breath. “Is there any way Megan might have . . . ?” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Good thing Danny didn’t need her to.

  “No!” he cried. “Megan isn’t like that. She would never. Even on the eve of my wedding when she found out that Cassidy hadn’t told her about my interest in her, she still smiled through it all and wished us well. Tucker was there. He could tell you.
Megan was so gracious, considering. Dwight was there, too, for that matter.”

  “Well, that just means she has her pride,” Marty said. “Doesn’t mean she wouldn’t poison someone who stole her man.”

  “But Cassidy didn’t steal me,” Danny said. “I am . . . I was leaving her. Megan and I are together, we’re a couple. She knows I was trying to get out of my marriage with the least amount of fuss. She’s the one who told me to try and ease out of it when I would much rather have just packed a bag and left.”

  Mel frowned. “Is there any way Cassidy might have known about the two of you?”

  “No,” Dan said. “We were so careful. And you know her, there’s no way she would have been able to hide how angry she’d be. I mean, her husband hooking up with her best friend? That’s why Megan and I were so careful. We both knew Cassidy would be psychotically angry.”

  “Psychotic enough to take her own life?” Mel asked. She’d thought this before and everyone said it was impossible, but she wondered. Cassidy was impulsive and might have done something to harm herself when she was already drunk and not thinking clearly.

  “No, Cassidy would never,” Danny said. “She’d have had to give up being the victim and torturing us for the rest of her life. She’d never pass that up.”

  “Harsh,” Marty said.

  “But true,” Danny said. “I’m sorry, but that’s the sort of woman she was.”

  Mel looked at Marty and nodded at him. “I’d say that’s accurate. So, what are you going to do?” Mel asked. “For what it’s worth, there were other women who were wearing that particular shade of red lipstick at the reunion.”

  “Kristie Hill?” Danny guessed. Mel’s eyes went wide and he explained, “She was brought into the station while I was trying to see Megan.”

  Mel almost didn’t want to know, but curiosity won out. “How was she?”

  “Furious,” Dan said. “She was yelling and taking badge numbers. She was promising that heads would roll.”