“My whole life I was the fat chick,” she said. “I never had one guy like me, never mind two.”
“So, this is an ego thing?” Angie asked.
“I’m shallow and pathetic, aren’t I?”
Angie laughed. “No, you’re human. Look, I love my brother, and I love the two of you together. But if he’s not the right one for you, then I won’t be mad at you for finding someone else.”
“Honest?” Mel asked as she raised her head.
“I just want you both to be happy,” Angie said. “You know, you’ve been together for a year. The initial magic usually wears off between six to nine months. I mean, look at Roach and me. We barely made it to six months.”
“And now he’s writing Billboard chart-toppers for you,” Mel said.
“Don’t remind me,” Angie cringed.
“If you weren’t already in love with Tate, would you have stayed with Roach?” Mel asked.
Angie frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Why are relationships so complicated?” Mel asked.
“Because men are stupid,” Angie said.
“That’s gender bashing,” Mel argued. “Not all men are stupid.”
“Mine is unemployed and sleeping in a cupcake truck,” Angie said. “Stupid.”
Mel had to give her that one. She thought about the dynamics of the relationships they’d been watching for the past few days: Hannigan and Brigit. Sam and Amy. Sam and Brigit. Hannigan and Amy. It was all so messy.
“Do you think it was stupidity that got Sam Kelleher killed?”
“I don’t know,” Angie said. “If you had to pick any of the magazine people as the murderer, who do you think did it?”
“Amy,” they said together.
“She has no alibi,” Mel said.
“She admitted that she hated him and had slept with him for the job,” Angie said. “If Sam and Brigit were a couple, don’t you think Brigit would be angry that he was sleeping with a woman who was younger than her and obviously gunning for her job?”
“So you think Brigit killed Sam?” Mel asked. “I don’t know. Her grief seemed pretty genuine when we found the body.”
“What about Hannigan?” Angie asked. “He obviously still has feelings for Brigit.”
“But he ran out after Amy today,” Mel said. “She’s obviously chasing him. Do you think there’s anything there?”
“Hard to say,” Angie said. “And what of the others, Bonnie, Justin, and Sylvia? Do any of them have a history with Sam?”
“They are all in the industry,” Mel said. “And they all seemed pretty choked up over his murder.”
“Couldn’t you squeeze out a few tears if you were a murderer, to cover you tracks?”
“Probably. I know Uncle Stan and Martinez are stressed, trying to find the murder weapon and narrow the suspects down,” Mel said.
She was pleased that she could say Martinez’s name without blushing. Really, there was no need. Nothing had happened between them. So he had expressed an interest in her and she was flattered. As Angie said, she was only human.
“Maybe there will be a break in the case soon,” Angie said. “It’d be nice if it was cleared up before the gala. Speaking of which, how are we doing with that?”
“We’ll be fine,” Mel said. “Bonnie seems to run a tight ship, and the others have stepped up.”
“I have to admit, I’ll be glad when it’s over and our kitchen is ours again,” Angie said.
She threw out the remains of their cupcakes and stood. “Are you sure you want to stay here tonight?”
“I’ll be fine,” Mel said. “I’ve got Captain Jack the watch-cat, and Tate is just in the truck below.”
“All right, I’m going home then,” Angie said. “But call me if you need me.”
“I will,” Mel said.
They hugged at the door, and Mel locked up behind them. She watched while Angie went to her car, which was parked a few spaces from the cupcake truck, before she went into her apartment, locking the door behind her.
She took out her cell phone, wanting to call Joe to see if he was as miserable as she felt, but she put it on the counter instead. It wasn’t fair to him. He had told her to call him when she knew what she wanted, and she was still unsure.
Was Angie right and they had just hit that time in the relationship where the magic had worn off? She thought about the way he smiled at her, and she felt herself get warm from the inside out. No, the magic wasn’t gone. She just wasn’t ready to make the next leap, and he was.
A chiming version of “Tara’s Theme” from Gone with the Wind sounded from her phone, and Mel snatched it back up, hoping it was Joe.
As she read the number, she groaned. It was her mother.
Twenty-four
“Hi, Mom,” Mel answered.
“Melanie, I just called dear Joe’s house, and he said you were home. What’s going on? I thought you were staying with him,” she said.
“No, just for last night,” Mel said. She tried to keep her voice light to keep Joyce off track.
But Joyce wasn’t her mother for nothing. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Mel protested.
“Melanie, do not fib to me.”
Mel sat down on her futon. So much for keeping Joyce off track.
“Really, other than a body being found outside my bakery, everything is just peachy-keen,” she said.
“Do not try to sidetrack me with sarcasm and a murder,” Joyce said.
“Mom.” Mel knew her voice came out in an exasperated huff, but she was powerless to stop it. Despite being well into her thirties and a successful small business owner, when Joyce mothered her, Mel morphed right back into a twelve-year-old again.
“What does dear Joe have to say about you staying there?” her mother asked.
“Stop calling him dear Joe,” Mel said, irritated. “He’s Joe, just Joe.”
“Okay,” Joyce said, sounding equally irritated. “What does ‘Joe just Joe’ have to say about you staying there.”
“He thinks it’s fine,” Mel said. “In fact—”
She almost said they were no more, but she snapped her mouth shut just in time to stop the words that would break her mother’s heart.
“In fact what?” Joyce asked, her voice was suspicious, as if she had an inkling of what was to come.
“In fact, it was his idea,” Mel said. Not a total lie, Mel reasoned, since he was the one who had left. “He didn’t want me to build up a phobia about being here by myself.”
“Dear Joe is so sensible,” Joyce said with a burst of obvious relief.
Mel’s phone beeped, signaling another call was coming in. She didn’t bother to check it. No matter who it was, they were saving her bacon. She’d be happy to talk to a car insurance salesman if it would keep her from blabbing the bad news to her mother and opening a can of drama she had no wish to deal with at this moment.
“I’ve got a call coming in that is probably him,” Mel said. “I’d better go.”
“Give him my best, honey,” Joyce said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mom,” Mel said.
She ended the call and took the other before it vanished.
“Hello?” she answered.
“So, my partner just got a phone call from a certain assistant DA,” the voice said. “He wanted Stan to check on you, but he didn’t say why.”
“Martinez?” Mel asked.
“Hi, Mel. What’s going on?” he asked.
She took a moment to note that his voice was deep and very pleasant on the phone.
“Nothing,” she said. She knew that the single word weighed as much as an elephant and was about as inconspicuous.
“Aw, come on. Talk to me,” he said. “Stan was about to call and check on you, but I told him I’d do it since he’s stuck on another line, running down a lead. You can’t give me ‘nothing’ as a report. What kind of detective would that make me?”
“Are you trying to charm me?” sh
e asked.
“Is it working?” he countered.
“Maybe just the tiniest bit,” she said.
“Then tell me what’s happening?” he asked. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Richard,” Mel said.
A snort sounded on the line, and she knew she’d gotten him.
“Richard Martinez,” he said. “Yeah, it has a certain ring to it. But, uh, no, that’s not it. Back to you. Is there anything you care to share?”
She wasn’t going to talk to him about her personal life. She hadn’t said no to marrying Joe so that she could date Martinez. Yes, he was attractive, but her personal life was shreddle right now, and she didn’t see herself dating anyone until she figured out what was going to happen with her and Joe.
“Nope, nothing to share,” she said. “So, about Sam’s murder.”
“What about it?” Martinez asked. His voice was wary, and she was glad she’d caught him off guard.
“I was just wondering how the investigation was progressing,” she said.
“Not as easily as we’d like,” he said. “Still no murder weapon, plenty of motives, and a list of suspects as long as my arm.”
“Is that why you’re both working late?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Hannigan has connections in city hall, and he’s applying pressure to solve this thing, which is trickling down with all of the finesse of a sledgehammer.”
“Is Uncle Stan on his usual diet of antacid tablets and jumbo-sized coffees?”
Martinez chuckled. “Yep.”
They were both quiet for a while, and then Martinez’s voice dropped to a low tone, and Mel suspected there was someone standing nearby and he didn’t want to be overheard.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Joe or not?”
“Not,” Mel said.
“Why not?” he asked.
“You’re a detective,” she said. “Anything you need to know, I’m sure you can figure out on your own.”
“I do enjoy a challenge,” he said.
He sounded more than eager, and Mel wondered if maybe she should have given him the “I’m not ready yet” speech.
A voice that sounded alarmingly like her Uncle Stan grumbled on Martinez’s end of the call.
“Duty calls,” he said. “Talk to you tomorrow?”
“Sure,” She said.
“Over dinner?” he asked.
“Doubt it,” she said. “I expect to have no life until after Saturday’s gala.”
“I’ll look forward to next weekend then,” he said. He ended the call, and Mel stared at the phone in her hand as if it were a live snake and she wasn’t sure how it had gotten there.
She had not said she would see him next weekend. How had he gotten that idea? Did he think they had a date? She could feel herself start to panic, and then Captain Jack came roaring around the end of the futon, slapping the cap of a milk bottle across the floor while he chased it, and her panic vanished.
Martinez was just being funny. There was no date on the books. She just wasn’t used to having anyone actually pursue her. When she and Joe had gotten together, they had been thrust together because Mel was the suspect in a murder case. Because she’d had a crush on him forever, all he’d had to do was ask her out and she was his.
With Martinez, it was different. She hadn’t liked him when they’d first met, and she was pretty sure he’d felt the same way about her. Oh, the attraction was there, but she’d gotten in the way of his investigation and he’d let her know how irritating he found that. Now, ironically, they were on the same team.
Mel believed that everything in life happened for a reason. She frequently had no idea what the reason was at the time it was happening, but later she always managed to look back and see an aha moment where everything that had happened made sense.
Right now, she couldn’t imagine that she would ever feel that way, but she had to believe that, whatever growing pains she and Joe were going through, they were going through them for a purpose. And the same was true of Martinez’s appearance in her life. He was here for a reason; she just didn’t know what it was . . . yet.
Mel slept hard that night. She had thought she’d toss and turn and fret, but the day had worn her out. Captain Jack snuggled the top of her head like a furry hat while she slept and they both snored.
When she woke up and staggered to the bathroom, she was pleased to see that Amy’s love tap had faded to mottled green-and-purple bruising, but the lumpkin was clearly no more. She was not sorry to see it go.
Sadly, she didn’t own any makeup other than eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss, so she couldn’t use anything to cover up the knuckle print under her eye.
She ate breakfast, played with Captain Jack, and hurried downstairs to the bakery. Tate was already there, eating a yogurt while reading the paper at the kitchen table. The coffeepot was full and hot. Yay.
She took one look at the bed head he had going, and said, “Feel free to use my shower.”
“Thanks,” he grumbled, and folded up the sports page and headed upstairs, doing a fair impression of a cranky old man. Obviously, the time he was spending with Marty was rubbing off on him.
Mel scanned the headlines. There was a follow-up article about Sam’s murder, and the reporter made it clear that she felt the investigative skills of Uncle Stan and Martinez were lacking. Ouch. That had to hurt. She did note that the reporter referred to Martinez without using his first name, which made her even more curious about what he was hiding. It had to be bad, really bad.
The entire magazine crew was in and baking by ten o’clock. Hannigan had banned the cameras after Sam’s murder, feeling that it was too intrusive on the grief the staff might be feeling, but Chad the photographer arrived with the rest of them to take some still pictures of them at work to include in a piece Brigit was writing about the gala, which had been adjusted to include a memorial to Sam.
Mel was pleased with their progress on the cupcakes but knew that tomorrow was going to be an all-out whisk-to-the-wall day to finish frosting and decorating the cupcakes in time for the evening’s gala.
Mel was in the walk-in chiller when the back door opened to the kitchen. She could hear the murmur of voices and assumed that Angie was dealing with whoever had dropped in.
As she slid the rack of cupcakes onto the shelf, she heard a shout. There was the sound of voices raised in anger, and she hurried out of the freezer to see what was happening in her kitchen.
Uncle Stan was standing nose to nose with Ian Hannigan while the rest of the group looked on with matching looks of surprise on their faces. The only one who didn’t look shocked was Brigit.
“This is ridiculous,” Hannigan was saying. “She and Sam were—friends.”
Mel knew he had been about to say something else but had obviously thought better of it.
“If you don’t get out of the way,” Uncle Stan said, “I’ll be taking you in for obstruction of justice as well as bringing her in for questioning. Now stand aside.”
Twenty-five
Uncle Stan and Hannigan stared at each other for a moment. Finally, Hannigan moved so that Uncle Stan could approach Brigit.
“Ms. MacLeod, if you’ll come with me,” he said.
“Certainly,” she said.
She didn’t look surprised, and Mel wondered why. Hannigan put out an arm to stop her when she went to get her handbag out of the office.
In a low voice, he said, “I’ll call an attorney and meet you at the station. Do not answer any questions without an attorney present.”
Brigit gave him a small nod. Mel sidled up next to Uncle Stan.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
He gave her a fond look. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Aw, come on,” she said. “You’re killing me.”
He gave her a look that reminded her so much of her dad when he had been exasperated with her that she sucked in a sharp breath. No matter how much time passed, ther
e wasn’t a day that she didn’t miss her dad, who had crossed over to the “wrap it in bacon and fry it” diner in the great beyond over ten years ago.
“I’m a homicide detective,” Stan said. “Your word choice is unfortunate.”
“Sorry. What I mean is that I’m in an all-hands-on-deck situation here, and you’re taking one pair of my hands and the other is sure to follow,” she said.
“Can’t be helped,” Stan said. “We’ve got a lead, and questioning Brigit is key.”
“We meaning you and Martinez?” Mel asked.
“He is my partner,” Stan said.
Stan was watching Brigit and Hannigan, whose conversation had gone down to a whisper. Mel followed the line of his gaze and saw that Amy was watching them as well, and Mel noted that she seemed to have quite the self-satisfied smirk on her face. The others seemed to be busy pretending to work under Angie’s direction while furtively watching the goings-on around them.
Uncle Stan was in full-on detective mode, and Mel figured, since he was distracted, this might be a good time to do some investigating of her own.
“So, when you and Martinez are hanging out back at the station,” Mel said, “what do you call him?”
“What do you mean?” Stan asked. He gave her a sideways glance, keeping his focus on Brigit.
“Well, Martinez, is a bit formal,” she said. “So, I figured you’d call him by his first name—which would be . . . ?”
Stan gave her his full attention and broke into a grin.
“You don’t know his first name,” he said.
“Too obvious?” she asked.
“Way,” he said.
“So, do you know it?” she asked.
“Of course. He’s my partner,” he said.
Brigit and Hannigan were making their way across the room towards them.
“Well?” Mel prodded him.
“Oh, no, I’m not telling,” Stan said. “If Martinez wants you to know, he’ll tell you.”
“But you’re my uncle,” she protested.
“And he’s my partner,” he said. “By the way, I noticed he’s taken a particular interest in your bakery. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
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