Buttercream Bump Off

by Jenn McKinlay

  “You know, a lot of people have entered,” she said. “You may not win.”

  He grinned at her. “I have a gut feeling about this. So good, in fact, that I’ve already asked Beatriz and she said yes.”

  “Oh, Marty.” Mel bit her lip.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “My gut is never wrong.”

  He hurried back to the kitchen and Mel gave Tate a worried look.

  “You’re going to have to put him on the payroll,” Tate said. “Especially, if he’s planning to borrow more of my suits.”

  “Oh, you recognized it, did you?”

  “It wasn’t hard,” Tate said. “I’m happy to contribute to the cause, but next time let me pick the giveaway.”

  “Absolutely,” Mel said. “Sorry about that.”

  “So, do you think Angie is going to dump Roach over the Elle situation?” he asked. He sounded hopeful.

  “I don’t know. It was a surprise, but it was also years ago.”

  “Why do you suppose the police haven’t arrested either Elle or Roach?” Tate asked. “Obviously, they have the strongest motives.”

  “They must have really good alibis,” Mel said.

  Tate was still for a moment. “You don’t think . . . ?”

  “What?” Mel asked. She glanced up from where she was arranging cupcakes in the display case when he didn’t answer right away. “Tate, what are you thinking?”

  He stared at her, but Mel got the feeling he wasn’t really seeing her.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Call me when Ange gets in,” he said. “I’m worried about her.”

  “Will do,” Mel said. She watched as he disappeared through the door. She had a feeling he wasn’t telling her everything.

  The bells on the door chimed, and Mel glanced up, hoping to see Angie. Instead, a woman in an overly large sun hat, enormous celebrity-style sunglasses, and a gray trench coat entered the bakery. She had long dark hair that was at odds with her gently lined face. It looked like a bad dye job or a wig.

  Mel was silent for a moment. Then she heaved a sigh.

  “Mom, what are you doing?” she asked.

  “Shh,” Joyce hushed her. “I’m incognito.”

  “Not really. I mean, if I recognized you, that should tell you something,” Mel said.

  “You’re my daughter,” Joyce said as she lowered her glasses to peer over the tops. “Of course you recognized me.”

  “Is there something happening, Mom, that you need a disguise?”

  “The murderer is after me,” Joyce said. “I’m sure of it. I feel eyes upon me wherever I go, and I saw strange footprints in the backyard.”

  “Those could be Charlie’s,” Mel said, trying to calm her mother down. She had so been hoping that her mother wouldn’t find those footprints.

  “He doesn’t wear shoes like that,” Joyce said. “Now listen, I don’t want you to worry . . .”

  The front door chimed, and Mel glanced up. Looking as suave as ever, Jay Gatwick strolled in and smiled at her.

  “Afternoon, Melanie,” he said. “You’re looking as lovely as a freshly picked rose.”

  Mel laughed. “Flattery will get you free cupcakes.”

  “Just speaking the truth,” he said. “I believe you have an order for Poppy’s book club.”

  “It’s in back,” Mel said. “I’ll just go grab it.”

  When she returned, Jay was trying to make small talk with her mother, who had pulled down the brim of her hat and was ignoring him.

  “Jay, this is my . . .”

  “Myra,” her mother interrupted. She kept her face averted and held out her hand to Jay. “Myra Streusel.”

  Mel wondered if it was obvious to Jay that her mother had just read her made-up last name off of the menu board. Probably.

  “A pleasure,” Jay said. He returned her handshake.

  “If you’ll excuse us a moment,” Joyce said. She tugged Mel over to the side and whispered, “Listen, I have to go. I’m going underground until all of this blows over.”

  “Underground?” Mel asked. “Where? In that old bomb shelter in your yard?”

  “No, that’s just an expression,” Joyce said. “You can reach me at my cell number. Ginny and I are going to a spa under assumed names.”

  “And you’d tell me where, but then you’d have to kill me,” Mel said.

  “Laugh if you must,” Joyce said. Her tone made it clear she was feeling injured by Mel’s lack of dramatic concern.

  “I’m not laughing, Mo—Myra,” Mel said. She hugged her mom tight. “Go with Ginny and be safe. I’ll call you if I hear anything on this end. Does Uncle Stan know your plan?”

  “Yes,” Joyce said. She hugged Mel back hard. “I’ll be in touch. Remember, no matter what happens, I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Mel said. She watched her mother go and shook her head. She wished she was going to hide out at a spa for a few days. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with Angie and Tate and Marty and the contest . . . oh, yeah, and the murderer who seemed intent on messing up the lives of everyone Mel cared about.

  “Is everything okay?” Jay asked.

  Mel glanced up. “Yes, sorry. I’m a little preoccupied.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but wasn’t that your mother?”

  A laugh burst out of Mel before she could stop it.

  “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that Mom is trying to be in disguise. She’d be dreadfully disappointed that someone who met her only once was able to identify her.”

  “Oh, well, I could only do it because she was standing next to you. You’re the spitting image of her.” Then he raised one eyebrow and said, “Forgive me for asking, but why does she need a disguise?”

  “She’s convinced that Malloy’s murderer is after her,” Mel said.

  “Has something happened?” he asked. “She should have protection.”

  “My Uncle Stan is keeping a close eye on her,” Mel said.

  “Still, a murderer on the loose is disturbing. Poor Poppy is still having night terrors about it.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Mel said. “Give her my best, won’t you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “No!” Angie slammed through the front door. The bells clanged as if disturbed from a nap. Both Mel and Jay started at the noise.

  “Angie, I can explain,” Roach said. “Detective Martinez got to Elle. That’s why she crashed the funeral. She’s scared, and she’s trying to make me look guilty.”

  He was following behind her, but she spun around and held up her hand.

  “No, I don’t want to hear it! There’s a big difference between ‘I was comforting a friend the night my father was murdered’ and ‘I was with a former girlfriend the night my father was murdered.’ ”

  Mel’s eyes went wide. Roach had been with a former girlfriend on the night his father was killed? Elle?

  “Well, I’m just going to . . .” Jay trailed off as he scooped up his cupcakes and headed towards the door.

  Mel couldn’t blame him. Angie looked so angry, Mel half expected volcanic ash to begin raining down upon them.

  “You lied to me!” Angie said.

  “No, I didn’t!” Roach argued. “Look, Elle showed up at my hotel saying she and my father had broken up. She was distraught. I tried to console her. That’s all.”

  Angie glared at him. “Define console.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Was the consoling done with clothes on or off?”

  “On!” Roach put a hand over his heart. “I swear on my life, on your life, on Mel’s life . . .”

  “Hey, leave me out of this,” Mel said.

  “If you’re lying, Roach Malloy, I will put an evil eye on you for the rest of your days that will shrivel your privates and turn your drumming muscles into rhythmless noodles,” Angie warned.

  He looked duly impressed. “I’m not lying. Look, I know we just me
t, and it’s been under unusual circumstances, but I am crazy about you. I will never do anything to jeopardize what we’ve got. I promise.”

  Angie looked somewhat mollified. Roach pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Mel looked away just as Marty came back through the kitchen door.

  “Oh, she decided to show up,” he said. “Good. I have a yoga class to get to.” He took off his apron and tossed it on the counter. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, Marty.”

  Angie and Roach disconnected at the lip, and he smoothed back her hair and said, “Will you still think about what I asked you?”

  “Yes, but it’s so sudden,” she said.

  “I’m just asking you to think about it,” he said. “For me, please?”

  She nodded. He gave her another swift kiss before he left with a wave.

  “Well, looks like the graveside service was informative.”

  “I need a cupcake,” Angie said. She went into the kitchen and Mel followed.

  “So, Roach and Elle are each other’s alibis,” Mel said.

  Angie went into the cooler and came back out with two Kiss Me Cupcakes. She sat at the steel worktable and unwrapped them. She finished off the first one before she acknowledged Mel’s question.

  “Yes, Elle and Roach were together at his hotel the night that Baxter was murdered. Given their past, you can imagine how much the police love that. Fortunately, they spent most of the night in the lobby bar and have plenty of witnesses. However, Roach thinks Detective Martinez got to Elle, because now she’s saying that there is a twenty-minute time gap where she can’t vouch for his whereabouts.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “To put it mildly,” Angie said, taking a bite out of cupcake number two.

  “But you believe they didn’t sleep together?” Mel took the seat beside her.

  Angie thought about it for a second and then said, “Yes.”

  “But how can you be so sure?” Mel asked.

  “I can’t,” she said. “But whatever happened was before I met him, so I don’t really know that it’s my business. Besides, everything has changed now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Roach has asked me to move back to Los Angeles with him.”

  Twenty-three

  “And you said . . . ?”

  “That I needed to think about it,” Angie answered. “It’s a big decision.”

  “I’ll say,” Mel said. “What about the business?”

  “I was thinking we could open another shop in LA,” Angie said. “Or you could come with me.”

  “But our family and friends are all here,” Mel said. “And the bakery is just beginning to take off.”

  “I know,” Angie said. She sounded agonized. “But for the first time in my life, I feel adored just for being me. I don’t want to give that up, either.”

  A million reasons why she shouldn’t go leapt to Mel’s tongue, but she kept her mouth shut. Angie was her best friend. It would be like severing an arm to let her go, but if Angie had found real happiness with Roach, then Mel had no right to ask her not to go.

  “Whatever you decide is okay with me,” she said.

  Angie looked as if she might cry, so Mel hugged her tight. The string of bells on the door jangled, so Mel pulled back and said, “Sit and relax. I’ll go man the front.”

  Angie nodded and Mel left her to her thoughts. She didn’t even want to think about how Tate was going to take this news.

  After Angie dumped flour instead of sugar into the buttercream frosting and then put blue food coloring into what was supposed to be red velvet batter, Mel sent her home. It was obvious Angie had more on her mind than baking, and Mel figured she’d better go before she blew something up.

  In the silence of the bakery, while she wiped down the tables and restocked the napkin holders, she thought about what the place would be like without Angie. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. She’d have to hire Marty full time, and as much as she’d grown to like him, it wouldn’t be the same.

  And even though Roach said Elle had turned against him because Detective Martinez was pressuring her, he was still the best possible candidate for his father’s murder. How was Mel ever going to sleep again if her best friend moved to LA with a man who could very well be a murderer?

  She could only hope that Roach was as innocent as Angie believed him to be. And it was possible. Baxter had made a lot of enemies. Still, the fact that there was twenty minutes of time for which Elle couldn’t verify Roach’s whereabouts . . . Wait. If she couldn’t verify his whereabouts, did that mean no one could verify hers?

  Baxter was strangled. If it was a crime of passion, Elle was the most likely suspect unless, like Jay had speculated before, there was more than one person involved. A cold knot of dread formed in Mel’s stomach. She felt like smacking her forehead. Of course! How perfect: Roach and Elle had done it together. They both said they were in the bar at his hotel, and plenty of witnesses could place them there.

  But he’d been staying at The Phoenician, only minutes from his father’s house. He could easily have left, strangled his father, and made it back in time to cement his alibi. Or maybe it was Elle. She could have left, killed Baxter, and made it back herself. Perhaps they had planned it together, but Roach’s sudden relationship with Angie had gummed up the works. Maybe Elle had planned to share more than murder with Roach, and now she was angry enough about his new relationship to let him take all of the blame.

  But how had they known that Baxter would be at his house? Elle knew he’d had a date planned. But Mel’s mother had told her that stopping back at Baxter’s had been a spontaneous idea. They were supposed to be at a show at the Civic Center, but had ditched their plans to go hot tubbing.

  So, it couldn’t be Elle or Roach, unless they had been following Joyce and Baxter, which they couldn’t have been if they were in the hotel bar all evening.

  Mel slammed down a napkin holder. This was maddening. Someone had murdered Baxter Malloy, and it had to be someone who knew he’d had a date with her mother.

  So who knew her mother had a date with Baxter? Angie, herself, her mother’s friend Ginny, Joe, and Tate. And her favorite suspect, Elle, but that was a wash now that she had an alibi. Mel thought back to the night her mother had told her about her date with Malloy. If she could do it all over again, she’d tell her not to go.

  But then she remembered how excited Joyce had been, showing up to her class in her pajamas to announce she had a date. Mel felt the cold knot in the pit of her stomach again. Her students had heard about Joyce’s date. Could it be someone from her class? She didn’t like to think it, but how could she not?

  Her cell phone rang in the silence. She glanced at the number. It was Tate. Uh-oh.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Los Angeles,” he said. “She’s actually considering it.”

  “I know.”

  “What should I do?”

  “I don’t know,” Mel said. “I don’t even know what to do myself.”

  “I’m going to tell her how I feel,” he said.

  Mel was silent. Angie had been in love with Tate for more than twenty years. Would this get her to stay? Or would this make things awkward and bust apart their friendship for good?

  “You’re not saying anything,” Tate said. “You think I shouldn’t tell her.”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Mel said. “Why couldn’t you have figured out how you felt about her two weeks ago? Then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “So, it’s my fault she took up with a rock star,” he said.

  “Yes, it is,” Mel said. “Why do men have to be so stupid? Why can’t they just get it done?”

  “Don’t yell at me because Joe is dropping the ball in the romance department,” Tate said.

  “This is not about me and Joe,” Mel snapped.

  “Have you slept together yet?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I thought not,” he sna
pped in return.

  “Tate, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m hanging up on you.”

  “Wait! What should I do about Angie?”

  “Remember what you said about Casablanca? He never should have let her get on that plane. Now man up!” Mel said.

  She clicked her phone shut. This was the downside to cell phones. It was nowhere near as satisfying to press end as it was to slam a phone into its holder.

  She locked up the bakery and trudged up to bed. Joe had called earlier and said he was working late. Tomorrow was her last couples’ cupcake class. If someone in her class had overheard her mother’s date plans, this would be her only opportunity to see who in class may have had a motive to murder Baxter Malloy, and she wasn’t going to blow it.

  “Why are you so jittery?” Angie asked.

  “Too much coffee,” Mel lied.

  Angie had arrived to work with dark circles under her eyes, and Mel was guessing she hadn’t slept much. She didn’t say whether she had talked to Tate or not, so Mel was guessing Tate hadn’t told her how he felt. She didn’t want to add to Angie’s personal crisis, so she said nothing about the fact that she suspected someone in their class might have whacked Malloy.

  The truth was that the class was to start in fifteen minutes, and Mel was nervous. She had spent the morning making calls, and discovered more than she wanted to about her students.

  Mr. Felix had mentioned before that his company had invested his pension with Malloy’s company, and sure enough, when Mel checked, the company had lost the entire pension fund. When she had asked Mr. Felix about it, he had been so angry. They were an elderly couple, so Mel didn’t really see them strangling Malloy, but maybe they knew someone younger and stronger. It was a scary thought.

  The Bickersons—rather, the Bakersons—were connected, too, and not just because the Hargraves, their cousins, had lost everything by investing it with Malloy. Dan had been employed by the accounting company Malloy’s investment firm had used. He worked for them for less than a year, having been let go just before he passed probation.

  Mel wondered what could have happened to result in his termination. She also wondered if the Hargraves had been directed by him to invest with Malloy. If Dan had known that Malloy was operating a Ponzi scheme, seeing the cousins lose the inheritance they’d swindled from his wife would be the ultimate revenge.