There was a few moments pause before the clerk came back on the line.
“Ms. Cooper? Mrs. Mazzotta said to let you know that she has moved to one of our ground-floor rooms. The number is eleven. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Oh, no, you’ve been very kind, thanks.” Mel hung up the phone. Ground floor was good.
She went back to the reception area and out the patio doors to circle the pool area. She couldn’t blame Grace for switching. She could only imagine that the reporters were dogging her every step since Vic’s body was found.
She rapped on the door, It was answered swiftly as if Grace had been waiting on the other side for her. Mel blinked as she found herself face to face with Bertie Grassello.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought this was Grace’s room.”
“It is.” Grace appeared from behind Bertie. “Thanks for the condolences, Bertie, it was good of you to drop by.”
Bertie stared at them nonplussed, and then he pulled himself upright and gave a quick jerk of his head. “All right. I won’t belabor my point, then. You’ll think about what we discussed?”
“Of course,” Grace said.
“Then good night,” Bertie said and departed.
“What was that all about?” Mel asked as she followed Grace into the luxurious room.
“Bertie is having an identity crisis, I’m afraid.” Grace shook her head. “He’s been Vic’s rival for so long, he doesn’t quite know who he is if he’s not the man battling Vic for the spotlight. He seems to think I’d like to manage his career for him.”
“Would you?” Mel asked.
“A woman has to eat,” Grace said. Then she shrugged.
“Interesting,” Mel said.
“And what brings you by so late?” Grace asked. “Not an identity crisis of your own, I trust?”
“No, nothing so simple,” Mel said. “Grace, you mentioned before that you thought Vic might have committed suicide. Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” Grace said. She led Mel out onto her balcony. It was bigger than the last, and Grace lit up a cigarette. She stared out across the grounds as she blew out a plume of smoke.
“Vic was not an easy man, but the thought that someone might have murdered him . . .” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “I almost wish it was suicide so that at least it would have been on Vic’s terms.”
Mel could understand that. Vic had such a strong personality. She didn’t like the idea that someone else had snuffed out his life against his will. It was very unlike Vic to be at anyone’s mercy. It was one of the things she had always liked about him.
“How’s your friend?” Grace asked.
“She’s better,” Mel said. “Thanks.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Grace took another drag of her cigarette. As she blew out the smoke, she asked, “So, what can I do for you?”
“Tell me who you think killed Vic,” Mel said. She hadn’t been planning to say it quite so plainly, but now that the words were out, she felt relief.
Grace sat back on the cushy seat of her patio chair. She was quiet for a moment. Mel watched her face. She watched the lines get deeper around her eyes, the corner of her mouth turn down. Her shoulders drooped as if she were cloaked in a blanket of sadness.
Mel waited, knowing that she was being about as insensitive as a person could get, asking the grieving widow to speculate about her husband’s death, but still she didn’t take back the question.
Whoever had killed Vic had harmed Angie as well, making it all the more personal. Mel couldn’t let it go. Not now, not until the person was caught.
“I don’t know,” Grace finally said. “I wish I did but I just don’t know.”
“But you must have some idea,” Mel persisted.
“I don’t!” Grace snapped. She stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray that was already overflowing. “Don’t you think I wish I did? Don’t you think the police have grilled me for information that I wish I knew to give them? Don’t you think I’ve lain awake every night since the murder, trying to recall some moment, some snatch of conversation, something that would tell me who killed my husband?”
“What about Jordan?” Mel asked. “She seems like the sort, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, the wife accusing the new girlfriend, I wonder how that would go over.”
“Well, Dutch, then. He hated Vic and blamed him for the demise of his career.”
Grace shook her head.
“Bertie!” Mel cried. “He hated Vic. Maybe he got carried away, maybe that’s why he’s having an identity crisis, maybe it’s really just guilt that’s dogging him.”
Grace looked at her with sad eyes. “We may never know, Mel. But whoever did it, they’re dangerous. Vic wouldn’t want you to put yourself in harm’s way to solve his murder. You need to let the police handle it.”
“I am,” she said, but even to her it sounded like a halfhearted protest.
“Come on,” Grace said. “I’ll pour you a nightcap.”
Mel followed her into the suite. A bar was set up in one corner, and Grace took out two glasses and set to fixing them each a cocktail.
Abruptly, Mel’s phone began to vibrate in her pocket. She checked the window. It was her mom. She’d better answer it before her mother called in the National Guard.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Young lady, you are not too big to be put over my knee,” Joyce said. She did not sound happy. “I called dear Joe when you didn’t answer your home phone, and he and I agreed that I should pop over and check on you, and what do I find when I get here? Not you. When I called him back to tell him, the poor man about had a heart attack. We’ve both been calling your cell. Thank you so much for finally answering.”
“I have it on vibrate,” Mel said. “This is the first time I felt it. I can’t believe you called Joe.”
“Of course I did. Now you get your butt on home, Melanie Cooper, right now.”
“Mom, I am thirty-four years old. I do not need you or Joe looking after me.”
“Well, apparently, you do,” Joyce snapped. “Where are you?”
“Visiting a friend,” Mel said. She gestured to Grace, who was studying her with her head cocked to the side, that she had to leave.
Grace nodded in understanding, offering Mel her drink if she wanted it.
Mel shook her head, crossed the room, and gave her a quick squeeze and whispered, “Better take a rain check.”
“Who are you talking to you?” Joyce demanded. “You’d better not be offering me a rain check.”
Mel strode to the door. “No, Mom, I’m not. I’m on my way. I’ll be home in five minutes.”
“Great, then you can explain to me why there is a kitten glaring at me from your great-aunt Sophie’s water silk pillow.”
“Fine,” Mel said on a sigh.
Mel hustled out of the Hotel Valley Ho. The valet took one look at her face and raced to get her car. Mel tipped him heavily as she zipped out of the parking lot and headed back to the bakery.
Mel parked in her usual spot under a light. She locked her car by pressing the key fob and hurried up the back steps to her apartment. Joyce used to drop by all the time before Joe became a fixture in Mel’s life, but since they’d started dating, she didn’t pop in but called first, giving Mel a chance to straighten up before her arrival.
Mel hadn’t tidied up since the contest insanity had hit a few weeks ago. She couldn’t even imagine what her mother was going to say about her clutter gone wild.
She unlocked her door and pushed it open. Unexpectedly a giggle was the first sound that greeted her.
“Well, aren’t you a clever little fellow?” her mother was cooing to Captain Jack while she rubbed him under the chin.
Mel rolled her eyes. Apparently, Captain Jack had charmed yet another person in her life.
“Mel, he is just precious,” her mother said. “Look.” She moved her duster, or more
accurately Mel’s duster, and Captain Jack hunkered down in a hunting position, wiggled his posterior, and dove for the feathers. Joyce kept it just out of his reach, and he put in a full-on chase. His tiny little body mimicked that of a great cat on the hunt, and Mel felt her own lips twitch at the serious concentration on his kitten features.
Finally, Joyce let him catch the duster, and as he clutched it with his front paws, he kicked the feathers out of it with his hind legs. Joyce let it drop to the ground, and Captain Jack, assured that he had killed the offending duster, rolled to his feet, licked his chest, and walked with a swagger over to Mel, where he leaned against her and purred.
“You should take him over to Adobe Animal Hospital and have Dr. Newland check him out,” Joyce said. “He’s going to need to be fixed, or he’ll start spraying.”
“I don’t suppose you want him?” Mel asked.
“Oh, no, he’s picked you,” Joyce said. “Besides, I still haven’t recovered from the loss of your brother’s iguana.”
“Figaro did love you,” Mel said.
Joyce sighed. Figaro had been Mel’s brother’s iguana technically, but it was Joyce that he loved. As loyal as a dog, Figaro had followed Joyce everywhere. And no one had cried harder when he died at the ripe old age of fifteen than Joyce.
The sound of a key turning in the lock turned their attention to the door as it swung open and there stood Joe, looking decidedly disheveled and more than a little miffed.
“Oh, dear Joe,” Joyce said. “I am so sorry. I was so busy playing with the kitty that I forgot to call you and tell you I’d found her.”
“What are you doing here?” Mel demanded.
Something in her tone must have annoyed him, because he frowned and said, “I came to check on you.”
“You’re supposed to be with Angie,” she said.
Joyce glanced between them and worried her lower lip with her teeth, obviously sensing there was tension in the air.
“I’ll just be going,” she said.
Mel and Joe both turned to look at her. Joyce gave them a little finger wave and scuttled out the door, shutting it behind her.
“Hurricane Joyce,” Mel said. “Wreak havoc and vanish.”
“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” Joe asked.
Mel went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. She held the bottle up to Joe, but he shook his head. So she poured herself a double.
“Who is with Angie?” she asked.
“Tate. He was more than happy to go and spend the night.”
“I’ll bet,” Mel said.
“Are you jealous?” Joe asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her.
“No,” she said. She’d said it quickly, and she wondered if it had come out defensively, then she tried to convince herself that she didn’t care. “I tried to call you today, but whoever answered the phone wouldn’t put me through. Listen, you have to call off your brothers.”
“What? Why?” he asked. “Wait a minute, who wouldn’t put your call through?”
“I don’t know,” Mel said. She took a sip from her glass, hoping to appear casual. “She wouldn’t give me her name.”
“My secretary, Kayla, was out sick today,” he said. “Probably, it was someone passing through the office.”
“Someone named Susan Ross,” Mel said. “I’m just guessing.” She knew her tone made it clear that it was more than a guess.
“She was in the office,” Joe said. “It could have been her, although that seems out of character.”
“Didn’t you two used to date?” Mel asked.
“Nah,” Joe said. “I mean we sort of went out, but we never . . . and she wouldn’t put you through? Oh, this is awkward.”
“That’s one word for it,” Mel said.
“Sorry about that. I’ll have a chat with her and send out an e-mail to all to make sure that never happens again. So what is the problem with the brothers?”
“They’re doing more harm than good. Ray almost got Oz and I disqualified today,” she said. Somehow, knowing that Joe would deal with his office situation, giving her priority status at his work mollified her irritation with him.
“But he didn’t,” he said.
“Only because Oz was thinking on his feet,” she said.
“Angie plans to be back there tomorrow. Do you really want her to be unprotected after she was almost killed?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then the brothers stay,” he said. He said it in his prosecuting attorney voice, which made Mel’s temper flare—so much for feeling mollified.
“Fine, but no more screwups,” she said.
“Look, I know you’re grieving for Vic and you’re upset about Angie, but there is something else going on, and I think we need to talk about it,” Joe said.
Mel looked at him over the edge of her wineglass. She felt her insides swoop at the sight of him, the way they always did. He was everything she had ever wanted, and yet she couldn’t deny the feeling of suffocation she was beginning to feel in this relationship. It had to be temporary, a reaction to Vic’s death, Angie’s poisoning, and the stress of the competition, right?
She took a long sip from her wine. “I’m just tired.”
Joe looked at her doubtfully. He even looked like he was going to argue with her, but she put down her wine and reached out to hug him. He kissed the top of her head and held her close.
Mel hoped that this temporary insanity, this feeling of needing to run away, would disappear as soon as the competition was over. The itchy feeling inside her, however, made her fear that it wouldn’t.
Twenty-four
As she made her way to the conference room, Mel noted that the festival grounds seemed even more crowded than usual today, or maybe she just felt tenser than she had before. They were down to the semifinals. Out of today’s twelve competitors, tomorrow’s final four would be picked.
She had seen Angie and Tate earlier, making their way to the conference room. Angie looked pale but determined. Tate was shadowing her, not letting anyone get too close to her—not even her brothers or her parents. Mel couldn’t blame him. Having almost lost her, she never wanted to be that terrified ever again.
Tony was manning the shop with Ray, who was under strict orders not to eat all the profits. After school, Oz would take Ray’s place. Mel had called Oz’s counselor that morning, and she had agreed to see if they could make the internship a paid situation for Oz, so long as it didn’t interfere with his studies.
Mel took a seat next to Angie in the conference room and studied her fellow competitors. Polly and Olivia were still in attendance and so was the chef from the Phoenix bakery, Molly’s Moonpies. She couldn’t help noticing that they all looked a bit worse for the wear as well.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” she asked Angie.
“Oh, yeah,” Angie said. She was glaring at Olivia. Angie had pretty much decided that Olivia had tried to poison Mel but had gotten Angie instead. Mel didn’t think so, but there was no talking Angie out of it. Mel hoped Olivia didn’t come too close while Angie was dicing anything; she didn’t think Angie would be able to refrain from giving Olivia a haircut.
The five-minute warning bell sounded, and they all stood up and stretched. Mel was relieved. She found sitting in the green room only made her more anxious. As if they were all eager to be done with today’s competition, they headed out to the staging area in one big group.
Mel and Angie positioned themselves in their small kitchen. Mel saw her mother and Angie’s mother, standing with Tate. They all waved and Tate gave them the thumbs-up sign.
Mel noticed that Angie’s face turned a slight shade of pink as she locked gazes with Tate. Mel glanced between them.
“So, Tate took Joe’s watch last night?” Mel asked.
“Yeah,” Angie said with a shrug. “Since you decided to scare the pants off of everyone by disappearing.”
“Oh, no, do not turn this back on me,” Mel said.
“We’re discussing you and Tate.”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Angie said. “Oh, look, here comes Johnny Pepper.”
“Saved by the master of ceremonies,” Mel muttered.
Angie said nothing but turned her attention to Johnny and his box.
The crowd grew quiet as Johnny stepped onto the stage. He was wearing a bright yellow chef’s coat today, making his trademark spiky blond hair seem pale in comparison.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” he said into the microphone.
Mel watched as people from all over the festival drifted over toward the staging area. Johnny introduced the judges, and Mel noticed that with the exception of the lady from Food and Wine, they looked a bit wrung out as well.
“We are down to our final twelve,” Johnny said. “Only four will remain after today’s competition.”
There was a murmur from the crowd, and Mel could swear she heard a few of them placing bets on the outcome.
“Let’s see what they make of today’s mystery ingredient, shall we?” Johnny shouted, and the crowd responded with a roar.
“Chefs, today your mystery ingredient is . . .” Johnny lowered the mic and reached into the white box. He seemed to be having a bit of trouble with it, which Mel found worrisome. “Your mystery ingredient is . . .”
Mel felt her chest get tight. They’d had parsnips, beer, bananas, and chili peppers. What could they pull out next?
“Goat cheese!” Johnny Pepper announced. The crowd cheered and murmured in an excited buzz. The chefs all frowned in concentration. Mel could feel her own forehead pucker as she scanned her cooking memory banks for the best and most unique way to present goat cheese.
The large supply cart was wheeled out and Johnny called, “Chefs, on my count, one, two . . .”
“Mel, what do I grab?” Angie hissed.
“The biggest hunk of cheese you can get your hands on,” Mel said.
“Three, go!” Johnny Pepper shouted, and the chefs and sous-chefs mobbed the cart. With fewer and fewer chefs in the competition, it was easier to get what they needed. Mel saw Angie stomp on Olivia’s instep, causing her to yelp and hop and allowing Angie to make off with a chunk of cheese the size of her head.
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