Sprinkle with Murder

by Jenn McKinlay

  Mel turned back to the kitchen, feeling oddly fulfilled, as if in a very tiny way she had helped to make a memory. It felt almost as good as that first bite of a freshly frosted cupcake.

  She was working at the large steel worktable in the kitchen, decorating her own batch of pina colada cupcakes to show the class what theirs would look like when they were finished. Mel used an open star decorating tip on her frosting bag and, holding it at a ninety-degree angle about a quarter of an inch from the top of the cupcake, she piped a spiral of icing, beginning at the outer edge and working inward. She then sprinkled some shredded coconut on top while the frosting was fresh, so the coconut would adhere to it.

  While she worked, Mel’s thoughts turned back to Christie and the wedding. After she had packed up Joyce and her about-to-expire cupcakes that morning, she had spent the day racking her brain, trying to come up with cupcake flavors that had never been done before. Christie wanted her to have samples ready tomorrow. Mel had a few new ideas she’d been planning to try, but if she made them for Christie and Tate’s wedding after signing that contract, she’d never get to make them again. And what if they were really good?

  She wondered if she should call Christie and put her off for a week or two or fifty. How could she possibly sign over her own creations? She supposed she could ask Tate to get her out of the contract part, but she’d seen Christie’s ice-hard blue eyes.

  She had a feeling Christie had never heard the word “no” in her life, and she doubted it would go well for the person who tried it. Also, this was a huge opportunity to showcase the shop, and if Christie threw a snit, she might not let Mel do the wedding. And what if she booked Olivia Puckett instead? Around and around Mel’s thought whirled, with no resolution.

  She was so lost in thought, it was a moment before she realized that someone was standing in the doorway, watching her. She glanced up, and there stood Joe DeLaura. She jumped, squeezing the icing bag too hard. A glob of coconut buttercream landed on the worktable with a splat.

  He smiled. It was the same slow smile she remembered from when they were kids, and it still made the blood rush to her head. She was suddenly overly aware of her pink bib apron with the stylized, glittery script Fairy Tale Cupcakes across the front, the state of her messy kitchen, and the gobs of frosting that spattered the work surface, which included her. What must he be thinking?

  Mel tried to shake it off. She was thirty-four years old now, and a successful small business owner. It didn’t matter what he thought. She no longer had a crush on Joe DeLaura.

  “Hi, Mel,” Joe said. He pushed off from the doorway and walked towards her. “It’s been a long time.”

  He was wearing a dark suit with a crisp white dress shirt and a blue tie. A faint pattern of triangles was worked into the tie, giving it texture. He was clean shaven and his straight black hair was cut short, almost military short. He was taller than she remembered, and she had to look up to meet his gaze. His brown eyes, so like his sister’s, moved over her in return.

  “You look different than I remember,” he said.

  “I’m not fat anymore.”

  He looked taken aback, and Mel could have bitten her tongue in half. Good one, remind him that you were a lard butt as a kid.

  He took in her distress and smiled again. Then he said, “I don’t remember you as fat. I remember you as the girl who giggled a lot.”

  “Giggled?” Mel asked, appalled. “I think I’d rather you remembered me as fat.”

  This time he full-on grinned at her, and Mel thought she might faint. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t completely over her crush.

  “It was a very charming giggle,” Joe reassured her.

  “Yes, well . . .” Mel forced herself to stop looking at him. She was obviously incapable of forming a complete sentence when he was in her field of vision. It was best to avoid direct eye contact.

  “Angie told me you were stopping by to look over the wedding contract,” she said. She arranged the last of the finished cupcakes on a platter and pushed it towards the center of the worktable. “Thank you for taking the time.”

  “No problem,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to check out the shop. It’s just been chaos at the DA’s office. This gave me a nice excuse to get out of there on time for a change. I like what you’ve done with the place. It’s . . . homey.”

  “Thanks.” Mel wondered if homey was a euphemism for messy. “Let me just go get the paperwork for you.”

  Her office was a small room off of the kitchen. She had left the contract on top of her desk, so she ducked in there to grab it, wiping her hands on her apron as she went.

  “I don’t really know if there’s anything you can tell me,” she said. “The contract seems pretty straightforward.”

  Joe was sitting on one of the stools that surrounded the table. He held out his hand, and she gave him the paperwork. While he scanned the pages, she wiped down the tabletop. He let out a couple of “hunhs,” and she wondered what that meant in legal speak.

  After a few minutes, he looked up and dropped the papers onto the table with a sigh. “You’re right, it’s pretty clear. She wants exclusive ownership of whatever you create for her wedding.”

  “No loopholes?”

  “Not a one,” Joe said. “It seems very controlling, even in these days of overlitigation.”

  “I thought so, too.” Mel sighed. She had known it was unlikely, but she had sort of hoped she could sign the contract and not have to give up her creations. “What do I owe you for your time?”

  “Like I would charge my sister’s best friend and business partner. You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m not.” Mel grinned. “But good manners demanded that I offer.”

  Joe returned her smile. He looked so out of place sitting next to her pink KitchenAid mixer in his severe-looking suit. It was almost comical.

  He continued to regard her steadily. “You know, the brothers are really unhappy that Ange gave up teaching to open this shop with you.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she said.

  Mel braced herself for what she knew was coming: another DeLaura lecture. Angie had seven older brothers who spent their lives trying to manage hers. It was undoubtedly the reason she was still single. Every man she brought home got chased away by the disapproving scowls of her brothers. If she didn’t love them all so much, Mel was sure Angie would have moved to Australia by now

  “They . . . uh . . . we were wrong,” Joe said. Mel knew she looked surprised when he smiled. “She’s happier working with you than she has been in a long time. And really, all we want is for her to be happy.”

  “I know,” Mel said. “I want the same thing.”

  They were quiet as a moment of understanding passed between them. In all the years Mel had known Joe, she didn’t think they’d exchanged as many words as they had in the past twenty minutes. So maybe she was over her schoolgirl crush.

  “Well, what’s a guy got to do to get a cupcake around here?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  “Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry, I should have offered you one earlier. What’s your poison?”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “I love them all.” Mel laughed and pushed her bangs off her forehead. “But I’m partial to the blonde bombshell.”

  Joe raised his eyebrows, and his gaze swept her from head to toe. Mel felt her cheeks grow hot. Oh, dear, he didn’t think, surely he couldn’t think, that it was named for her.

  “I was thinking of Marilyn Monroe when I came up with that one,” she mumbled. “It’s an almond- flavored cake topped with vanilla buttercream and toasted almonds.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Mel nodded, feeling like an idiot. What was it about Joe DeLaura that flatlined her brain?

  “I’ll be right back,” she said. She trotted out front and loaded up a plate with a cupcake and grabbed a napkin, a fork, and an ice-cold glass of milk. She returned and plunked down the cupcake in front of Joe.

  She took the contract and returned it to her office so it wouldn’t get lost in the hullabaloo of that night’s class.

>   When Mel turned around, Joe had plunged his fork into the cupcake and taken a bite. The look that spread across his face could only be described as sublime, and Mel felt her confidence rush back. If there was one thing she knew she did well, it was baking cupcakes.

  “This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted in my life,” Joe said, looking at her in wonder.

  Mel felt her face get hot again, but this time it was with a flush of pleasure. She sat across from him while he finished the cupcake. When he scraped the plate with his fork, she wondered if she should offer him another, but he rose and carried his plate and fork to one of the three industrial sinks. He even rinsed them. Bravo, Mama DeLaura.

  “For that, I feel like I should have been more help to you,” he said.

  She shrugged. “I appreciate the confirmation that it’s as binding as I thought.”

  “You should talk to Tate,” Joe said. “I can’t imagine he knows what she’s asking. He doesn’t strike me as the type who would want you to give up your own creations like that, especially when it goes against his interests as part owner in this business.”

  “I suppose.”

  “And you’re not going to take a word of my advice, are you?”

  “Probably not,” she admitted ruefully.

  He walked back to stand beside the chair where she still sat. Mel had to crane her neck to look up at him.

  “I know what’s different about you.” His hand brushed across the back of her head. “You cut your hair. It suits you. It makes your eyes look enormous.”

  “Thanks,” Mel said. Her throat felt oddly constricted, and her voice was gruff. She coughed.

  “Thank you for the cupcake,” he returned. He headed through the door back into the shop, calling out, “See you.”

  Mel raised her hand in a small wave. As soon as he disappeared, she ran into her office. On the back of the door hung a tiny mirror. She studied her reflection, trying to see what Joe had seen. Did her eyes look enormously pretty, or did she look like a big-eyed E.T. freak? But even E.T. was cute in his own way, right?

  All she saw was Melanie Cooper, cupcake baker and inept flirt. She turned away with disgust. She hadn’t seen Joe DeLaura in years. There was no reason to suppose she’d see him anytime again soon. Or so she thought.

  Four

  Mel decided against Joe’s advice (and Angie’s) and signed the contract. Partly because she didn’t want to let Tate down, and also because she couldn’t ignore the reality that the business would get a real shot in the arm from the wedding publicity. And there would be a lot of publicity as two of Scottsdale’s wealthiest residents tied the knot.

  The next morning Mel was running on less than no sleep. She had spent the night baking cupcakes, mixing frostings, and rolling out fondant. After innumerable attempts, she had finally crafted five new cupcakes in a wide variety of flavors and in Christie’s colors of red, white, and black. As far as she knew, they’d never been created before. Could anyone else have come up with a dark chocolate cupcake with cherry filling and a dark chocolate ganache topping sprinkled with dried cherries? That was only one of the five, but it was her favorite.

  She called Christie’s cell phone as soon as the shop opened, and left a message that the cupcakes were done.

  She didn’t hear back from Christie all day.

  As it grew later and later, Mel found her temper going from irked to annoyed to really ticked. Cupcakes dried out quickly, and she wanted Christie to taste hers while they were still fresh. The urge to tear up the contract was becoming almost too strong to ignore. She left two more messages for Christie and finally called Tate.

  “Harper Investments, Tate Harper speaking,” he answered.

  “ ‘Ye s , but, I don’t like to say so, sir, at this moment, sir, but everybody knows you’re crazy,’ ” Mel said.

  “Hey! Bringing Up Baby.” Tate cited the quote with obvious pleasure. “Is that what’s showing tonight?”

  “Yep. I need a dose of Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn. Ange and I will be over to your place about nine.”

  Mel was standing at the front counter, using their pink phone. At the mention of her name, Angie glanced over from where she was dusting a display rack full of cupcake kitsch and nodded, confirming her attendance at movie night.

  “Sounds great. Christie has some fashion shoot thing in her studio, so she’s busy until late. We might even be able to do a double feature.”

  “Sweet,” Mel said. “About Christie, I called to let her know the cupcake samples she wanted are ready, but I haven’t heard from her. Could you make sure she gets the message?”

  “Absolutely,” Tate said. “I really appreciate you doing this for us, Mel. I sort of feel like I’ve been hit by a truck with all this wedding stuff. Having your cupcakes there will make it seem more friendly. Does that make sense?”

  Mel was quiet for a second. Was this her opportunity to ask him if this wedding was what he really wanted? Could she ask him that?

  “Oh, I have another call coming in,” he said. “See you at nine.”

  “ ’Bye, Tate.” Mel hung up. Damn! The moment was lost to her indecision. Maybe tonight, during the movie, she’d have another chance to broach the subject.

  The door swung open, distracting Mel from her thoughts as a middle-aged, portly man strode in with his younger, skinnier sidekick on his heels. As always, she was struck by how much Uncle Stan looked just like her dad: same jowls and thinning hairline, same girth and bowlegged gate.

  “Uncle Stan!” she cried as she dashed around the counter to be enfolded in the same comforting bear hug she’d been getting from him ever since she was a child.

  Angie darted up for her own hug, and they both smiled at Detective Rayburn, Uncle Stan’s latest trainee.

  “What’ll it be today, boys?” Angie asked. “We have fresh Red Velvets or a nice Cookies and Cream.”

  Uncle Stan licked his lips in anticipation. “A Red Velvet for me.”

  “Nothing for me,” Rayburn said. He patted his flat belly, as if to reassure himself that he couldn’t gain weight by just standing in the bakery.

  Angie shook her head and gave Mel a look that said you just couldn’t trust someone who didn’t eat cupcakes. Privately, Mel agreed. But since he was Uncle Stan’s partner, she endeavored to be nice to him.

  “How’s business?” Uncle Stan asked.

  “Booming,” Mel said. “I think we’re really getting a following.”

  “Did you look into that security system we talked about?”

  “Yep,” Mel said. She looked. She didn’t buy it, because it was too expensive, but she did look.

  The bakery phone rang, and Mel excused herself to pick it up.

  “Fairy Tale Cupcakes, this is Mel. How may I help you?”

  “You can stop calling my fiancé to complain about me.” It was Christie, and she sounded annoyed.

  “Excuse me?” Mel said.

  “I do not need you calling my fiancé to tell him I’m ignoring you,” she snapped. “When, in fact, I’ve just sent two of my girls over to your little shop to pick up the cupcakes.”

  “I can assure you I said no such thing,” Mel said. She set her teeth to keep from saying more.

  Angie glanced at her from where she was wiping down the counter. Her eyes were wide, letting Mel know that her tone had been uncharacteristically sharp; both Uncle Stan and Detective Rayburn were watching her as well.

  “Look, I have a real business with real problems to deal with. Someone will be by to pick up the damn cupcakes. In the future, I would appreciate it if you would call me, and not Tate.”

  “Check your cell phone,” Mel said. “I did call—repeatedly.”

  “I don’t think I like your tone,” Christie said. “I don’t care how long you’ve been friends with Tate. I’m the one who’s marrying him. It’s not my fault you couldn’t close the deal all of these years you’ve been palling around with him.”

  “What?” Mel choked.

  “You heard me.” Christie’s voice was a low hiss. “I know both you and your little friend have been trying to bag Tate for years. Well, you cou
ldn’t, and I did. Deal with it.”

  Christie hung up on her, and Mel felt her temper surge and explode.

  “Uh!” she grunted. She went to put the phone back in its cradle, but her hand missed and the phone slipped onto the counter, which made her temper flare again. She smashed the phone against its holder three times, and shouted, “I hate her! I hate her! I hate her! I hope she chokes on those cupcakes.”

  Uncle Stan and Detective Rayburn stood frozen. Uncle Stan’s mouth was wide open with Red Velvet cupcake hanging out. He quickly shut his mouth and swallowed.

  “What was that about?” he asked.

  Mel crossed her arms on the counter and put her head down. Her temper tantrum had taken the last of her energy.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “No sleep will do that to a girl.

  That was the bridezilla my friend Tate is marrying. She is a selfish, narcissistic nightmare. I’ve tried to like her, truly, but I just can’t.”

  Detective Rayburn’s cell phone rang, and he turned away to take the call.

  “Tate has always seemed like a reasonable young man,” Uncle Stan said. “Maybe he’ll see the light before he says ‘I do.’ ”

  “Maybe,” Angie and Mel said together, but neither one believed it.

  “Stan, we’ve got to go,” Rayburn annouced.

  Uncle Stan shoved the last of his cupcake in his mouth and waved as he hustled out the door.

  “She was that awful?” Angie asked.

  Mel was about to recount the conversation when the bells on the front door jangled and two young women walked in. One was a willowy, dark-haired, dark-eyed girl with skin so pale it almost glowed. The other was tan, blonde, and decked out in sparkles from head to toe.

  “We’re here to pick up an order of cupcakes,” the blonde one said. She wiggled as she walked, unfortunately reminding Mel of Christie’s dog Puddles. The other one, the scary-looking one, seemed to glide across the room.

  “I just love this place, don’t you, Alma?” the giggly one asked her companion. “It’s just so cuuuuuute.”