Sprinkle with Murder

Sprinkle with Murder Page 14

by Jenn McKinlay

  Angie trotted back into the kitchen with a glass of milk and a Cherry Bomb cupcake. She plopped them down on the table in front of Joe.

  “Consider it a bribe,” she said. “Just think, if Mel gets arrested, no more cupcakes for you.”

  He looked stricken, but then gave his sister a dark look. “I can’t be bribed.”

  Angie gave a long-suffering sigh. “Then I’ll have to lower myself to threats. Help us, or I’ll tell Mom.”

  “You wouldn’t,” he said.

  “Try me,” she returned as she handed him a fork.

  “Are you sure you’re not a defense attorney?” he asked. “You fight dirty.”

  “You betcha,” Angie said as she headed back to the front.

  “Unfortunately, there’s not much I can do to help until the investigators arrest someone, and hopefully, it won’t be you,” he said.

  “It might have helped if you hadn’t had my uncle Stan taken off the case,” Mel complained.

  Joe took a bite of the cupcake, and his eyes glazed. “Wow. How do you . . .”

  He noticed Mel was frowning at him, and he swallowed with a gulp.

  “Sorry. Look, I know it may not seem like it, but I did it to protect both of you. Stan is a lifer with the PD. He can’t risk working a case that involves his niece. It would destroy his career. And as for you, what do you think a decent defense attorney would do to you if he found out your uncle was the lead detective?”

  Mel refused to acknowledge the little flutter she felt when he said he did it to protect her. She was not that susceptible to his charm—okay, maybe she was, but she didn’t have to let him know it.

  “I suppose,” she said grudgingly.

  “Melanie, are you ready to go?”

  Mel turned to see Joyce in the doorway. “Hi, Mom. Go where?”

  “We have a meeting with the attorney Johnny Dietz recommended. Didn’t you get my message?”

  “No, it’s been crazy here today,” Mel said. “Mom, you remember Joe DeLaura, Angie’s brother?”

  Joyce glanced at Mel and her eyes went wide; even she understood that it didn’t look good to be talking about going to a defense attorney in front of an assistant district attorney.

  “A lawyer?” Joe asked. He had a mouthful of cupcake, so Mel had to translate what he said, but the implication behind the mumble was obvious. If she was innocent, why did she need an attorney?

  “Mom believes in preparing for the worst,” Mel said. “She’s the only person I know who has an operational bomb shelter in her backyard.”

  “Hey, if the Palo Verde Nuclear Plant decides to have a big hiccup, I’ll be ready,” Joyce said. “And what about terrorists? There could be another attack. You never know.”

  Mel made bug eyes at Joe and he nodded in understanding. Mama DeLaura had been known to show up at her grown children’s houses in the middle of the night, just to be sure they were safely tucked into their beds so she could sleep without worrying about them.

  “I’d better go,” Mel said.

  She and Joyce headed towards the door.

  “Who’s the attorney?” Joe asked. “Maybe I know him.”

  “Steve Wolfmeier,” Joyce said. “Have you heard of him?”

  Joe’s brows lowered over his eyes like storm clouds on the horizon. “Yeah.”

  “Care to elaborate?” Mel asked.

  “No,” Joe said. He stabbed his cupcake with his fork, and Mel had a feeling he was picturing Steve Wolfmeier’s head. Interesting.

  “Mel, we’re going to be late,” Joyce said from the doorway. “Don’t you want to change into a nice dress?”

  Joe glanced up from his cupcake, and his gaze raked Mel from head to toe, taking in her clingy knit shirt and hip-hugging jeans and all the way down to her suede boots.

  “You look fine just the way you are,” he said. “In fact, you might want to wear a sweater, preferably a big, bulky shapeless number.”

  “Well, I don’t see how that would help,” Joyce said.

  Mel felt Joe’s gaze on her face, and the intensity of his scrutiny left her feeling flustered. There was history between this Wolfmeier guy and Joe, and she was just the gal to find out what it was.

  Fifteen

  The firm of Wolfmeier and Jankovich was located in Paradise Valley. It was the richest zip code in the Valley of the Sun, and that alone should have given Mel a clue as to what to expect. Sadly, it did not.

  Joyce parked behind a building that looked like a modern nightmare of concrete and glass. They walked past an enormous fountain in the shape of an upside-down pyramid with layers of gray stone forming a shallow pool around it.

  The doors to the building were big and thick, and opened into a lobby of ivory marble with deep-rust-colored veins. A secretary wearing an earbud sat at an oversized desk that Joyce approached, clutching her Coach bag with determination.

  Mel hung back. She noticed the building had a security desk with an actual guard in uniform stationed by the door. What, exactly, did an attorney need a security guard for, unless he represented some very bad people?

  “Come on, Melanie,” her mother called from the bank of elevators beyond the desk. “Mr. Wolfmeier is expecting us.”

  The elevator had mirrored walls and plush carpeting, and a melodic voice announced the floors as they passed. Mel avoided her reflection, choosing to stare at the carpet while her mother fixed her lipstick. A bell chimed, and the elevator stopped on the fifth floor.

  Another receptionist greeted them and led them to a large office that offered a panoramic view of the back of Camelback Mountain. Mel and Joyce exchanged a look, and Mel wondered if her eyes looked as nervous as her mother’s.

  “Mom,” she said, “I don’t think we can afford to be here. In fact, I don’t think I can even afford to breathe the air in here. These guys will probably rob you blind trying to defend me, when I don’t need it.”

  “Nonsense, they come very highly recommended,” said Joyce. “I can pay whatever it takes.”

  Mel tipped her head and studied her mom. Since her father had died, her mother had forged ahead even when she didn’t have a clue, like the time she helped Mel buy her first car, which was a lemon they got suckered into paying double its value for, but Joyce had not been daunted. She had parked herself in that auto dealer’s showroom and glowered until she was given a full refund and the clunker was taken off her hands. It hadn’t been easy.

  The salesmen had alternately tried charming her and threatening her, but when Joyce dug in her heels about something, she generally sprouted roots until she got her way. It was a quality Mel admired her for; in fact, she admired her mother more than she could ever express.

  However, she saw that same root-sprouting expression on her mother’s face now, and that did not bode well for her or for the attorney. She knew her mother wanted to protect her, but she didn’t want her to lose her life’s savings trying to defend Mel for a crime she didn’t commit.

  It wasn’t as if the police had arrested her. Sure, they’d questioned her, confiscated her cupcakes, and searched her bakery, but no charges had been filed; and in her hopeful heart, she hoped none would be.

  Mel was about to cup Joyce’s elbow and lead her back to the elevator when the door to the office opened and a man in a suit as shiny as sharkskin walked into the room. He was tall and thin; his white hair close cropped in a haircut Mel was sure cost more than her entire outfit. He smiled at them, and his bright blue eyes crinkled in the corners. As he crossed the room, Mel realized he was younger than his hair made him look. She guessed him to be only five years older than herself.

  He shook Joyce’s hand first. “Mrs. Cooper, I’m Steve Wolfmeier, and this must be your daughter, Melanie.”

  He turned and shook Melanie’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too, Mr. Wolfmeier.”

  “Call me Steve.” His look should have been smarmy, but somehow he made it charming. Mel felt a reluctant smile curve her lips.

  “Have a seat, please,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, we’re fine, thank you,” Mel said. She didn’t want a twent
y-dollar latte tacked onto what was sure to be an exorbitant bill.

  Joyce looked at her, and Mel shook her head. They sat down in the chairs across from his desk.

  “Miss Cooper, may I call you Melanie?” Wolfmeier asked as he sat in the plush seat behind his desk.

  “Sure.”

  “It seems you’re a person of interest to the Scottsdale Police,” he said.

  “So it seems,” she agreed.

  “What do you have to say about it?” he asked.

  “I just found her,” Mel said, raising her hands in an “I surrender” gesture. “I had nothing to do with what happened to her.”

  “You were hired to make the cupcakes for her wedding, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were delivering those cupcakes when you found her?”

  “No, she already had them. Two of her designers picked up the cupcakes the day before. Christie and I were to have a meeting to discuss the samples I sent over.”

  “All we need is a healthy dose of reasonable doubt. Let’s see if we can accomplish that. So, Melanie, the cupcakes were out of your hands for how long?”

  “I don’t know, let’s see . . .” Mel tried to remember. Alma and Phoebe had picked up the cupcakes in the evening, and she was to meet Christie in the morning. “Twelve hours.”

  “So, you didn’t see those cupcakes for twelve hours?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Any idea how many people could have had access to those cupcakes in those twelve hours?”

  “No idea,” Mel said. She noticed that he kept referring to the twelve hours. “I suppose it would depend upon where Christie kept them and who was around at the time. I know she was doing a photo shoot, but I have no idea how many people were in her studio that night.”

  Steve Wolfmeier leaned back in his chair and grinned. He looked just like a wolf that had cornered a bunny, and Mel wondered if that was where his ancestors had gotten the name Wolfmeier.

  “That will be all, Miss Cooper,” he said, as if dismissing her from the witness stand. His eyes lingered on her face, and Mel wondered if he could see the stress and worry seep out of her like a slow leak in an air mattress.

  He made it seem so easy and so effortless to cast reasonable doubt. But then, that was probably why he was housed in such a fabulous office. The man was good.

  “Mrs. Cooper.” Steve Wolfmeier turned to Joyce. “I’m going to have to turn down your case.”

  “What? Why?” Joyce asked, distraught.

  “Your daughter doesn’t need me,” he said. “I’d be robbing you if I took your money.”

  Mel wondered if the room was miked. How had he known what she’d said? His gaze met hers, and the blue depths were amused. Oh, yeah, he’d heard her. She felt her face grow warm with embarrassment.

  “It’s not very polite to listen in on other peoples’ conversations,” she said.

  “It’s not polite to believe the worst of a person before you’ve even met them,” he returned.

  “Touché,” she said. “Does one ill-mannered faux pas cancel out another?”

  “It could,” he said.

  Joyce glanced between them. Mel could tell she was so focused on hiring Steve that she was lost to the conversation.

  “What would it take?” she asked.

  “I hear you bake a mean cupcake,” he said.

  “I’ll send some over.”

  “Then all is forgiven.”

  “So, you’ll take the case?” Joyce asked.

  “I’ll consider a box of cupcakes a retainer,” he said. “But I honestly don’t think you’re going to need my services. From my initial inquiries at the medical examiner’s office, although one of the cupcakes was tainted, there was no sign of arsenic in the contents of the victim’s stomach. It takes a considerable amount of arsenic to kill, and there were only trace amounts found in the cupcake.”

  “So you’re saying. . . .” Mel hesitated, and he finished for her.

  “Someone is trying to frame you, but they’re doing a very poor job of it. I don’t see you getting arrested even if you are a person of interest.”

  Mel rose from her seat. She wanted to do a cartwheel, but she resisted the impulse. “Thank you, Mr. Wolfmeier.”

  Joyce teared up as she pumped his hand in gratitude. If she had been doubtful about Mel’s innocence before, now she was fully embracing the fact that Mel was innocent. For that alone, Mel would have baked Mr. Wolfmeier a double order of cupcakes.

  Joyce excused herself to use the ladies’ room to freshen up, and Mel turned to face Steve. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot,” he said.

  “Do you know Joe DeLaura?” she asked.

  His smile hardened until it was brittle. He leaned one hip on the desk and considered her. “We went to law school together.”

  “Oh.” Mel would have liked to ask more questions, but Steve didn’t appear forthcoming and she was hesitant to annoy him on the off chance that she might need his services.

  He must have picked up on her curiosity, however, because he added, “We were both the top of our class. There was a friendly rivalry between us. Then he went his way and I went mine. Why do you ask?”

  “He’s my business partner’s older brother,” she said.

  Steve glanced at the notes on top of his desk. “Angela DeLaura is his little sister?”

  “Yes. Small world, eh?”

  “Don’t talk to him,” Steve said. His friendly smile and demeanor were wiped away like chalk off a slate.

  “Why not?” Mel asked.

  “Because he’s an assistant DA,” Steve said. “He’s not a friend or a friend of the family; he’s the guy who’ll put your cute butt in jail for a very long time if you give him even the tiniest crumb of information that he can twist against you.”

  “But I’m innocent.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Steve said. He crossed the room to stand in front of her. He was a few inches taller, and she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. “This is a high-profile case, and the DA has to convict someone. If you say the wrong thing to him, even I, as brilliant as I am, won’t be able to save you.”

  “Is Joe that good of an attorney?” Mel asked.

  Steve leaned back and considered her. “He’s a terrier. If he decides you’re going down, he won’t rest until you’re locked up and they’ve thrown away the key.”

  “I really . . .”

  “Don’t trust him, don’t talk to him, and for God’s sake, don’t share any information with him,” Steve said.

  He pressed a card into her hand. “If you need to talk to someone about the case, call me.”

  He stepped back and seemed to take off his intensity like a man changing a shirt. “I’ll be waiting for those cupcakes.”

  Mel wondered if she’d just dreamt the past few seconds. A horrified part of her was beginning to sift through every conversation she’d had with Joe lately, and weigh how damning it might have been.

  She felt a tug on her arm; Joyce had returned from the ladies’ room and was ready to go.

  “Thanks,” she said to Steve, and turned to go.

  “Don’t forget what I said,” he called after her.

  Mel could assure him she would not.

  Sixteen

  Joyce opened her mouth to begin talking as soon as they were in the car. Mercifully, Mel’s cell phone began to ring its distinctive Gone With the Wind theme music, and she gave her mom an apologetic look.

  “Sorry, it’s the shop. I have to take this,” she said. She flipped the phone open. “Hello.”

  “You need to get back here immediately,” Angie shouted. She sounded panicked, which was disturbing because Angie never panicked.

  “What’s going on?” Mel asked.

  “I can’t explain right now. Just hurry.”

  The line went dead.

  “Step on it, Mom,” Mel said. “We have a situation.” Joyce looked at her, and Mel rolled her hand towards the window in a gesture that meant “Hurry up.”

  Ten minutes later, Joyce maneuvered into a spot in front of the shop. Mel was out the door and running before the car came to a stop.
<
br />   The bells chimed as she yanked the door open. Angie was standing alone in the middle of the store. She looked dazed and bewildered.

  Mel grabbed her arms. “Ange, what is it? What’s going on?”

  “The police brought Tate in for questioning again,” she said. Her voice was faint. “Mel, I’m afraid they’re going to arrest him.”

  “Oh, no,” Mel moaned.

  “What’s going on? What happened?” Joyce asked as she hurried through the door.

  “The police have taken Tate in for questioning again,” Mel said.

  “But why?”

  “Christie’s father is pushing for an arrest,” Angie said. “Shelby Grady says he’s telling everyone at the country club that Tate did it to get her money.”

  “But that’s ridiculous,” Mel said. “Tate is worth way more than she was, which is why she drugged him and faked their engagement.”

  “Good grief! She drugged him?” Joyce sat down at one of the café tables. “You don’t think Tate . . .”

  “Absolutely not!” Angie declared with a ferocity that made Joyce blink. “Tate is innocent. He’d never harm anyone. He’s the kindest, nicest person I’ve ever known.”

  Mel could hear their fifties retro atomic wall clock ticking in the ensuing silence. It seemed so much louder than normal. She looked at the flush that stained Angie’s cheeks, and suddenly, she understood.

  “You’re in love with him,” she said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Angie scoffed. But her voice was without heat. “That’s absurd.”

  Joyce rose from her seat. Her eyes, the eyes that were so like Mel’s, were kind as they gazed at Angie. She gave her a one-armed hug around the shoulders and then patted Mel’s cheek as she made her way to the door.

  “I’m going to leave you girls to sort things out,” she said. “Call me if you need me, either of you.”

  Mel and Angie watched her go. Mel mouthed “I love you, Mom,” and her mother nodded before she shut the door behind her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

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