Dark Chocolate Demise (10 page)

Mel nodded. She'd played out this scene just the other day. The whining kid had been like fingernails on a chalkboard, and the mother coddled the mini-monster because she was so worried about his feelings she didn't give a hoot about his manners.

“Sometimes you don't get the flavor you want,” Tate said.

“And you learn how to deal with it,” Angie said.

“I actually had a dad offer me a fifty if I could just make a carrot cake cupcake appear for his little princess,” Marty said. “All I could think was that poor little girl is screwed for life.”

“Sad but true,” Mel agreed. “Hopefully, your niece is about to have her rude awakening right now.”

“It's overdue,” Angie said. “Marty's right about how Dom has been with her since she was born. In fact, I've never liked spending time with her. Hey, this might be kind of fun to watch.”

“Promise me when we have kids, we won't ruin them,” Tate said to Angie.

“Sure, if Marty will work in an advisory capacity,” Angie said.

Marty grinned. “So, we're going to have a baby?”

“What?! Who's having a baby?” Ray strode into the bakery, looking like he was gearing up to crack some skulls, namely Tate's.

“Relax,” Angie said. She stepped forward and hugged her brother. “We're talking someday, not right now.”

“That's good, very good,” Ray said, giving Tate the hairy eyeball. It was definitely a look that said the jury was still out.

He then shook Marty's hand, not Tate's, and hugged Mel and said, “And you, you're saving yourself for Joe, right?”

Angie slapped a hand to her forehead. “Really? Just like that you're going there? You're not even trying to finesse it a little?”

“What's to finesse?” Ray asked. He turned and bumped knuckles with Marty. “Am I right, Z?”

Angie glanced between Marty and her brother. “You two seem awfully chummy, Z?”

Marty's bald head turned a faint shade of pink. Ray was the DeLaura family wild card. Sal liked to think he was it, but really as a used car salesman, not so much. But Ray was the one who was “connected.” He lived at Turf Paradise during the horse-racing season, and he was the one who usually “knew a guy” when something needed to be done quickly and quietly. Mel knew that of all the brothers, Joe lost the most sleep over Ray.

“We've taken in some horse races together,” Marty said. “NBD.”

“No big deal?” Ray exclaimed. “Z, are you telling me that you didn't tell them about your big win?”

“I didn't want to brag,” Marty said. Mel noticed he was not making eye contact with any of them.

“Brag? My friend, you should have been headlining the nightly news. This guy,” Ray poked Marty in the chest and shook his head before he continued, “this guy put three hundred down on a thirty-to-one horse just because”—Ray stopped to laugh—“because”—he laughed again—“the horse evacuated its bowels on the way to the gate, and Z figured he'd lightened his load enough to win.”

Ray slapped Marty so hard on the back that Marty lurched forward, stopped only by Tate, who was quick enough to catch him.

“It was epic,” Ray concluded. “And that's not his only amazing win. I swear you must have some psychic abilities, Z.”

“Of course he does—he's from another dimension.”

Mel turned around to see two boys standing just inside the entrance to the bakery. They were dressed in green coveralls, and each had a bulky backpack on. Mel thought they looked familiar, but she couldn't place them.

“There he is!” The smaller one pointed at Marty while the older one dropped his backpack, opened it, and went digging inside.

“Don't let him disappear this time,” the bigger one said. “He's a sneaky specter.”

It all came back to Mel in a flash. The Bonehead Investigators, the two brothers from the zombie walk who thought Marty was a ghoul. In all the commotion that day, she'd never found out how Marty had managed to ditch them.

“You're the two ghost hunters, right?” Mel asked. “Leo and Adam?”

The smaller one rolled his eyes. “Wrong. It's Atom A-T-O-M, and we're paranormal investigators.”

“Of course,” Mel said. She didn't look at any of the others for fear she'd burst out laughing.

“Oh, for gosh Pete's sake!” Marty said. “I told you two before I am not a ghost.”

“My specter meter begs to differ, ghoul,” the younger one said. He was holding his phone at Marty, and the thing was flashing and whistling.

“Did we miss something?” Angie asked.

“No!” Marty said. “Just two dopey kids playing a prank.”

The taller of the two, Leo, looked offended. “This is no prank. Look.”

He took his specter meter and aimed it at Mel. It went quiet and blank. He did the same with Tate, Angie, and Ray. Then he turned it on Marty, and it went berserk just like his brother's.

“See?” Leo said as if it was all perfectly reasonable. “He's a ghost.”

“I am not, you little mongrel,” Marty said.

“Surely, there is a logical explanation,” Tate said. “Maybe your meter is picking up Marty's belt buckle or something.”

The little one gave Tate a look of utter disdain. “It's not a metal detector. Honestly, do you know
anything
about the denizens of the netherworld?”

Ray moaned and Mel looked at him in concern. “Are you all right?”

“No, I hate this stuff,” he said. “Ghosts and scary movies, possessions and hauntings, it all just freaks me out.”

“It's true,” Angie said. “He tried to watch
Halloween
when he was sixteen and scared himself so bad he had to sleep with Mom and Dad for a month.”

“Aw, man, thanks for sharing my shame, Ange,” Ray snapped.

“Sorry.” She shrugged. Then she gave Mel a knowing look. “You know, it might not be Marty that they're picking up on. Maybe we have a ghost.”

The young brothers exchanged a look of excitement while Ray turned a puke shade of gray.

“What ghost?” Tate asked.

“You remember?” Angie said. “The one the Realtor told us about when Mel first looked at the place.”

Tate scratched his head. “No, it doesn't ring a bell.”

“Or maybe we're being haunted by that guy who was murdered in the alley,” Marty offered. “You know, the cranky reporter from the magazine. I mean if you had to spend eternity hanging around, wouldn't you rather be in a pretty bakery than a stinky alley?”

“There was a murder here?” Atom's eyes went wide.

Mel felt bad talking about the tragic event, but maybe it would scare the daring duo away, which for Marty's sake would not be a bad thing. She didn't know how long he could put up with the two stubby shadows without losing his cool.

“Do you think there was a transference?” Leo asked Atom. “Maybe the specter is now inhabiting the body of the old man and that's why we're getting a reading off of him.”

Atom scratched his head in thought. “I suppose it's possible. It would explain why he appears alive with such a high specter reading.

“I don't appear alive,” Marty snapped. “I am alive. And I am not possessed by some ghostie. Don't you think I'd know if I were possessed?”

“We'd better check,” Leo said. He pulled out a mini-flashlight and shone the beam in Marty's eyes.

“Hey, knock it off, I have cataracts,” Marty said and pushed the boy's hand away from his face.

“Any periods of blackout?” Atom asked. “Unexplained memory loss.”

“Of course; I'm old, aren't I?” Marty asked. “Hell, five times out of seven I can't remember why I enter a room.”

“Blackouts?” Ray yelped. “OMG, he is possessed! That's why he can pick the winning horses!”

“That does make sense,” Angie said, looking thoughtful. “Maybe we need to have an exorcism.”

“No, it does not make sense,” Marty argued.

“I . . . I . . . I have to go,” Ray stammered. He was texting on his cell phone as he backed to the door. “Tony or Al will be here shortly.”

“Huh, he looks like he's seen a ghost,” Leo said to Atom, and they both cracked up. Mel and Angie joined them, but Tate looked irritated. “Your brothers are here to keep an eye on you,” he said to Angie. “Scaring them off is not funny.”

“He's right,” Atom said to Leo, looking serious. “We have a mission to contain the ghost.”

“Roger that,” Leo said. They began digging in their backpacks again.

“What are you looking for now?” Angie asked, clearly charmed by the brothers.

“A containment unit,” Leo said. He pulled a glass jar out of his backpack with a twist-off lid.

“Looks like a pickle jar to me,” Tate said.

“Pickles, poltergeists, it's multifunctional,” Atom said.

“What are you going to do?” Mel asked. The thought of broken glass in her bakery was not wowing her.

“Contain him,” Leo said.

“You can't contain me,” Marty said. “I'm not a ghoul or possessed by a ghost or anything else. I am, however, closer to the gateway of death by about sixty-plus years. Maybe that's why you get a reading on your spookameter.”

“Specter meter,” Atom corrected him.

Leo looked thoughtfully at Marty. “He might be onto something.”

He reached out and pinched Marty's forearm.

“Yow!” Marty cried and yanked his arm back. “What did you do that for?”

“The subject does have a human response to pain and feels very fleshy.”

“Fleshy?” Marty looked outraged. “Are you calling me fat?”

Leo ignored him.

“Perhaps we need to study the subject more in his natural environment,” Atom suggested.

“Agreed,” Leo said. Together they commandeered a booth in the corner.

“Hey, tables are only for paying customers,” Marty said.

Leo produced a twenty from his pocket. “Two cupcakes, please.”

Marty rolled his eyes so far back, Mel was afraid they might get stuck.

“What flavors?” Marty asked.

“What do you have?” the boys asked together.

Marty glared. “Ectoplasm in a jar.”

“Are you mocking us?” Atom asked, looking annoyed.

“Now why would you think that?” Marty asked. “Just because you want to stuff me in a pickle jar?”

“How about I take over the order?” Angie offered. She gave Marty a shove towards the kitchen. She gave Mel a pointed look.

“Come on, Marty, you can help me restock the supplies,” Mel said. “Tate, you're good out here?”

“No one gets in without me checking them over,” he said.

With one nervous glance at the front window, Mel nodded. There was nothing they could do, really, if Frank Tucci decided he was going to come after Angie. If he could kill Kristin Streubel in the middle of a crowded festival, what would he be able to do to Angie here in the bakery? The thought was unpleasant, and she wondered if it was such a good idea to chase the brothers off.

Of course, Ray and Dom had left of their own accord. But Sal was definitely their fault. Then again, no one told him to eat his body weight in cupcakes. Mel could only wonder which brother would show up next. She knew it was impossible, but she really wished it would be Joe.

It wasn't Joe. Al arrived wearing sunglasses and a black leather overcoat that looked like it could hide a wide array of weapons but did not look particularly cupcake friendly.

“‘Never send a human to do a machine's job,'” Tate muttered in Mel's ear as they watched Al case the joint.

“
The Matrix
,” Mel said, identifying Tate's movie quote. “You could have gone with one from
Men in Black
.”

“No, he is Neo all the way,” Tate said.

Angie shook her head. “I think he'd make a better Spoon Boy.”

Tate laughed and gave her a squeeze. “Either way, I'm glad he's here to help me keep you safe.”

“I'm not in danger,” Angie said. She sounded mad. “And the damage those idiots are doing to the business is not good for any of us.”

“They're not damaging . . . okay, maybe Al's hulking presence is a bit off-putting,” Tate said.

“A bit?” Angie asked. “Five people saw the Terminator there in the door and turned away. Honestly, we'll be lucky to have a business left after this.”

“Hmm.” Tate watched as another couple caught sight of Al and passed by the bakery. “I'll talk to him. Maybe if he stations himself in the corner . . .”

“I think we should sic the terrible twosome on him,” Angie said as she gestured to the ghost hunters, who were watching Al with more than a little interest.

“I don't know, Ange,” Mel said. She led the way into the kitchen. She had to start working on her special orders, and she could feel her stress level rising with every interruption in her day. “Maybe we just need to let the brothers be here and do what they do. I mean, what if you're wrong and what if Frank Tucci is targeting you to get to Joe?”

“Don't you start,” Angie said. “I am not a target. I am not in danger. This whole thing is stupid.”

“Maybe, but what's wrong with taking a little vacation?” Mel pressed. “You and Tate could get away for a while.”

“Only if you come with me,” Angie said. Her chin jutted out with her trademark stubbornness.

“Yeah, that's romantic,” Mel said. “And I can't. I have too much work.”

“Sure you can,” Oz said as he stepped out of the walk-in cooler with a tray full of cupcakes to be decorated. “You know I can handle it.”

“I have no doubt you'd do a fine job,” Mel said. “But I can't ask you to do that while you're still in school.”

“You're just making excuses,” Angie said. “If I'm not here, what makes you think Tucci won't then go after you?”

“So you admit he's after you,” Mel said. She was trying to outmaneuver Angie in the verbal arts, which was always a dicey proposition.

“No! I'm saying no such thing,” Angie said. “I'm just pointing out that if it's true that Tucci is looking to get to Joe, you would be pretty high on his list, don't you think?”

“No,” Mel said. “Joe and I have been apart for a while now, which is why it is highly possible that Tucci targeted you as his sister, and poor Kristin got hit by mistake.”

Angie shuddered and Mel narrowed her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Angie said.

“You don't look fine,” Oz chimed in while loading up a pastry bag with buttercream.

“Who asked you?” Angie said. She pointed to his tray of bare cupcakes. “Just get with the frosting magic there.”

Oz shrugged and set to work. “It's not your fault, you know.”

Angie was halfway to the kitchen door when she turned around. “What did you say?”

“It's not your fault,” Oz said. He paused and lowered his pastry bag. It was hard to see his pretty eyes through the thick fringe of bangs that hung over them but whatever Angie saw, it kept her frozen in place. “It would be understandable if you felt guilty that a woman who was dressed like you and bore a small resemblance to you was killed because a bad man thought she was you. But you're not the bad man, you did nothing wrong, and it's not your fault.”

The kitchen was so quiet, Mel could hear the clock ticking and the hum of the small refrigerator in the corner.

“I don't . . .” Angie began to protest but she broke off with a sob. “That poor woman. If only she hadn't dressed like me. None of this ever would have happened.”

Mel gave Oz a wide-eyed stare. How had he known that Angie was so wracked with guilt when Mel hadn't even picked up on it? She glanced at him and he shrugged.

“It just makes sense,” he said. “Especially with her being so resistant to protection like she's trying to prove that Tucci wasn't after her. It's sort of like survivor's guilt, you know?”

Mel nodded. “Listen, Angie, you don't know that it was supposed to be you. None of us do. Think about it. Scott is working on the case against Tucci, too. It could very well be that Kristin was the target all along.”

“Then why does everyone keep saying she looked like me and that Tucci was really out to get me?” Angie asked. “If that poor woman died because of me, I can't bear it. I just can't.”

She slumped onto the table and sobbed. The sound was horrible and it made Mel's chest clutch in sympathy. Poor Angie, what a burden she'd been carrying since the zombie walk.

Tate pushed through the swinging doors. “Angie, what's wrong? Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

He crouched beside her and pulled her into his arms. Angie hugged him hard and buried her face in his shirtfront.

“She's hurting pretty bad,” Mel said. “She thinks it's her fault Kristin was killed.”

“What?” Tate asked. He reared back and cupped Angie's tear-streaked face. “No. No. No. You are not responsible for someone else's evil. That's on them. Not on you.”

“But if I hadn't dressed as a bride,” Angie blubbered. “If I'd gone as something else . . .”

Her voice trailed off and Tate said, “Then someone else would have been killed, possibly you, or someone else if they got mixed up with you. What if you had gone like a baker? It could have been Mel or Oz that they killed instead.”

Angie blanched. Tate pulled her close and whispered soft words in her ear. Mel couldn't hear what he was saying, but judging by the way Angie's sobs calmed, it was working.

“We'll just leave you two alone for a bit,” Mel said. She took Oz by the elbow and steered him out front.

“T-man will take care of our girl,” Oz said. He patted Mel on the shoulder. “Don't worry.”

“I feel as if that's all I do lately,” Mel said. Her voice sounded more despondent than she'd meant so she forced a smile, trying to make light of it.

“Nice try,” Oz said. He stopped abruptly and said, “Whoa!”

The bakery was empty, not a good thing in Mel's opinion, aside from Matrix Al, Marty, and the two ghost catchers.

The two boys were standing in the booth, aiming what looked like a jerry-rigged Nerf gun at Marty.

“Again with this?” Mel asked. She strode forward. These two were about the same age as her nephews, so she put on her unhappy-aunt voice and barked, “Get. Down. Now.”

The little one looked like he was going to ignore her but the older one yanked him down with him as he jumped from the booth.

“Sorry, ma'am,” the older one said. The younger one repeated him, but it sounded grudging.

“Stop trying to contain my employee,” Mel said. She put her hand on the plastic gun and pushed the muzzle down so that it faced the floor.

“Our specter meter went bonkers,” Leo said. “We were just being cautious in case he morphed on us.”

“Morphed into what?” Marty asked. “A spanking machine? Because you could use one!”

“Marty.” Mel's voice was full of warning. She did not want the wrath of the boys' parents unleashed on her head.

“There was a real dead person at the zombie walk,” Marty grumbled. “Why didn't you contain her ghost so we could figure out who murdered her?”

“Marty!” Mel reached out and pulled the boys against her while clapping her hands over their ears to keep them from hearing anything. “Ixnay on the urdermay alktay.”

“It's okay.” Atom wriggled out of her hold while the older one leaned against her, seemingly content. “We already know about it. Oh, and we're fluent in igpay atinlay.”

Marty wheezed out a laugh. “He's good; knows his pig latin, too.”

Mel frowned and then looked at the boys, gently pushing Leo away from her so she could study them both. “You know about the unfortunate . . .”

“Murder,” they said together.

“Yeah, we were hoping to catch her ghost, but we couldn't get near her with all of those ambulance guys and cops,” Leo said. He sounded put out about it.

“You really need to stay away from situations like that,” Mel said. “Whoever hurt her—”

“Oh, we know who killed her,” Atom said. Leo gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. Atom grimaced and rubbed his side.

“What do you mean?” Mel asked. “Did you see something?”

Leo blew out a breath. “Only the man who was crying over her, her husband, well, he was kissing another woman earlier.”

“No, that can't be. I'm sure it wasn't him,” Mel said. “Probably just someone who looked like him.”

“No, we remember the tuxedo,” Leo said. “He had a pink pocket square, very memorable.”

Mel concentrated. She couldn't remember if Scott had a pink pocket square or not.

“Maybe he was just greeting an old friend or . . .” The boys weren't looking at her or each other. Mel felt her skin get tight. “What exactly did you see?”

Leo looked too embarrassed to speak, but Atom was grinning and he busted into a preadolescent boy's rendition of making out, which basically meant he made loud kissy smacking noises and stuck his tongue out.

“I can't take him anywhere,” Leo confessed, looking pained. Atom was too busy laughing to care that he'd mortified his sibling.

“Are you sure you saw that sort of . . . er . . . behavior?” Mel asked.

“Quite sure,” Leo said.

Mel fretted her lower lip. “What did the other woman look like?”

“A zombie,” Atom said. “But with blue hair and wearing a lab coat. They were hiding out behind one of the vendor booths.”

“Have you mentioned this to anyone else?” Mel asked.

“God, no,” Leo said as if the mere thought was too embarrassing to endure.

“Then don't,” Mel said. “I'm going to talk to my uncle, who is the detective in charge, and if he needs to talk to you about it, he'll be in touch. Okay?”

The brothers exchanged a look and nodded.

“Do you live in the neighborhood?” she asked.

Again, the boys nodded.

“Oz is going to walk you home,” she said.

“Aw, what?” Oz protested. “Now I'm a babysitter?”

“Think of it as a lesson in containing chaos,” Mel said. “When you own your own business, it'll be an invaluable skill.”

“Fine, but if anyone shoots a Nerf dart at me, I consider it an opening shot to full-on warfare,” he said.

Oz ushered the two boys out, and Mel propped open the front door, hoping it made the shop more welcoming. Then she turned on Al.

“Lose the jacket and glasses,” she said.

“But that's my intimidation technique,” he said.

“Tough,” Mel said. “You're killing business. No one wants to buy a cupcake from a man who looks like walking death.”

Al smiled.

“That was not a compliment,” Mel said.

Al frowned.

“Come on, big guy.” Marty put his arm around Al and led him into the back. “If you're going to loiter around the shop, you may as well put on an apron and get to work.”

“I think I just felt my manhood shrivel up,” Al said with a sigh as he followed Marty into the back room.

Mel glanced around her shop, with its black-and-white tile, pink vinyl furniture, and atomic accents, it was a slice of retro-fifties Americana, and she loved it.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The smell of frosting and cake and all things yummy and lovely filled her senses. It was going to be okay. Whatever was happening with Joe and his terrifying trial, with Kristin's murder, with the ghost hunters and all of it, one way or another, it would end.

Of course, if Leo and Atom were right and they had seen Scott with another woman on the day of the zombie walk, well, things could get very dicey. It meant Scott had more of a reason to kill his wife than Tucci did. The thought made Mel shiver, especially because she had no way to let Joe know what she had just learned.

The scary thought that it could end with Joe being dead destroyed all of her calming techniques, and she had to swallow back a sob of her own. For the first time since opening her shop, she felt as if everything she had worked so hard to build was about to fall down around her ears.

Tate stuck his head through the kitchen door and told Mel he was taking Angie home. Now that Angie had admitted to the burden of guilt she'd been trying to deny, Tate felt she needed some time to process her feelings about the situation. Mel was actually relieved to see them go. Angie would be safe and Mel could start to get some work done.