Dark Chocolate Demise (12 page)

“You talked to Joe?” Stan asked.

“I assumed he told you,” Mel said. She glanced from Manny to Stan. They were both giving her hard stares. “He stopped by last night.”

“Damn it!” Uncle Stan cursed. “What was he thinking? He could have put you in terrible danger.”

“Probably, that's why I'm here,” Manny said. “I was wondering why he was so adamant that I watch over you tonight. I might have known I'm cleaning up his mess.”

“Um . . . thank you?” Mel said. Her voice was tart with sarcasm.

“You know what I meant,” Manny said. “You only need me here tonight because someone might have seen him last night.”

“I sincerely doubt anyone saw him, and if they did they wouldn't have recognized him. I sure didn't,” Mel said. “He wore a disguise.”

“Tell me it was something I can tease him about for the next fifty years,” Manny begged. “Please. Did he dress like a woman?”

Mel smiled. “No, he went with more of a redneck theme.”

“I thought you said it was a disguise,” Manny said.

“Har har,” Uncle Stan said. “Focus, people. Mel, did you get any sense of danger today?”

Mel thought about the two specter-hunting boys dogging Marty, the DeLaura brothers in all of their drama, and Angie's breakdown.

“Danger? No,” she said. “Drama, yes.”

Manny and Stan both watched her as if waiting for more of an explanation. She shrugged.

“Just the usual bakery chaos and mayhem,” she clarified. She wasn't sure why she hesitated to tell them what the boys had told her about seeing Scott Streubel with someone other than his wife, but she found herself hesitating. If the boys were wrong, she couldn't bear the idea of causing Scott more grief. And really, how reliable were two boys who thought Marty was a ghost? If she could just contact Joe and tell him what she knew, she would feel so much better about it.

“Okay, so maybe Manny can show you some of the pics of Tucci's goons,” Uncle Stan said. “Just so you have a heads-up if any of them come your way.”

Mel nodded. This at least felt productive.

“Not that I expect any of them to come after you, but if they did, you would know not to engage,” Uncle Stan said.

“Of course,” Mel said.

“Scenario,” Uncle Stan said. “One of Tucci's thugs shows up at the bakery; what do you do?”

“Call the police,” Mel said.

“Wrong!” Manny said.

“Get the hell out of there,” Uncle Stan said. “That is your first priority. Get out. Then call the police. Then call me.”

“Got it,” Mel said.

Stan gave her a worried look. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket.

“The chief,” he said to Manny. “I'm out. Watch over my girl.”

“Will do,” Manny said.

“I'll have a cruiser parked out front as a deterrent,” Stan said. “And the patrol units will be doing constant sweeps.”

Mel stood and walked him to the door. He gave her a bear hug and said, “Don't linger in front of any windows, and make sure someone is always watching the door. Do whatever Manny tells you to do when he tells you to do it.”

“I'll be fine,” Mel said. “Quit worrying.”

“I just can't help feeling like I should talk to your mother about this situation,” Stan said.

“Let's not do that to her,” Mel said. “She hasn't put together the murdered bride at the zombie walk with Angie, and there's nothing to indicate my being in danger. Why cause her unwarranted stress?”

Uncle Stan patted his shirt pocket and pulled out his roll of antacid tablets. He popped one into his mouth and said, “Yeah, I've got that part covered by myself.”

Mel hugged him tight. “Go see the chief, then go home and get some sleep.”

Uncle Stan kissed her forehead, and Mel closed and locked the door behind him. When she turned around, it was to find Manny staring at her.

“And then there were two,” he said.

Mel gulped.

As if to complain that he was left out of the count, Captain Jack gave a howl, and Mel realized she needed to feed her fuzzy feline.

“My mistake,” Manny said. “Make that ‘and then there were three.'”

Mel nodded. “Jack does make himself unforgettable.”

While Mel set up Jack's supper, Manny cleaned up the refuse from dinner. She wasn't sure how she felt about him being so at home in her apartment, but since he appeared to be spending the night, she supposed it was only natural.

Except the entire situation wasn't natural or reasonable. To have him here while she slept, that was going to be weird. Good grief, she hoped she didn't snore. Then again, maybe it would be better if she did.

She had to fight a sudden urge to send Joe a text of her own. What was he thinking, putting her in this situation?

Manny moved behind her in the tiny kitchen, and Mel slid out of the way. She figured the only way this whole sleepover from hell was going to work was if she maintained a three-foot boundary zone away from him. Then nothing inappropriate could happen, right? Right.

“So, you were going to show me a lineup of thugs,” she said.

“It's on my laptop,” he said. “Come here.”

He scooped up his laptop and sat on the futon. Mel perched on the nearby chair. He looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

“How are you going to see from over there?” he asked. “Come here.”

Mel rose and sat on the end of the futon, maintaining her out-of-reach position.

“Really?” Manny asked. “We're so immature that we can't even sit next to each other? What do you think is going to happen?”

He sounded offended, and Mel felt her face grow warm with embarrassment. He was right. She was acting like an idiot. But the truth was she liked Manny, way more than she should in fact, and having him in her space was very confusing.

She slid across the futon until they were sitting side by side. His attention was on his laptop, and she was grateful because it gave her a chance to get used to the heat coming off of him. He smelled citrusy and masculine, and even after a long day at work, his chin was whisker free as if he enjoyed a really close shave.

Mel cleared her throat, which suddenly felt constricted like Captain Jack with a hairball. Speaking of which . . . Where was he? He'd make an excellent buffer. She glanced over the back of the futon to see that Jack still had his face firmly planted in his food bowl; so much for that.

“Okay, here's our file on Tucci,” Manny said. He propped the laptop on the wooden trunk in front of them, and they both leaned forward to see.

Mel saw a file full of pictures, and she leaned in closer to get a good look. She really hoped she saw someone she recognized. The thought of Tucci going away for longer or for good was all the incentive she needed.

Manny clicked on the file to open the pictures up. The image filled the screen, and Mel frowned. The man in the picture looked as buttoned down as a person could get, wearing a blue dress shirt, navy tie, and khakis with a belt and matching loafers.

“He looks like an accountant,” she said. She turned to look at Manny and realized his face was only inches away from hers.

“That's because he is,” he said with a laugh. He turned to look at her and he abruptly stopped laughing. His gaze flickered over her face as if he wasn't sure where to look exactly. He glanced back at the screen on his laptop.

Mel watched in fascination as the humor slid from his face, and his features resumed his stern cop mask. Now why was that? Because of the seriousness of the situation? Because he felt the same awareness for her that she felt for him? Because he'd remembered it was Joe who had sent him here tonight? She couldn't hazard a guess.

“Phil Terrazo,” Manny said. “He's a certified CPA and while the FBI has been watching him, they've never been able to catch him cooking the books.”

“Maybe he's legit,” Mel said. She forced herself to look at the grainy picture on the computer and not think about anything but Tucci's thugs.

“No way,” Manny said. “He just hasn't been caught . . . yet.”

Manny scrolled through several more pictures. Each one of the men was an employee of Tucci's in some capacity or another. Mel desperately wished to see a familiar beak of a nose or bad comb-over, but no. She had never seen any of these men before.

Manny clicked the mouse, and another picture came up. This one showed a slick-looking young guy in a sharp suit beside a very expensive car. The way he was posed, looking over the top of his expensive sunglasses right at the camera, which Mel was pretty sure was supposed to be a surveillance camera, made her think he knew his picture was being taken and he didn't care.

“Who is that?” she asked. He looked familiar but she couldn't fathom why.

“Vincent Tucci,” Manny said. “He's Frank's son. He apparently has taken over management of the family restaurant Frank and Mickey's.”

“I know that place,” Mel said. “I delivered cupcakes there once for a party. There was even talk about them carrying my cupcakes on their dessert menu. So, the Frank in Frank and Mickey's is Frank Tucci?”

“A restaurant or any cash-intensive business is a wonderful place to launder money,” Manny said.

“Is Vincent a mobster, too?” she asked, looking back at the handsome man in the picture.

“By all accounts, he's legit, but we keep him on file just in case.”

“So, that's why he looks like he doesn't care if he's being watched,” she said.

“Yeah, the rookie who took that pic has taken a serious razzing for it,” Manny said. “Undercover, my ass.”

He clicked to the next picture. Mel glanced at it. It was a shriveled-up old man who looked like he couldn't harm a hamster, never mind a person.

“Don't let the geezer look fool you,” Manny said. “That's Tommy the Knuckle.”

“The Knuckle?” Mel asked. “Explain.”

“He got his name because he was an expert at breaking the knuckles of people who owed him money—with his bare hands.”

Mel curled her hands into fists and tucked them against her middle. “Please tell me he's retired.”

“I wish,” Manny said with a shake of the head. “He doesn't do the heavy lifting himself anymore, but he's still connected.”

“A baker's hands are her livelihood,” Mel said.

Manny gave her a sympathetic look, which he swiftly covered with a scowl.

“Then maybe you should consider leaving town like Joe asked you to,” he said.

“He told you about that?” Mel said. “What else did he tell you?”

Manny glanced away. “What do you mean?”

“Is he going to win his case against Tucci?” she asked. “Or is he going to lose and then spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder?”

“His case is strong; they've got him on racketeering, tax evasion, coercion, you name it,” Manny said. “But the defense attorney is slippery and well connected.”

“So no guarantee,” she said.

“No, but I have to think Joe's got Tucci running scared,” Manny said. “Otherwise why target Angie or Kristin or you?”

“There has been nothing to indicate that I am a target,” Mel said. “And it could be that Kristin was the target all along, since Scott's working the Tucci case, too.”

“Maybe, but why would he target a law clerk's wife?” Manny argued. “It's much better to go after the prosecuting attorney if he's out to disable the trial. Besides, it's too coincidental that both Kristin and Angie were dressed as zombie brides,” he said. He gave a little shiver and Mel looked at him.

“Are you afraid of zombies?” she asked.

“No!” he said. He said it too fast and he didn't make eye contact.

“You are!” Mel accused and then laughed. “You're afraid of the undead!”

“No, I'm not,” he insisted. “Do you have to call them that?”

Mel laughed. He frowned.

“You know my people celebrate Día de los Muertos, the day of the dead, so the whole zombie thing to me is a little too close to home.”

“You really think the dead can be reanimated?” Mel asked.

“No, but I think their spirits don't always leave completely,” he said. “And zombies remind me a bit too often that we aren't always as alone as we might think we are.”

His words made Mel's skin tingle.

“Who?” she asked. She didn't have to explain; he knew what she was asking.

“
Mi abuelo
,” he said. He stared across her small apartment, but she knew he wasn't seeing it. He was seeing his grandfather. “This is going to sound crazy, but the old man loved
Sábado Gigante
.”

“The variety show with Don Francisco?”

He nodded at her and she could tell he was impressed that she knew of the popular Latin American show.

“That's the one,” he said. “My grandfather said it was for the comedy, but my brother and I were pretty sure it was for the hotties. Either way, after he passed, we stopped watching it. We were more sports guys. But a few times when no one was watching the television, it would turn on by itself and be tuned to that show. We knew it was him. We just knew it.”

Mel felt the hair at the nape of her neck prickle. She shivered and Manny gave her a half hug.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out,” he said with a chuckle. “But yeah, even the memory gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

He kept his arm where it was, and Mel found herself leaning into his warmth. She didn't know if it was the talk of ghosts or knuckle-breaking mobsters that had her so jittery, but either way, Manny's strong arm across her back was very comforting.

She felt him go still and she turned her head to look at him. And there it was in his black eyes, that awareness between them that made it impossible to just be pals, or buddies, or friends.

He dropped his arm and Mel scooted back a few inches. They didn't look at each other.

“I've got two ghost hunting boys who'd love to hear about your
abuelo
,” Mel said. She knew she was babbling trying to get them back to normal, whatever that was, but Manny wasn't saying anything so she forged on. “They call themselves the Bonehead Investigators and have a specter meter and everything. Right now they're sort of locked in on Marty, but I think a real ghost story might divert them.”

“This isn't working, is it?” he asked. His voice sounded a bit rueful. Mel pretended not to understand.

“What?” she asked. She decided to play stupid and hoped he would, too. No such luck.

“You and me,” he said. “Specifically, me playing number two to Joe DeLaura, waiting and wondering if you're ever going to call it with him and give me a shot.”

“I never—” Mel began but he interrupted.

“I know,” he said. “You've never given me any reason to think that you were over Joe, but you didn't jump at the chance to marry him, either.”

Mel closed her eyes. It hurt to know that she was giving Manny mixed signals. She'd never meant to. It was just that things were complicated with her and Joe.

“That was because of my own issues,” she said. “That whole ‘until death us do part' thing sort of tripped me up. So when Joe asked, I panicked.”

“But you said yes,” Manny said.

“Sort of,” she said. “We kept it a secret and then I snapped. Too much grief and too many dead bodies were all around me. I didn't think I could handle it. Then when I finally got my head straightened out, I proposed to Joe, and he left skid marks. Well, you know, you were there.”

She laughed but it was without humor.

“You know he did it to keep you safe,” Manny said. “He walked away because he loves you, Mel.”

Mel stared at her hands. She hadn't had anyone to talk to about her and Joe. Angie, being Joe's sister, didn't really work as a confidant. And Joyce, Mel's mother, got too emotional about the whole thing. And Tate, bless his heart, had been too caught up in launching their first franchise and being engaged to Angie to really be the pillar of support that Mel had been looking for.

So, for the past two months, Mel had really been on her own with her mixed-up feelings, which had rocketed from anger to understanding back to anger to settle somewhere in confusion. And there she had remained, especially after seeing Joe last night and knowing that things between her and Joe were far from over. The irony that it was Manny she was talking about her relationship with did not escape her.

“So Joe says,” she agreed. “But it feels more like being stuck. I can't go backwards and I can't go forward. And so I wait.”

Manny was quiet for a while. When he spoke his voice was low, almost as if he didn't really want to ask the question but he couldn't help it, and so he said it softly in a half voice as if he weren't really asking. “How long?”

Mel didn't need to clarify the question. She knew he was asking how long she would wait for Joe.