Dark Chocolate Demise (5 page)

Mel dropped Angie's arm. She tried to push aside the veil and Angie's thick dark hair to see if her friend was breathing. Her hands were shaking too hard to function, and she was whimpering like a wounded animal as tears clouded her vision.

“Damn it, Angie,” Mel cried. “You're freaking me out. Quit the act!”

Angie didn't move, and Mel knew. She knew it was true. Her friend was dead.

Hysterical, Mel spun around and faced the crowd. “Help! Please somebody, help!”

As if this was a part of the event, no one moved at first. Terror and frustration made Mel charge the crowd. She grabbed the first normal-looking person she could find and yanked them back towards the coffin.

“My friend is . . .” She couldn't say it. “Help me!”

The man stared at her as if he suspected a con. He approached the coffin as if fully expecting the body in it to jump out at him. She didn't.

He reached forward and took Angie's arm. He gave Mel a bug-eyed glance and then shouted over his shoulder.

“Oh, my God! She's telling the truth—this woman is dead!” he shouted to the friends he'd been walking with.

At that, his friends hurried forward and began to help him get Angie out of the coffin. Mel dashed around the side of the bakery truck and pounded on the window. Marty glanced up and before she could say a word, he was rocketing out of the back of the van.

“What is it?” he asked.

“We need to find Tate,” Mel gasped. Snot and tears were coursing down her face, making it hard to talk or breathe. “It's Angie.”

“Is she hurt?” He grabbed her arms and gave her a little shake. “Where is she?”

Mel choked; she couldn't form the words. She pointed to the coffin in front of the van. “She's d—”

“What?” Marty dropped Mel's arms and raced to the front of the van, where the three men were trying to maneuver Angie's body in its voluminous gown out of the casket.

Marty darted forward yelling, “Call an ambulance!” to a woman nearby.

Mel followed in a stupor. Her ears were ringing. Her vision was blurry. She couldn't breathe. Her brain was refusing to register anything in front of her, and she felt as if someone had reached inside and yanked out all of her innards.

Someone took her arm, and yelled, “I think this woman is in shock.”

The world tilted sideways and Mel felt woozy. She blinked and tried to suck in enough air to stay conscious. She couldn't faint. Angie needed her. Tate needed her.

Her legs gave out and she leaned heavily on the person who'd taken her arm. People were shouting and she was jostled as someone grabbed her other arm.

“What's going on?”

“What's happening?”

“Mel!”

She glanced up and saw Tate and Oz running towards her. She shoved away the person who held her and stumbled forward.

Tate caught her as she wobbled on her feet.

“Mel, are you all right?” Tate cupped her face and checked her eyes as if looking for signs of an injury or illness.

Mel's voice sounded garbled even in her head. She gestured behind her and finally managed to say, “No. Go. There.”

Tate looked over her head, and his already pale face went deathly white. He let go of Mel and bolted towards the bride being lifted out of the coffin.

“Angie!” His shout was hoarse and so full of terror that Mel felt her own heart clench hard in her chest.

Oz grabbed her arm to steady her, and they hurriedly followed in Tate's wake.

“What's happening?” Oz asked. His voice sounded scared and vulnerable, and Mel wished she could lie and tell him everything was okay, but it wasn't, and she knew it never would be.

“Angie!” Tate shoved his way through the men who'd lifted Angie out of the coffin. He knelt beside her and began to push back her veil and dark hair.

Mel got a glimpse of the front of Angie's dress. It was saturated in blood, not the artistic splatter she and Tate had flicked onto each other with paintbrushes and laughter, but rather a full-on soaking of blood. Mel felt bile splash the back of her throat, and she gagged.

“What's going on?” someone demanded, but Mel couldn't look away from her friend's body. Her throat felt as if it had hardened, and no words were able to pass. “Never mind, I'll see for myself.”

Mel felt someone brush past her and she watched as a woman in a gown knelt beside Tate. He turned to look at her once, twice, and then he yelled. He stood up and grabbed her and crushed her to him.

“Are you real?” he cried. Then he kissed her face all over. Angie was blinking and smiling and—

Angie!

Mel glanced from the body to her friend and back and back again. She grabbed Oz and hugged him hard. Relief hit her like a brick to the temple, and she didn't pause to stop and think but instead launched herself at her two friends.

“You're alive! Oh, thank god, you're alive,” she said.

She wrapped her arms about both of her friends and squeezed them in the tightest hug she could manage.

“Can't breathe,” Angie cried.

Mel quickly let go and stepped back. Oz reached around her to give Angie a bear hug before giving her back to Tate.

“I love you guys, too, really, but what's going on?” Angie asked.

Just then Officer Henry bustled through the crowd. He was talking into his radio and he knelt beside the body of the woman on the ground. The sound of a siren in the distance alerted them to an arriving ambulance.

Henry pushed aside the last of the woman's hair and veil. She was young and pretty, like Angie, but not Angie. He checked her over and with a sad shake of his head, he stood and began talking into his radio again. Mel didn't need to hear him to know that he was reporting that the woman was dead.

“Oh, wow,” Angie said. “She's dressed as a bride like me.” Then she put it all together. She looked at Tate and then at Mel. “You thought that was me.”

Mel nodded, still not really sure she was up to talking. The men who had helped to lift the woman out of the coffin began to back the crowd up to make room for the other bicycle officers who arrived.

“What happened?” Angie asked. “How did she get here?”

Tate looked at Mel as if he was wondering the same thing. Mel cleared her throat and started to explain.

“She was in the coffin. When I saw her, I thought you were pranking me,” she said to Angie. “I couldn't see her face, because she was on her side, but her dress looked like yours so I just assumed . . .” Mel pushed back her toque with a shaky hand and saw a smear of the woman's blood on her hands. “I think I might be sick.”

“Come on,” Tate said. “Let's move to the side, where you can get some air.”

They circled around the van, where Marty and Oz joined them. Marty borrowed a folding chair from the T-shirt vendor next to the van and helped Mel sit down.

“Put your head between your knees if you need it,” Marty said. “I'm going to keep an eye.”

Mel wasn't sure if he meant he'd watch the body or the coffin, but she suspected he meant the coffin.

Oz went into the van and came back with a cold cloth that he put on the back of Mel's neck. It helped a bit.

Marty stood by the corner of the cupcake van. He was peering around the corner, reporting the goings-on.

“Ambulance guys are here,” he said. “Oh, no.”

“What is it?” Tate asked. He was standing with an arm around Angie's waist as if afraid to let her out of his sight again.

“There's a commotion,” Marty said.

“I guess an actual dead body at a zombie walk would do that,” Oz said.

“No, this, ah.” Marty stalled out of words and rubbed the back of his head as if he could generate the right explanation with a good scalp massage.

“Marty, what is it?” Mel asked. She felt her anxiety spike. Was the dead woman reanimating like a real zombie? What?

“Angie!” An anguished cry reached their ears, and they all glanced at one another.

“Yeah, Roach just arrived,” Marty said.

Angie glanced at Tate and said, “I have to go to him.”

He gave her a quick nod.

Angie hurried around the van while the rest of them followed.

Roach was flailing and fighting the officers who were holding him back, trying to keep him away from the body.

“Roach!” Angie cried. “I'm here. I'm okay. I'm fine.”

But the crazed rock star couldn't hear her over the shouts of the crowd. He was bucking and fighting, and it wasn't until Angie jumped right in front of him and yelled, “Stop!” that he finally heard her.

“Angie!” He blinked and then he grabbed her. He hauled her up tight against him and then planted a kiss on her that made every woman in the crowd wilt at the knees.

Angie melted up against him for just a second before she wrenched herself out of his arms. She was breathless when she straightened her veil and said, “Easy there, cowboy, I'm spoken for.”

The officers stepped back just as Tate rolled up to stand beside Angie. His eyes were hard and Mel wondered if he was going to punch Roach in the mouth. He didn't. Instead he crossed his arms over his chest, probably to keep himself from doing exactly that.

“I don't think I've ever seen T-man lose his cool,” Oz whispered.

“Emotions are running high,” Marty said. “He'll be okay.”

“It wasn't you,” Roach said. He was staring at Angie in wonder. “I heard that a zombie bride had been found dead. Oh, man, I think I just aged five years.”

“I'm sorry,” Angie said. She patted his arm. “It wasn't me. It was another bride.”

Roach glanced from her to where the officers and EMTs were examining the body of the other woman. His face paled and he turned back to Angie as if to make sure that she was just fine.

“Are we good here now?” Tate asked. He took Angie's arm to lead her away.

“You! Todd!” Roach stomped forward, blocking Tate's way and shoving his face right in front of his. His voice was a low, menacing growl when he asked, “What did you do?”

“Excuse me?” Tate asked. “I know your feeble brain can only retain drumbeats, but my name is Tate, as in Tate Harper, the man who is going to marry Angie DeLaura.”

“Todd, Tim, Turnip, who cares?” Roach seethed. “I know what you did.”

“Really? What's that?” Tate asked. He looked completely unfazed in the face of Roach's fury, which Mel knew he was doing just to make Roach even more furious. It worked.

“You know what you did!” Roach shouted. “What happened, Tom? Were you so afraid that you were going to lose Angie to me that you decided to stop her by any means possible?”

Now Tate was getting angry. Mel could tell by the red flush that crept up the back of his neck and the way he bunched his fists and leaned forward like he was ready to take a swing and put some weight behind it. Judging by the way the police officers took a few steps closer to the two men, they sensed it, too.

“What are you talking about, you narcissistic jackass?” Tate yelled.

“Guys, stop!” Angie scolded them. “A woman has been killed.” She gestured to the body behind her, which was now being photographed by the crime scene unit. “Show some respect. Whatever issue you two have, it does not need to be worked out right here and now.”

“That's where you're wrong,” Roach said. He glared at Tate before he looked back at Angie and continued. “Don't you see, baby girl? He found out that we were together after the show, and in a jealous rage he killed that woman thinking she was you.”

“Now hold on!” Tate yelled. “First, I didn't kill anyone.”

Officer Henry gave him a scrutinizing glance, and Tate gave it right back.

“I'm a witness,” Oz said. “T-man and I were in a fight.”

“You were in a fight?” Angie squawked, noticing Tate's scraped knuckles for the first time. She grabbed his hand and studied it more closely.

“That's not the issue right now,” Tate said, pulling his hand away with a wince. “What exactly does he mean you were together after the show? I thought you went to the bathroom.”

“I did,” she said. “But I didn't want to try and cram all of this”—she gestured to her poufy skirt—“in a stall, so I went back to the bakery. On my way back, I ran into Roach and we talked.”

Roach made a scoffing sound and Tate frowned at him. Mel had a feeling fists were going to fly at any moment. She suspected that Oz and Marty were getting the same feeling as they inched closer to Tate, as if to be in grabbing range.

“Oh, no you don't,” Angie said to Roach. “Don't you try to make something out of nothing. We talked. It was very nice. Don't ruin it.”

Roach let out an impatient sigh, and Mel noted that Tate's shoulders seemed to ease down just a little bit. Then they snapped back up as Tate studied Roach more closely.

“You know, given that you've been accused of murder once before, I'd say that of the two of us, that makes you the more likely suspect,” Tate said. “That and the fact that
I
got the girl. What's the matter, you couldn't sweet talk her back to you so you decided to kill her?”

This time Roach did lose his cool. With a gruff shout, he lowered his head like a bull about to charge. Tate shoved Angie into Oz's arms and braced himself. The hit never came. Roach took only three steps forward, when he was grabbed by the back of his expensive leather jacket.

Mel glanced around him to see Detective Manny Martinez holding on to Roach but looking at her.

“It's been a long time, Mel,” he said.

Caught off guard by the handsome detective, Mel nodded.

“Five weeks, four days, and a handful of hours to be exact,” he said.

Mel raised her eyebrows in surprise. He'd been counting?

Manny passed Roach off to Officer Henry. “Walk him around until he cools off.” Then he turned to Tate and said, “Really?”

“Sorry, it's been a rough afternoon,” Tate said.

Manny nodded. “So, I heard.” He glanced over his shoulder at the crime scene techs working around the body. “If you'll excuse me, I need to be briefed.”

He left without waiting for a response, and Mel felt her insides pinch. She and Manny had been friends, maybe even a little bit more than friends, given that he had saved her life and all, but he had wanted more, and she could never be more. She was in love with Joe DeLaura, and she always would be.

“I think I liked it better when he thought he had a chance with you,” Angie said. “This feels . . . awkward.”

“Tell me about it,” Mel said.

Uncle Stan came tromping through the crowd. He had his usual roll of antacid tablets clutched in his fist, and Mel could see he was clearly unhappy about being called to the scene of a homicide in the middle of all of this chaos.

“Back up!” he barked at a pair of zombies who were crowding him. He stopped in front of Mel and company and stared at them. “Oh, for the love of Pete, not you, too.”

“We're working it,” Mel said by way of explanation. Then she gestured to the van as if to prove they had not been having any fun of any kind.

“Stan,” Officer Henry called his name, and Stan turned to face him. “Did Mel tell you that she's the one who found the body?”

Stan turned back to Mel with a look of disbelief. She gave him a sheepish shrug.

“She was stuffed in our coffin,” Mel explained. At his sympathetic look, the words came tumbling out in a rush. “She's dressed like a bride and I thought she was Angie and then I couldn't get her out and then there was so much blood . . .”

Mel started to hiccup and Stan opened his arms and pulled her into a bear hug, so much like the ones her father, Stan's older brother, used to give when she was little that Mel's hiccups turned into sobs, and she gooped all over his suit jacket. Stan didn't care. He patted her back and shushed her while she cried even harder.

Coming from sturdy Irish stock, the Cooper men were built big. They gave the best hugs in the world, and there wasn't a day that passed that Mel didn't miss getting squeezes from her dad. She was so grateful to have Uncle Stan in her life to help fill the void. She hugged him back as hard as she could.

“You all right?” he asked when her sobs began to slow.

“Yeah, I'm good,” she lied. “It's just been . . . awful.”

Stan let her go and stepped back to study her face. They both knew she wasn't just talking about finding the body. Heck, she'd found enough bodies to have developed the requisite gallows humor as a coping mechanism.

No, she was talking about the relentless stress and worry she'd been enduring since Joe had begun his trial a few months before, and Stan knew it.

“He's okay,” Stan said. “We've had protection on him since day one, and don't discount the brothers. They're excellent guard dogs.”

Mel snuffled and nodded. “I know. I'll just be really glad when this trial is over.”

“Hang tough, kid.” Stan patted her shoulder. Then he straightened up and Mel knew he was bracing himself for what he was about to go do. She didn't envy him the grisly task.

One of the crime scene investigators was cordoning off the area with yellow tape. Mel was relieved that they didn't loop the van, although she was certain there was no way they'd be selling any more cupcakes today. The mere thought made her sick to her stomach.

“I feel sort of disgusting in this getup,” Angie said. “Do you think Stan will mind if I leave?”

“I don't think so,” Mel said. “I mean, you weren't here, so it's not like you're a witness or anything.”

“Kristin!” a man yelled as he charged towards them.

Mel only had a moment to register that he was dressed in a tuxedo and looked an awful lot like Tate, the zombie groom, before he was upon them. He grabbed Angie's arm and spun her around.

“Kristin! Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you,” he said. He hugged her close. “Did you hear a woman was killed? When I couldn't find you . . .”

His voice trailed off and he let go of Angie as he noticed Mel standing beside them. Mel glanced at Tate, who looked as sick about the situation as she felt. This had to be the dead woman's boyfriend or husband. Mel closed her eyes for a second and dug deep, looking for strength. This could have played out so differently.

“Sir, I'm so sorry, there's been a . . .” she began but he interrupted her.

“Mel? Mel Cooper?” he asked.

Mel looked at him. She couldn't see past the ghoulish makeup or the fake gash on his neck. If he was a regular at the bakery, she couldn't place him.

“It's me, Scott Streubel; I'm a law clerk in your . . . er . . . in Joe DeLaura's office,” he said.

Ding!
The light went off and Mel remembered Scott and his wife, Kristin. They'd gotten married about six months ago. She and Joe had attended the service and reception. Joe had even toasted them, wishing them a long and happy life together.

Mel felt bile splash up into the back of her throat. She desperately hoped that she was wrong, please, please, please, but on the off chance she wasn't, she figured it was better if she was the one to tell Scott what was happening.

“Oh, Scott,” Mel said. Her voice must have registered her distress, because he gave her a wary look.

“What is it, Mel?”

“This isn't your wife,” she said, gesturing to Angie. “This is my friend Angie.”

Angie faced him so he could really see her, and Scott blinked. “Oh, I'm sorry. I thought . . . then . . .”

Mel hadn't thought he could get any paler than the white pancake makeup he had on his face. She was wrong. So wrong.

Scott whipped his head in the direction of the police. He lurched forward as if he'd forgotten how to walk and was forcing his feet to move by sheer will.

“Kristin!” he cried.

Mel hurried along beside him. Manny met them at the yellow tape. He held up his hands to hold them back, but Mel shook her head at him. Manny's eyes darted to Scott's wedding suit. Manny looked pained. He lifted the plastic tape and gestured for Scott to follow him. Mel followed, hoping against hope that this was all just a horrible mistake.

The crowd was silent as they watched the groom kneel by the bride. Mel hovered behind Scott, not knowing what to do or how to help. Manny stood beside her as if offering his strength. She appreciated it more than she could say.

The tech moved aside, and Scott slowly crawled forward. It took him only a second. He took the woman's hand in his, and the anguished cry that left him as he bowed his head to the ground made the hair on the back of Mel's neck stand on end.

It was the sound of a man's heart being ripped out of his chest and squeezed by the mean fist of grief until it stopped beating completely.