Buttercream Bump Off Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Recipes

  Teaser chapter

  Praise for Sprinkle with Murder

  “A tender cozy full of warm and likable characters and a refreshingly sympathetic murder victim. Readers will look forward to more of McKinlay’s tasty concoctions.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “McKinlay’s debut mystery flows as smoothly as Melanie Cooper’s buttercream frosting. Her characters are delicious, and the dash of romance is just the icing on the cake.”

  —Sheila Connolly, author of Red Delicious Death

  “Jenn McKinlay delivers all the ingredients for a winning read. Frost me another!”

  —Cleo Coyle, national bestselling author of the Coffeehouse Mysteries

  “A delicious new series featuring a spirited heroine, luscious cupcakes, and a clever murder. Jenn McKinlay has baked a sweet read.”

  —Krista Davis, author of the Domestic Diva Mysteries

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Jenn McKinlay

  SPRINKLE WITH MURDER

  BUTTERCREAM BUMP OFF

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  BUTTERCREAM BUMP OFF

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / January 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer McKinlay Orf.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN: 9781101480892

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For the Hub, Chris Hansen Orf.

  To quote your own song back to you: “I’ll still love you when I’m dust and bone.”

  Acknowledgments

  For the love of cupcakes! I want to acknowledge all of the wonderful readers who have taken Mel, Angie, and Tate into their hearts. I am just delighted that so many of you “get it”! It’s been such a pleasure hearing from you all. Special thanks to Mat Matazzoni for entering and winning the “Name the Cupcake” contest. You’re in these pages somewhere—have fun finding you!

  As always, a special thanks to the dudes, Beckett and Wyatt. Thanks for your help in the kitchen as we experiment with our cupcake recipes and for making me laugh, especially when we suffer cupcake fail.

  Thanks to my families, the McKinlays and the Orfs, for your constant encouragement. It means more than I can ever say.

  Props to Jessica Faust, agent extraordinaire; Kate Seaver, the ultimate editor; Katherine Pelz, the gifted assistant editor; Andy Ball, the brilliant copyeditor; and Megan Swartz, PR whiz. I could never manage any of this without all of you.

  And here’s a shout-out to all of my pals in the kitchen (my fellow bloggers at the Mystery Lover’s Kitchen) and my writer pals, the ladies of the loop. Also, thanks to my dear, dear friends for coming to the signings, buying the books, and for enjoying this e-ticket ride almost as much as I do! Love you all!

  One

  “You need to get to the corner of Fifth Avenue and Scottsdale Road. Now.”

  “Angie?” Melanie Cooper barely recognized her business partner’s voice through her sleep-induced haze. “What’s going on?”

  “Fifth and Scottsdale,” Angie DeLaura repeated. The phone went dead.

  Mel glanced at the cell phone in her hand then at her alarm clock, which read 6:57. A phone call this early in the morning had better mean Angie’s car had been stolen or was on fire.

  She heaved off her comforter and rolled out of bed. Mel didn’t like mornings on the best of days, but in January, even in Scottsdale, Arizona, it surely was a crime to be dragged out of bed before the sun, especially without a cup of coffee to chase away the morning chill. Still, Angie had been her best friend for more than twenty years. She wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.

  That thought got Mel moving. She grabbed a thick-hooded sweatshirt and tugged it on over her flannel pajamas. She could feel the static raise her short blonde hair up, and she imagined she looked like a troll doll on a bad-hair day, without the cute belly button. She jammed her feet into her slip-on sneakers and grabbed her keys.

  Mel lived in a snug studio apartment above their cupcake bakery, Fairy Tale Cupcakes, in the heart of Old Town Scottsdale. Angie was her partner, along with their other childhood friend, Tate Harper, who was their main investor. The corner of Fifth and Scottsdale was only a block away. She could be there in minutes.

  She pounded down the back stairs and hurried to her red Mini Cooper, which was parked in an adjacent lot. Two quick rights later, she slid into a parking spot in front of an art gallery. The commuter traffic was just beginning, and the int
ersection ahead of her had an impressive line of cars waiting for the light to change.

  Mel spotted Angie sitting on a wooden bench just south of the corner. She didn’t appear to be sporting burns or lacerations, so a car accident was out of the question.

  “What’s up?” Mel asked as she slid onto the bench beside her.

  “Wait for it,” Angie said and handed her a large, steaming latte in a tall paper cup.

  Mel’s will to live increased tenfold.

  “Wait for . . . ?”

  Angie held up her hand, and Mel took a sip from her cup, knowing it would do no good to press. Angie was stubborn like that.

  The steaming swallow of java was halfway down her throat when she glanced up and saw a six-foot-tall cupcake come around the corner. Her coffee shot back up her throat, and she erupted into a fit of coughing, causing Angie to pound her on the back.

  Mel shoved her aside as soon as she could drag in a breath and goggled at the enormous pink confection strutting between the idling vehicles. It took only a moment to recognize her archenemy, but there was no doubt about it. The giant cupcake was Olivia Puckett!

  She was wearing an electric blue satin skirt, pleated accordion style and topped by a pink puffy blouse, stuffed to resemble a gob of frosting and beaded to give it a sprinkle effect. She wore this over bright blue support hose and broad white high heels. A big, round cherry sat on top of her head, tied under her chin like a bonnet. She was handing out hot pink flyers, one of which Angie shoved into Mel’s hands.

  Free Cupcakes! it read in bold print. It was a coupon for anyone who entered Confections, Olivia’s rival bakery.

  “Do you think it’s a felony to hit a cupcake with your car?” Mel asked.

  “Hard to say. You might want to check with Uncle Stan first,” Angie said.

  Mel’s Uncle Stan was a detective with the Scottsdale Police Department. She supposed she could ask him, but somehow she didn’t think she’d like the answer.

  The light changed, and they watched as the enormous cupcake was caught in the crosswalk and had to hustle her pleated derriere out of the way before the rude honks escalated to rude hand gestures.

  It was then, as she tottered onto the curb trying to catch her balance, that the giant cupcake spotted Angie and Mel. She gave them a calculated glance as if she considered them potential customers, but then recognition kicked in. Her ingratiating smile morphed into a look of haughty disdain—impressive with a cherry the size of a bowling ball on her head—and she turned away from them with her nose in the air.

  “You’d think after her shenanigans last year Olivia would strive to maintain a lower profile,” Angie said.

  “You’d think,” Mel agreed. “But what kind of nemesis would she be if she crawled off and disappeared?”

  “True,” Angie said. “Where would we channel all of our misdirected rage if we didn’t have Ginormica Cupcake?”

  A horn blared, and they glanced up to see a silver Lexus pass by Olivia, who dropped her basket of flyers in surprise. The Lexus zoomed past, and Mel recognized the driver as Tate, their business partner. Before she could retrieve her basket, Olivia’s pink coupons were scattered by a blast of exhaust from a passing Escalade. The scene looked like an impromptu ticker tape parade.

  Mel felt Angie nudge her as a motorcycle cop with his lights flashing pulled up alongside the giant cupcake. Over the roar of traffic it was impossible to hear the conversation, but judging by Olivia’s wild hand gestures and bobbing cherry hat, it wasn’t going her way.

  Just then, Tate pulled up beside them and said, “ ‘What we’re dealing with here is a complete lack of respect for the law.’ ”

  “Buford T. Justice, Smokey and the Bandit,” Mel said, identifying the line. “That’s such a man movie.”

  “It’s a classic,” Tate said as he pushed open the passenger door.

  Mel glanced up and saw Olivia pointing in their direction. The police officer was studying them over the top of his sunglasses.

  “We can debate what constitutes a classic later,” Angie said and gave Mel a shove into the car. “Get in! Put the pedal to the metal, Bandit!”

  Tate stepped on the gas, and they shot out into traffic. Mel and Angie smiled and waved as they passed Olivia while the officer scribbled a citation on his pad, tore it off, and handed it to Olivia with a flourish. She looked ready to spit sprinkles at them, and Mel sank back into her seat, clutching her latte with a smile.

  “Well, that was worth waking up for,” she said.

  Tate circled the block and parked in front of Fairy Tale Cupcakes.

  He opened the car doors for Angie and Mel and said, “We should probably wait before we go get your cars.”

  “Good idea,” Mel said. “I have to prep for my couples’ cooking class tonight anyway.”

  “Ah, yes, your lead-up to Valentine’s Day,” he said. “How’s that going?”

  “Five couples for four weekly nights of baking fun,” Mel said. “Other than the Bickersons, it’s going well.”

  “Bickersons?” he asked.

  “That’s what we call the Bakersons,” Angie said. “Neither one of them knows a pastry bag from a garbage bag, but they’ll fight to the death about it.”

  “Some couples are like that,” Tate said.

  Angie fished the keys to the shop out of her purse and led the way into the bakery.

  Mel glanced at Tate out of the corner of her eye as she followed him into the shop. It had been three months since his fiancée had been murdered, and even though he had been duped into getting engaged to her—she had been a wily one—Mel wondered if the upcoming lovers’ holiday was making him wistful.

  “Thank God I don’t have to buy anyone flowers or candy or even a card,” he said. He shuddered in his impeccably cut navy blue Armani suit. Well, that answered that.

  Angie glanced at him with a small smile. “ ‘Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.’ ”

  “The Wizard of Oz,” Tate said, identifying the quote. “Nice.”

  Angie bowed her head in acknowledgment before flicking on the overhead lights.

  “For the record, my heart is not broken,” he protested. “Merely dented.”

  Angie grinned at him, and Mel felt an anxiety butterfly flap its wings down in her belly. How could Tate not see that when Angie smiled at him her heart was in her eyes? She literally lit up from the inside. A beautiful girl to begin with, when she looked at Tate she was breathtaking.

  Mel was torn between wanting to smack Tate into getting a clue and keeping him ignorant for the sake of their friendship. After all, what if Angie and Tate did get together? She’d be shut out of their coupledom. She wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

  The three of them had met when they were in junior high school. Mel had been a chubby candy freak with no friends until she’d met Tate, who was the consummate geek with thick glasses, starched shirts, and a love of math. Along came Angie, the new kid, with her hot temper and knuckle-cracking ability, and their threesome was formed.

  A mutual love of old movies and junk food sealed their friendship all of those years ago. And even now they still spent almost every weekend together watching old movies and eating Jujubes and Milk Duds. There was an ongoing contest between them to see who could stump the others with movie quotes. Mel couldn’t help but worry that if Angie and Tate became a couple, she’d be left out.

  Tate pushed back his starched cuff and checked his slim Omega. “Gotta go. Big meeting with the shareholders. Call me if the giant cupcake causes any more trouble.”

  “Will do,” Mel and Angie answered together.

  Tate hugged each of them in turn and then left. The bells on the door handle jangled in his wake.

  Mel and Angie exchanged a look, and Angie shook her head. “No, I’m not going to tell him how I feel.”

  “But . . .”

  “Change of subject please,” Angie said as she pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen beyond. “Like,
when are you and Joe going to start playing cars and garages?”

  “Playing what?” Mel followed her. Then it clicked. “Oh, I get it. What makes you think we haven’t?”

  “Oh, please. If you and Joe had slept together, I’d know,” she said.

  Mel couldn’t argue the point. Well, she could, but it would be futile. Angie had known her forever, and Joe was Angie’s older brother, the middle one of her seven older brothers, so she’d known him even longer. There was no hiding from Angie.

  Mel had lusted after Joe DeLaura from the first time she clapped eyes on him when she was twelve and he was sixteen. And now, they were actually dating. Sometimes she had to pinch herself to believe it. But then, when she remembered they hadn’t progressed much past hand-holding, she began to fret.

  “Change of subject please,” she said.

  Angie gave her a knowing nod. “Fine. What are we baking tonight?”

  “Kiss Me Cupcakes.”

  “It sounds as if we could both use a batch of those. Describe please.”

  Angie dropped her purse on the steel worktable and headed straight for the coffeepot. Mel talked while Angie started a fresh pot.

  “It’s a mint chocolate chip cupcake with red-and-white swirled mint icing and a big Hershey’s Kiss planted in the middle.”

  “Wrapper on or off?”

  “On,” Mel said. “I like the silver foil as a decoration.”

  “Agreed,” Angie said. “Oh, hey, one of our couples’ payments for class didn’t clear. I left the paperwork on your desk. Do you want me to talk to them?”

  Mel considered her partner for a second. She didn’t think a shakedown from Angie would do anyone any good, so she said, “No, I’ll take care of it. But thanks.”

  “Okay, then. Do I need to run to Smart and Final for any supplies?” Angie asked.

  Mel checked the stock in the large plastic bins they kept along one wall of the kitchen. Flour, check. Sugar, check. Baking powder and soda, check. Then she poked her head into the large walk-in refrigerator. Butter, check. Eggs, check. And last, she looked in the pantry for the specialty items. Peppermint extract, check. Chocolate, in all shapes and sizes, check.