Dying for Devil's Food Page 10

  “Just the usual,” Tucker sighed. “Brittany inserted herself as Danny’s hostess, which was weird because Megan actually brought food and was helping in a meaningful way. But you know Brittany, she was oblivious. Go Devils!”

  Mel and Angie both nodded. Mel remembered Brittany’s scene outside the bathroom when Dan arrived. She had apologized to Dan. At the time, Mel had thought it was because a tragedy for Dan had occurred, but maybe it was more. Maybe she was apologizing because she felt guilty about something.

  “You guys don’t think Brittany—­” Mel said and then paused. Both Tucker and Angie seemed to consider it for a moment and then shook their heads. “Yeah, you’re right. Crazy thought. The captain of the pep squad a murderer? Not likely.”

  “How did Megan seem?” Angie asked. “I never really understood her friendship with Cassidy, because Megan is nice and Cassidy—­”

  “Not as much,” Mel supplied.

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” Tucker said. “I always liked Megan. She was kind and beautiful, not my type, but still really pretty. I always wondered why she never married either of her fiancés. I mean, I understand getting engaged to the wrong guy once, but twice? They can’t have been that bad, right?”

  “Maybe they’re the ones who ditched her,” Mel said. “Maybe she doesn’t want kids and they’re looking for a baby mama.”

  “Or she might be super high-­maintenance or something,” Angie said. “She’s a real estate mogul, so her expectations in a partner may have been pretty high. Perhaps they just didn’t live up to it.”

  “It had to be something,” Tucker agreed. He glanced at Mel and Angie. “So, what’s your next move?”

  “I have no idea,” Mel said. “Wait and see, I guess.”

  “Wouldn’t it be nuts if Cassidy actually died of natural causes?” Angie asked.

  “Yes, because how does a woman in her early thirties with no known health issues just drop dead?” Mel asked. “She doesn’t. Somebody murdered Cassidy. I’m sure of it.”

  Nine

  “Mel, you need to come back here,” Oz called from the kitchen door.

  She turned her head to see if there was smoke billowing out from the kitchen. There wasn’t, but the look on Oz’s face was still one of mild panic.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “Tucker, thanks for stopping by. I have a box of cupcakes for your mom ready to go. They’re behind the counter with your name on them.”

  “Thanks, Mel,” he said. “It’s been great seeing you, you know, in spite of everything.”

  “You, too, Tucker. I’m glad you’re doing well.” She left Angie to get his cupcakes for him as she hurried to the kitchen to see what was up.

  Marty was chatting up a couple of elderly ladies at the counter and Mel saw him wink at one of them. Despite living with his girlfriend now, Marty knew how to charm the ladies and she wondered what he’d been like in high school. She suspected he’d been a wild one.

  She pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Standing in the middle of the room, eating one of Oz’s newly decorated cupcakes, was her uncle Stan. Beside him, wearing an ill-­fitting uniform and carrying what looked like a large toolbox was a tall skinny man she hadn’t met before, but whose type she recognized. Crime scene specialist. Crud.

  “What gives, Uncle Stan?”

  “What? No hug?” he asked.

  Mel narrowed her eyes and then stepped forward for one of the patented Cooper men hugs. It was a big old bear hug, the sort that let you know everything was going to be okay even though the ship was going down and the sharks were circling. She took what comfort she could get.

  “Better?” Uncle Stan asked when he released her.

  “Yeah, but—­” she began but he interrupted her.

  “This is Kyle Plummer,” Uncle Stan said. “He’s here to check out the bakery and I know you’ll be happy to cooperate.”

  Mel heard the warning in his words. He was trying to tell her something, but this was her sanctuary and she did not want a crime scene tech in here, touching her stuff.

  “Of course.” She faked a smile at Kyle, who flinched, so she figured it came out as more of a baring of teeth. Oh, well, she’d tried. She turned to Stan and said, “But it would help if I knew what you were looking for.”

  “I can’t tell you that,” he said at the same time Kyle said, “Poison.”

  Mel gasped. “So, Cassidy was poisoned.”

  “No,” Uncle Stan said at the same time Kyle said, “Yes.”

  Uncle Stan put his palm over his forehead. “Kyle, what have we talked about?”

  “Me not talking,” Kyle said.

  “And when are you not supposed to talk?” Uncle Stan asked.

  “Whenever we leave the police station,” Kyle said.

  “Look around you,” Stan commanded. “Are we in the police station?”

  “No.”

  “Then?”

  “No talking,” Kyle said. “Got it. I’ll stop. Now.”

  “Thank you,” Uncle Stan said.

  Kyle looked at the room and then at Uncle Stan. He made a gesture with his hands and Uncle Stan tipped his head to the side as if trying to figure out what he was doing. Kyle made a few more gestures and Uncle Stan just stared at him as if bewildered by the man.

  “I think he’s asking if he can get started,” Mel said.

  “Oh, well why didn’t you say so?” Uncle Stan asked. He waved his hand in a shooing gestures at Kyle. “Get to work.”

  Kyle rolled his eyes but didn’t say a word. Mel watched as he moved to the far counter under the window and opened his kit. She turned back to Uncle Stan, who shook his head.

  “No, I can’t tell you anything.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?” Mel asked. “Can you tell me that?”

  “No.”

  “But you’re searching my kitchen,” she said. “Does that mean Cassidy was poisoned by a cupcake and, if so, how can I not need a lawyer?”

  “Well, it doesn’t appear to have been a cupcake that poisoned her,” Uncle Stan said.

  “Oh. So, you’re just ruling me out?” she asked.

  “Something like that,” he said.

  “And what kind of poison was it?”

  “Not telling you that,” he said. He reached for another cupcake and Oz slapped his hand.

  “No cupcakes until I’m sure you’re not going to contaminate my kitchen,” he said.

  “I would never,” Uncle Stan protested.

  “We’ll just see, won’t we?” Oz asked.

  The two men stared at each other and Mel felt like clunking their heads together. She wanted information. Who cared about her kitchen? Wait. She cared. She cared a lot.

  “Now, hold up,” she said. She turned to her Uncle Stan and said, “You can’t just come in here and search for a poison. What if word gets out? It could damage my business.”

  Uncle Stan gave her his you’re trying my patience look. Mel didn’t care. Cassidy had been poisoned. Her bakery was being inspected. Something had to give.

  Uncle Stan jerked his head in the direction of her office. She gathered what he had to say was private. Fine. So long as she got to the bottom of this.

  She led the way to her office. She looked at Oz on her way and said, “Don’t let him near any of the perishables, or the baking supplies, or anything else.”

  Kyle opened his mouth and then closed his mouth and stood there, looking as if he didn’t know what to do. Uncle Stan sighed.

  “Check the surfaces, Kyle,” he said.

  Kyle nodded and turned back to his toolbox.

  “Wipe down anything he touches,” Mel said to Oz.

  “Got it.” Oz stared at Kyle as if he was a fly in the kitchen that he was preparing to swat. Kyle swallowed audibly.

  Mel led Stan into her tiny office.
It was formerly a closet but she’d managed to wedge in a desk and a file cabinet and a potted philodendron whose long trailing vines looked like they were reaching for the exit in a doomed escape attempt.

  There was one hardback chair and Stan took it while Mel turned sideways so she could get around her desk. She sat and folded her hands on the surface, trying to look like the enterprising young woman she was and not the pigtailed, scabbed-­knee niece that she was sure Uncle Stan always saw her as.

  “So, what gives with Kyle the talker?” she asked.

  Stan rolled his eyes. “Listen, I know this seems like a huge pain.”

  “Seems?”

  Stan gave her a look and Mel piped down.

  “But here’s the thing: There are certain people on the force who would like to see you brought in for questioning and want this place turned upside down, looking for evidence. What I am doing here is a preemptive strike to keep those persons happy and keep you out of jail.”

  “Tara, right?” Mel asked. “The person you’re talking about is Detective Martinez.”

  “Maybe,” Stan said.

  “Please, I know she has a thing for Joe and I know she has it in for me,” Mel said. “Man, what is it about me that seems to bring out the worst in people?”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Stan said. “Her beef with you is also because you chose Joe over her cousin Manny, and then he moved to Las Vegas.”

  “Where he’s very happy,” Mel said. “I think I should get points for facilitating that happiness.”

  “He was my partner,” Stan said. He looked unhappy. “He was a good partner.”

  “So, you’re mad at me, too?”

  “Nah, but I am saddled with his cousin now and, frankly, she’s a bit of a handful,” he said. “Plus, she does have a thing for your man, so I don’t see her forgiving you any time soon.”

  “Why is humanity so exhausting?” Mel asked.

  “I don’t know, but it keeps me employed,” Stan said.

  “All right, putting aside the fact that you’re here disrupting my kitchen, tell me what you’re looking for,” Mel said. “I was at the reunion. I might be able to help you.”

  “Kyle is looking for traces of the poison used to kill Cassidy,” he said. “You’ll be pleased to know that there were no traces of the poison found in the cupcake she was holding.”

  “And what was this poison?”

  “I’m not telling you that,” he said.

  “Why not?” Mel threw up her hands. She hated not having all of the information.

  “Because you need to stay away from this,” he said. “In fact, stay away from all of your old classmates and that includes Danny Griffin.”

  “Why? Do you think he did it?”

  “I don’t know, but we always look pretty closely at the spouse, you know that,” he said.

  “What about Dwight Pickard?” Mel asked. “Have you questioned him? He’s awfully angry. Maybe some time spent in jail would be good for him.”

  One eyebrow on Stan’s head lifted higher than the other. “Dwight Pickard? Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “No reason,” Mel said. She didn’t want to have to admit that the man had bullied her for years and still did whenever he got the chance.

  “Is he an old boyfriend of yours?”

  “Gack,” Mel gagged. “God, no.”

  “So just someone you’d like to see made uncomfortable then?” Stan looked at her in a way that made her feel small.

  “He’s a bully,” Mel said. “He bullied me at school and he bullies me now whenever our paths cross. I have no idea why, but he hates me.”

  “Did you reject him or something? Sometimes a guy takes that hard and never lets it go.”

  “No,” Mel said. “I was mostly just the butt of all his jokes.” She glanced away and then looked back. “You know, Angie talked me into going to the reunion. I didn’t want to because of people like Dwight and Cassidy and, true to form, they tried to make me feel less than at the reunion. But you know who didn’t? Danny Griffin. He danced with me and he made me realize that I was always okay. Danny didn’t kill his wife. I’d stake all that I have on it.”

  Uncle Stan nodded. He considered her for a moment before he said, “I’m glad Griffin was a stand-­up guy at the reunion, I am, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t kill his wife.”

  “I know you have to see it that way, but I don’t,” Mel said. “And I’m not going to stay away from him.”

  Uncle Stan began to protest but Mel held up her hand. “No, I’m not going to seek him out, either, but I will go to Cassidy’s funeral and I won’t let anyone stop me from being there for a friend. I already ducked out once by not going to the wake. I can’t do it again.”

  Stan reached into his pocket for an antacid tablet. He looked unhappy but Mel wouldn’t be moved. She felt bad that she’d been intimidated from showing up at Danny’s house to offer him her support. Danny didn’t have to dance with her at the reunion, but he did, and he’d put to rest so many of her own demons, she owed him her loyalty for that if nothing else.

  “Fine, but you’ll tell me when you go anywhere near him,” Stan said. “You’ll check in and you’ll be careful. No eating or drinking anything in his presence, am I clear?”

  Mel smiled. “Yes, I got it. Do you want me to wear a wire, too?”

  “Funny,” he said. “Watch yourself or I’ll have to call your fiancé and tell him you’re being difficult.”

  “Joe would expect nothing less of me,” Mel said.

  “You’re just like your mother, you know that?” Stan said. “You Cooper women are a crafty bunch. She’s got me eating healthy and working out. Gah, I don’t even recognize myself.”

  Mel grinned at his mock upset. “You look happy, Uncle Stan, and I’m glad.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s that,” he said. He smiled and then jerked his thumb at the door. “I’d better go. Kyle is a bit of a basket case.”

  “So I noticed,” she said. “If you find anything you’ll tell me, won’t you, Uncle Stan?”

  “Sure,” he said. “If I think it’s relevant.”

  Which Mel knew was his way of saying, No way in hell. She supposed she couldn’t fault him for trying to keep her safe even if it was super annoying. He disappeared back into the kitchen with a wave and Mel sat at her desk, mulling over what she knew for sure. Number one, Cassidy was poisoned, which was sort of what she had figured, and number two, poison meant murder. Someone at the reunion had murdered Cassidy and Mel knew that as far as people like Dwight Pickard were concerned, she was the prime suspect. Skipping the funeral was not an option.

  She felt her anxiety spike at the mere idea of facing down a graduating class of people who believed her to be a murderer. It made her stomach cramp and she almost went after Stan to mooch one of his antacid tablets, but she refrained. She had to remember that she had done nothing, absolutely nothing, wrong and she wasn’t going to cower and hide as if she had.

  She opened up her laptop and read the latest news reports about Cassidy’s death. There wasn’t much to it except that she had been found dead at the reunion and her husband had no comment at this time. The local press loved Danny because he was the hometown hero, winning the high school state championship no less than four times, and because when his knee blew out and his pro career was over, he found a new career in front of the camera, and the camera loved him—­as did most of the women in the Valley of the Sun. It did not surprise Mel to see that none of the local media was listing Danny as a suspect, not even hinting at it, which actually made her feel better. Perhaps they could both get out of this without going to jail.

  * * *

  After Uncle Stan left, Mel called Tate, who was overseeing their local franchise in downtown Phoenix. He was on his way back to Scottsdale and when she told him about Uncle Stan and Kyle, he see
med unsurprised.

  “Wait, did Uncle Stan call you first?” she asked.

  “Yeah . . . no . . . maybe,” Tate said.

  “Did you want to commit to one of those answers?” she asked. Silence greeted her question. “Fine, as soon as you get back here, we need to have a meeting. You, me, and Angie.”

  “I’m parking in the back lot right now,” he said. “Do we have coffee?”

  “It’ll be under way when you walk through the door,” she said.

  Sure enough, Tate banged through the back door as Mel hit the switch on the kitchen coffeepot.

  “I’m guessing you want to go to the funeral,” Tate said. He moved to stand by the coffeemaker as if his looming presence would make it brew faster.

  “How did you—­ Wait, we need Angie,” Mel said. She strode to the kitchen door and stuck her head out. “Ange, I need you back here.”

  Angie was helping Marty work the counter. There were only three people in line, so Mel didn’t feel bad about calling her back. She glanced across the bakery and noticed that Tucker was still sitting in the booth. He was staring at his phone and she wondered if he was working or just watching videos. It was hard to tell these days.

  He glanced up and saw Mel and waved. “I like your place so much I decided to stay here and do some work.”

  “Great,” Mel said.

  Tate peeked out behind her and saw Tucker. “Hey, Tucker, how’re you doing?”

  “Kicking butt and taking names,” Tucker said.

  Mel rolled her eyes. From what she knew about Tucker’s business, he developed webpages that he then sold for oodles of money. It wasn’t like he was a brain surgeon.

  “Good to hear,” Tate said. “We were about to talk about the reunion, care to join us?”

  Tucker perked up like a kid who’d been sitting on the bench his whole life and was just invited to play. “Sure.”

  Mel gave Tate an irritated look. She had been hoping to keep this convo just to the three of them.

  “What?” Tate asked. “He’s more in the know than the rest of us. It’ll be good to have him weigh in on whether it’s advisable for you to go to the funeral or not.”