Dying for Devil's Food Read online

  “I suppose,” Mel said. She was going either way but she couldn’t argue Tate’s point. Tucker was more in the loop than the rest of them.

  Tucker slid out of the booth and walked across the bakery. When he went to step behind the counter, Marty blocked his way, giving him a fierce once-­over with one gray eyebrow lowered menacingly, as if he could read a person’s soul at fifty paces.

  “Easy, killer,” Angie said. “He’s one of us.”

  Marty stepped slowly out of the way. Tucker gave Mel a nervous look.

  “Don’t worry, he’s never bitten anyone,” she teased.

  “Not yet anyway,” Marty said.

  “Great,” Tucker said. He moved swiftly past Marty and followed Mel, Angie, and Tate into the kitchen.

  Tate poured them each a cup of coffee, putting the sugar bowl and a small jug of milk in the middle of the steel table where they could all reach it.

  “What’s up?” Angie asked.

  “Uncle Stan said that Cassidy was poisoned,” Mel said. “He wouldn’t say what the poison was in or what type it was but it must have been given to her at the reunion, don’t you think?”

  “That would make it a fast-­acting poison,” Tate said. “Arsenic, maybe, or cyanide.”

  “Who has access to stuff like that?” Angie asked. She blew on her coffee, trying to cool it. “And why Cassidy? I mean, I know she was annoying in high school but our class hasn’t been together in fifteen years. Who could carry a grudge that long?”

  “You’re skipping over the obvious,” Tucker said. “This confirms my suspicion that it’s Danny. He would have had access to her food and drink, plus he could have poisoned her before the reunion even started, hoping it would be blamed on someone like Mel, someone with a hostile history with Cassidy.”

  “That’d be half of our graduating class,” Angie said. “I mean, that girl had more enemies than I’ll ever have in a lifetime.”

  “True,” Tucker conceded. “But why did Danny make a point of dancing with Mel?”

  “Because we’re friends,” Mel said. She didn’t like where this was going.

  “Are you?” Tucker asked. “You’ve stayed in touch over the past fifteen years?”

  “Well, no, but . . .”

  “He asked you so that Cassidy would lose her temper, reminding everyone of how much she hates you,” Tucker said. “Making you the prime suspect.”

  Mel felt her heart sink. Had Danny done that to her? Had he used her like that? She didn’t want to believe it.

  “That’s one theory,” Tate said. “But there was also Brittany, who believes Danny should be her husband, and Kristie, who got cheated out of being the homecoming queen. Mel was Cassidy’s target for bullying, for sure, but there were a lot of people who might have taken the reunion as their opportunity to get even.”

  “Thanks for including me in the suspect lineup,” Mel said. “Really, I can’t thank you enough.”

  “I’m not including you,” he said. “I’m just pointing out—­”

  “My motive to kill her?” she asked.

  Tate gave her a dark look and then took a long sip of his coffee. “I can’t talk to you when you’re defensive like this.”

  “Sorry, but ‘most likely to kill the homecoming queen’ wasn’t really what I was going for in the yearbook,” Mel said.

  “Now, you two, take it easy,” Angie said. “We’re all on the same team here.”

  “She’s right,” Tucker said. “The only way to find out what happened to Cassidy is to trace her steps at the reunion. You know, who she spoke to, what she ate, drank, inhaled, if she was partaking of anyone’s vape.”

  “Did Cassidy vape?” Mel asked. “I have a hard time picturing that.”

  Tucker shrugged. “I’m just passing through. I really didn’t know the old gang that well anymore.”

  “He brings up a good point, though,” Tate said. “With prescription drugs being so readily available, she could have been an addict for all we know. Maybe the reunion was too much for her and when she went to self-­medicate she overdid it.”

  Angie set her mug down and tapped her forefinger on her chin. “I suppose it’s possible. Usually, an opioid addiction happens after a surgery or an injury when the person is prescribed a medication that they become addicted to. Do we know if she’s had anything like that?”

  “Not that I know of,” Tucker said. “But Dan probably did when he blew out his knee a few years ago. Could she have started helping herself to his pain meds back then?”

  “Who would know?” Tate asked.

  “Her best friend, Megan, would,” Mel said. “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Then we need to talk to Megan,” Tate said. “Should we try at the funeral?”

  “I’ll do it,” Mel said. “I could tell Megan that Joe and I are looking for a new house and that I was hoping she could help us. Then it’s more of a work thing for her and she might loosen up a bit.”

  “That’s a solid plan,” Angie said. She glanced around the table. “It goes without saying that we have to be careful. Someone in our graduating class is a murderer and if they think we’re looking into it, that puts a target on all of our backs.”

  “I gotta say this was not how I pictured this reunion going,” Tucker said.

  “That makes four of us,” Tate agreed.

  Ten

  “This dress is itchy,” Mel said. She was wearing a plain black shift. She wasn’t sure if it was the fabric or the seams but she felt as if her skin was having an allergic reaction to the dress.

  “It’s nerves,” Angie said, turning in the front passenger seat—­Tate was driving—­to look at Mel in the back. “At least you don’t appear rashy.”

  “Thanks?” Mel said.

  “You don’t have to go, you know,” Angie said. “Tate and I could go to the funeral and talk to Megan.”

  “It’s more than talking to Megan,” Mel said. “I feel like my reputation is on the line. If I hide, it’s like admitting that I could have murdered Cassidy. You know, sort of like if you don’t call out bad behavior when you see it, you’re complicit.”

  “I think you’d get a pass, given that Cassidy was so cruel to you all through high school, but Angie and I will have your back in there the entire time. Promise,” Tate said. He met Mel’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “If anyone comes after you, we’ll take care of it.”

  “You know Dwight will,” Mel said. “And I really don’t want a fistfight at the funeral, so let’s just try to avoid him, agreed?”

  “I’ll take point on our mission,” Angie said. “I’m short enough to blend.”

  “See? We got this,” Tate said. “Still itchy?”

  Mel stopped scratching her neckline. “Nope. I’m fine. Really.”

  In truth, she was dreading this encounter with her former classmates. She knew there was going to be a lot of whispering and possibly a confrontation or two. But she did consider Danny her friend and she wanted to be there for him and for herself. She hadn’t hurt Cassidy and she wasn’t going to hide and let the whispers get worse. She would call out the haters, or at least make them say their hateful words to her face.

  She slumped back against the seat. Adulting was hard. Joe had offered to take off from work to come with her, but Mel knew he was working on a case with Child Protective Services and she didn’t want to take him away from advocating for a child caught in a horribly abusive situation. She could handle this. She would handle this. It would be fine, and if it wasn’t, well, at least she had chosen to be brave. That felt pretty good.

  Cassidy Havers-­Griffin’s funeral was to be held at a mortuary on the outskirts of Old Town. Mel supposed they could have walked as it wasn’t that far from the bakery, but it was nice to have a getaway car parked nearby if needed.

  Tate found a spot at the back of the lot. Mel took a deep bre
ath before she got out of the car. There were several people around them, also dressed in somber funeral attire, but she didn’t see any familiar faces. Her shoulders dropped a bit and she exhaled. It was going to be okay.

  Tate put his arm around Angie’s waist and held out his other hand to Mel. She wasn’t too proud to take it. Staying close to Tate’s side, the three of them made their way to the doors. When they entered, Angie signed the guestbook for their party and a woman in a pale blue suit who worked at the mortuary handed them a program. It had a dazzling headshot of Cassidy on the front and beneath that, a poem by Helen Lowrie Marshall called “Afterglow.” It was lovely and Mel wondered if Danny had chosen it specifically for his wife.

  When they entered the main room, Mel scanned the space looking for Danny. He was seated beside the casket. He looked older and more haggard, as if he’d aged years, instead of just days, since Cassidy’s death. Mel felt bad for him. She wanted to go and give him a hug but Tate led them to some vacant seats in the back corner of the room. There’d be time to talk to Dan later.

  The seats filled up until it was standing room only. Mel hadn’t heard anyone say her name but even in the corner she felt exposed and desperately wished it was the custom in the States to wear hats. She’d recently met some milliners from London, and both she and Angie thought it was a shame that the hat thing wasn’t as big in the States as it was in Europe. She could really use a wide brim to hide behind right now. She tipped her chin up, knowing she was going to have to bluff her way through it.

  A nondenominational minister stood at the narrow podium at the front of the room. While he spoke, an older woman beside Danny began to weep. She had the same red hair as Cassidy. Mel assumed she was Cassidy’s mother. No matter how Mel felt about Cassidy, she had to feel for this woman who had lost her child. Suddenly, she wondered if she should be here. Because while she felt awful that Cassidy was dead, possibly murdered, she didn’t grieve her loss, not as she should. She squirmed in her seat. She was debating getting up and leaving, when she saw a flash of yellow. Yellow at a funeral?

  She turned her head and glanced from the dress to the woman wearing it. It was Kristie Hill. Her long dark hair was loose and her makeup perfect. She looked like she was at a party, not a funeral; it was almost as if she was reveling in her rival’s demise. Mel elbowed Angie and tipped her head in Kristie’s direction.

  “Wow, that’s a statement,” Angie whispered.

  “Who? Where?” Tate asked.

  Mel and Angie hushed him together.

  “Over there, in yellow,” Angie said.

  “Oh,” Tate whispered. “Looks like someone is not hiding how she feels about Cassidy’s death.”

  “Maybe she’s just fashion impaired,” Mel said. “There are other people here in colors besides black, blue, and gray.”

  “But nothing quite so bold as that,” Tate said.

  “I agree,” Angie said. “Besides, she works in retail. I think she’s making a statement. Very bad form.”

  “So, Kristie moves up on the suspect list,” Mel said. “Anyone else look like they’re gloating?”

  “I can’t tell from here,” Angie said. “We’ll know more after. They’re having a tea in the reception hall.”

  “Shh.” A woman in front of them shushed them, and Mel and Angie stopped talking.

  After the minister spoke, Megan Mareez rose from her seat on the other side of Cassidy’s mom. She approached the podium with a notecard in her hand. She looked out across the packed room and promptly dissolved into tears. No one moved. No one said a word. She stood in front of them with her grief on full display. Mel reached over and took Angie’s hand. She couldn’t imagine how Megan must be feeling at the loss of her best friend.

  After a few moments, it was clear that Megan wasn’t going to be able to pull it together. Danny rose from his seat and hugged her. Mel heard him reassure her that it was okay and then he helped her to her seat. He approached the podium himself and cleared his throat.

  “Today we honor the memory of Cassidy Ann Havers-­Griffin,” he said. His voice was gruff and Mel could see he was struggling to maintain his composure. He talked about the first time he saw Cassidy, and her best feature, her smile. He talked about how he couldn’t have gotten through his darkest days post injury without her, and that for such a short life, Cassidy had had an incredible impact on everyone she met.

  Mel knew that to be true. She glanced around at the assembled group. Aside from Megan and Cassidy’s mother, no one else was crying. Not Tucker, who had crushed on Cassidy all through school, not Kristie or the other women who had made up the homecoming court. No one. In a room of more than a hundred people, the absence of grief was more palpable than anything else. It was more than a little unnerving.

  Mel could see on the faces of the people around her that they were here not because they felt any real emotion, but because the social order expected them to be here and, probably, because they were curious. Would something happen at the funeral? Would they bear witness to a scene or a scandal? The whole sordid thing made Mel want to take a shower.

  When Dan finished speaking, Lori Bird rose and joined the pianist at the front of the room. She took up the mic and began to sing. Short, with dark skin, long flowing hair, and a curvy figure, Lori had been the best singer in their class. Mel hadn’t seen her in forever, but had heard that she had gone pro and sang backup with some national acts and had a standing gig at the local casino.

  The notes from her mouth were so pure and clear that Mel felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Lori sang “My Heart Will Go On” and it was breathtakingly beautiful. It no longer mattered that Cassidy had been so unlovable. She had been taken too soon and any redemption she may have found in life had been denied her. Mel felt a tear slide down her cheek. She glanced and saw that Angie, too, was overcome by the song. They exchanged a look and Mel knew that Angie was feeling the same thing she was.

  Mel looked around the room and noticed a flurry of tissues had appeared. It seemed to hit them all at once that Cassidy, their homecoming queen, the woman who had ruled their high school hallways with such malicious glee, was gone. Mel couldn’t believe that she was feeling grief but there it was. Not grief for the person who was gone, perhaps, but definitely grief for the person Cassidy could have been. The opportunity of a life wasted in vitriol and anger, and for what? It was such a sad legacy to leave behind. Mel grieved that for sure.

  When the song ended, they rose from their seats. It was time to pass by the casket and give Cassidy’s loved ones their condolences. Mel wasn’t sure how to finesse this. She wasn’t positive she could stomach looking down at Cassidy in her casket. It would feel hypocritical at best and ghoulish at worst. There was no help for it. Maybe if she, Angie, and Tate went together, it wouldn’t be so weird.

  The line moved slowly and since they were at the back, it was even slower. She tried to keep her head down but being above average in height did not make it easy. She stared at the program in her hand, at the picture of Cassidy, and when that got to be too much she flipped it over and read the verses printed on the back.

  The line was finally moving and, as if by silent consensus, Angie took the lead and Tate stood behind Mel as if they could offer her a buffer from anyone who might take offense at her presence. It seemed to work. No one said a word to her although she could feel people staring.

  They inched their way toward the front of the room. They were just stepping into the main aisle when Mel heard the distinctive voice of Dwight Pickard.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  Mel didn’t need to turn around to know that he was addressing her. This was exactly what she had hoped to avoid. How had they missed him? She realized he had just come through a side door, so he hadn’t been in the room before. Great, what were the odds?

  “Leave her alone, Dwight,” Tate said. His voice was firm. It
was his corporate I will destroy you and take every cent you have to your name voice. It did not faze Dwight in the least.

  “Make me,” he said.

  Tate whipped around so that they were nose to nose. “You want to go outside, Dwight? I’d be happy to serve you a dirt sandwich.”

  Dwight threw back his head in a bitter laugh, with no mirth. It was a mocking, derisive guffaw, as if Tate were too pathetic for words. Big mistake. Mel glanced at Angie, who was coming in hot.

  “Easy,” Mel said. She looped her arm through Angie’s and anchored her to her side. “This is a funeral. Let’s act like it.”

  “Oh, I’ll act like it,” Angie said. “I’m going to punch him in his big, blocky head.”

  “Okay, see, punching is bad form at a funeral. Besides, he still has a shiner from where Joe socked him the other day,” Mel said. She glanced around, hoping for an ally. There was none to be found. Grumbles and harsh words started to swell as if Dwight had a lit a powder keg of hostility in the center of the room, until one voice rose above the rest.

  “You were never good enough for her.” Tucker was standing in front of Danny. He was red in the face and looked as if he’d been crying. Clearly, Lori’s singing had gotten to him, too. “She deserved so much better than you.”

  The room went dead quiet. Dan looked at Tucker, standing before him, obviously distraught. He could have tossed him out, or had him tossed—­heck, he could have punched him in the mouth for saying such a nasty thing at his wife’s funeral. Dan didn’t. Instead, he opened his arms and he hugged Tucker. A real hug, a big old bear hug, then he thumped him on the back twice and let him go.

  He looked Tucker right in the eye and said, “You’re right. She deserved better than me. I wasn’t a good enough husband to her and I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

  And just like that, the hostility went out of the room. Tucker nodded and rubbed his eyes with a fist before moving over to the casket to look down upon Cassidy one last time. It was heartbreaking and Mel felt a lump form in her throat.