Wedding Cake Crumble Read online

  “That’s my girl.” Angie paused in front of the photographer’s studio, pulling out her phone to check the time. Mel glanced over her shoulder and noted that they were right on schedule. Excellent.

  Blaise Ione, the photographer, was a friend of Tate’s from his days in the high school marching band. After graduation, Blaise had gone to art school and lived in New York City for several years, but when his aging mother needed him, he’d come home to Scottsdale to be nearby.

  Blaise was a hardcore hipster and wore his short hair bleached white and paired it with his large Andy Warhol glasses, striped skinny pants, and pointy-toed shoes. He was exuberant, enthusiastic, and always made Mel laugh. She knew the wedding was safe in Blaise’s hands.

  Although it was a small space, Blaise made the most of it with huge portraits decorating the black walls, and mid-century modern furniture that made a statement as well as being a place to sit. Through the window, Mel studied one of the chairs, which looked to be molded out of cement. The statement she got was, This is uncomfortable, so move along, which, knowing Blaise, was exactly what he wanted it to say.

  Angie pulled open the door and a gong sounded somewhere in the back of the space. Leave it to Blaise to have an unconventional door chime.

  “Blaise? Hello?” Angie called out.

  Mel moved towards the wall to study the portraits. Blaise had done Tate and Angie’s engagement pictures and they were spectacular, managing to capture the longtime friendship that had morphed into romantic love between the couple.

  Mel’s favorite shot had been taken in black-and-white in an old movie theater. In it, Tate and Angie were sharing a bucket of popcorn, the red and white stripes on the bucket the only pop of color in the photo, as they gazed at each other with all the love in their hearts. It made Mel water up every time she saw it.

  Oh, and here it was on the wall! Blaise had added it to his display. Mel felt her throat get tight.

  “Hey, I didn’t know he was going to put that up,” Angie said as she joined her. “That’s my favorite.”

  “Mine, too,” Mel said. “Wow, it keeps hitting me that in a few days you’ll be married to Tate.”

  “I know, right?” Angie grinned. “Say it again, it makes me dizzy.”

  “In a few days you’ll be married to Tate.” Mel laughed and hugged her friend close. “I am so happy for you both.”

  “Thanks,” Angie said. “Man, I can’t believe I spent all those years thinking he was in love with you.”

  “Idiot.” Mel’s voice was teasing when she said it, and Angie laughed and said, “Yep.”

  They sighed and then glanced around the studio. There was no sign of Blaise. They glanced at each other and Mel shrugged.

  “Blaise, hello,” Angie cried out. “It’s Angie, your favorite bride.”

  Silence greeted them. Mel felt the hair on the back of her neck begin to prickle. No, no, no! She wasn’t doing that again. She pictured a unicorn prancing through the studio. It didn’t really help.

  “Probably, he’s in the bathroom,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Angie agreed. “I’ll just poke my head in the back.”

  “Okay,” Mel said. Under her breath, she began to chant, “Unicorns and glitter, unicorns and glitter, come on, unicorns and glitter.”

  Angie got halfway to the back and turned around. “Come with me.”

  Mel nodded. She followed Angie to Blaise’s office in the back corner. It had no windows that looked into the studio, just a door painted with black chalkboard paint where people could scrawl messages for him. Several messages in different colored chalk were there now, including one in bright blue that listed Angie’s name and the time. So he had been expecting them.

  Angie knocked on the door. There was no answer. She rapped again. Still nothing. She reached down and grasped the handle, turning it and pushing in the door.

  The office was a cluttered mess with papers and proof sheets and pop-art tchotchkes littering every surface. A life-sized self-portrait of Blaise was on the wall opposite and Mel almost greeted the picture instead of the man.

  “Blaise, hey, are you napping on the job or what?” Angie asked.

  Blaise was in his office chair, with his back to them as he faced his very large computer screen. The screen saver was on and the pattern was undulating all over the display. Mel followed it for a second, but then realized that Blaise sitting in front of the computer while the screen saver was on was wrong. So wrong!

  “Blaise!” she cried.

  She stepped around Angie into the room to get a look at the photographer. He was sitting upright, staring at the computer with vacant eyes, his lips tinged with a faint shade of blue. Mel reached out to touch his hand. It was icy cold. There was no pulse. No rise and fall to his chest.

  Blaise Ione was dead.

  Two

  “You were supposed to be thinking of unicorns and glitter bombs,” Angie said. She pressed against Mel’s side as they both studied the body of the man before them.

  “I was! Like a mantra in my head, I swear.”

  “Oh, poor Blaise,” Angie said. A sob bubbled up and she went to touch his hand but Mel intercepted her. They needed to keep him exactly as they’d found him for the police.

  She hugged her close, trying to calm her own shaking as much as Angie’s. She could feel her heart pounding hard in her chest and it was hard to breathe.

  “We need to do something,” Angie said.

  “Yes, we need to call the police,” Mel agreed. A glance at Blaise and it was clear what had killed him. A camera strap had been twisted around his neck and was still lying there, resting on his collarbones like a choker. Never had the term been more literal.

  “Let’s go call Uncle Stan,” Mel said.

  She put her arm around Angie’s shoulders and ushered her out of Blaise’s office and into the studio. She pushed her onto the hard concrete seat and Angie put her face in her hands and began to cry. Mel kept one hand on Angie’s shoulder, trying to comfort her while she thumbed through the contacts on her phone looking for her uncle’s number.

  Her fingers were shaking and she fumbled her phone. Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to steady herself as she found Uncle Stan’s number and pressed call. Not for the first time it occurred to her that it was handy having an uncle who was also a local homicide detective.

  “Mel, this had better be an invitation to your mother’s for pot roast,” Uncle Stan answered on the third ring.

  “Sorry, no,” Mel said. She blew out a breath. Her voice was shaky and she tried to pull herself together enough to continue. “I’m at Blaise Ione’s photography studio over in Old Town, and he’s, well—”

  “Dead,” Uncle Stan said.

  “Yes,” Mel said, thankful that her uncle could voice the word she was struggling with.

  “Are you safe?” His breathing changed and Mel got the feeling he had started to run.

  “There’s no one here except me and Angie, if that’s what you mean,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  Mel scanned the tiny studio. Other than Blaise’s office there was no other room except the bathroom in the back. She gave Angie’s shoulder a squeeze and walked across the room to check the bathroom. She might have been nervous, but she had the feeling the place was empty. She doubted that whoever had strangled Blaise had lingered to use the facilities.

  She pushed the door open and jumped back just in case. No psychopaths leaped out at her, so she flipped on the light switch using the back of her hand. The room was empty.

  “No, no one is here,” she said.

  “I’ve got a patrol car on its way,” he said. “Stay on the phone with me until they get there.”

  “Okay.”

  She walked back to stand beside Angie. Angie glanced up at her, looking crushed and a little lost. Neither Angie nor Mel had known Blai
se as well as Tate had, but they had both been fond of him. Mel couldn’t help but think of his poor mother. She was going to be devastated.

  Mel could hear the sound of a siren coming from her phone. Uncle Stan was obviously doing his best to get here as fast as he could. Still, she felt her heart beat hurry, hurry, hurry.

  She was in desperate need of a hug, and no one gave better ones than her Uncle Stan. Her father’s younger brother, he was built in the same Cooper male mold as Mel’s dad, who had passed away unexpectedly over ten years ago.

  There was nothing polite about Cooper men’s hugs. They were big, meaty bear hugs that made even a tall girl like Mel feel safe and protected. One of the many reasons Mel had fallen in love with her fiancé, Joe DeLaura, who was also Angie’s older brother, was that he could give the same type of no-reservations-all-in-don’t-worry-I’ve-got-you sort of hug. At the moment, however, Uncle Stan was all business.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said.

  Mel recited the events of the past fifteen minutes while watching the door, willing a patrol officer to appear. She really wanted to hang up and call Joe now.

  Angie rubbed the tears off her face and took her phone out of her handbag. She stared at it for a moment and then blew out a breath.

  Mel watched as she opened her contacts and pressed Tate’s number. They exchanged a look of shared misery while Angie waited for Tate to pick up.

  Angie cringed when Tate’s voice came through her phone, sounding delighted to hear from his bride. Angie closed her eyes. Her voice was gruff when she spoke.

  “Tate, I have some bad news,” she said.

  A movement by the front door drew Mel’s attention and she saw a female patrol officer walking towards the entrance. She gave Angie’s shoulder another quick squeeze and went to greet her.

  “Uncle Stan, there’s an officer here,” she said.

  “Don’t hang up until you let him know who you are and that I’m on the phone with you,” he said. “In fact, put him on with me.”

  “It’s a her,” she said. “It’s Lisa Kelley.”

  “Good, she’s the best,” Uncle Stan said. “Hey, does she have Cupcake with her?”

  “Cupcakes?” Mel asked. “Why would she have cupcakes?”

  “Not cupcakes—Cupcake,” Uncle Stan said. “Lisa was moved to the canine unit. Her dog’s name is Cupcake.”

  “Really?” Mel asked. “That’s ridiculously cute.”

  “Don’t be fooled. She’s a four-and-half-year-old Belgian Malinois, and she can take down a three-hundred-pound drug dealer on the run in less than ten seconds.”

  “Well, okay then,” Mel said.

  “Put Lisa on the phone,” Stan said. Then as an afterthought he added, “Please.”

  “Will do.”

  Mel reached the door before Officer Kelley and pushed it open. Lisa kept her dog tight at her side as she stepped into the studio. Mel watched Lisa do a visual sweep of the room. Cupcake made a low whimper in her throat and Lisa patted the dog, letting her know she heard her.

  “She smells the body,” Lisa said. “She’s not a cadaver dog, but still the smell must be alarming for an animal that has three hundred million olfactory receptors in her nose.”

  Mel nodded. She had no idea what to say. They were standing in the midst of a crime scene, which was bad enough, but the fact that it was someone she knew and liked made her heart hurt and her stomach twist.

  Lisa seemed to understand. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck and she glanced at Mel and then Angie through her rectangular-framed glasses. Mel suspected she didn’t miss much. Lisa gave Mel a rueful look, and said, “I much prefer seeing you when you come into the station with cupcakes.”

  “Same,” Mel said. “But I’m glad you’re here.” She held out her phone. “Stan wants to talk to you.”

  Lisa took the phone, but before answering, she asked, “Are you two all right?”

  Mel nodded. “We’re okay.” She gestured towards Blaise’s office. “The owner of this studio, Blaise Ione, he’s . . . he . . . you’ll find him in there.”

  Lisa nodded and lifted the phone up to her ear. “Hey, Stan, it’s Lisa.”

  Mel could hear Uncle Stan barking instructions while Lisa listened, a wrinkle creasing her brow. Mel couldn’t tell if it was concern or annoyance. Uncle Stan could be a wee bit overbearing.

  “Yes, I can do that,” she said. “Right away.”

  Mel glanced back at Angie to see how she was holding up. She was weeping again and having a hard time talking. Mel took the phone from her hand and lifted it to her ear.

  “Hey, Tate, it’s Mel,” she said.

  “Mel, are you both okay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Officer Kelley is here from the Scottsdale PD and Uncle Stan is on his way.”

  “Good, that’s good,” he said. His voice cracked. “I’m on my way, too.”

  Mel knew it was pointless to try and talk him out of it. Blaise was an old friend of his and Tate’s bride was here in a puddle of tears. Of course he was coming. That was the sort of man Tate was.

  “Be careful, Tate,” she said. “I know how hard this must be for you, but I’m with Angie. There’s no rush.”

  “Got it,” Tate said. His voice was gritty and Mel suspected that was all he could get out.

  The call ended and she handed the phone back to Angie. Angie dabbed at her nose with a tissue she’d pulled out of her bag. She glanced up at Mel and handed her one, too. Mel felt the dampness on her cheeks. Huh, she hadn’t even realized she was crying. She took the tissue and blotted her face.

  “What if we did this?” Angie asked. Her voice was just above a whisper and Mel had to lean in close to hear her.

  “What?” Mel’s eyes bugged. She looked at Angie as if she’d hit her head on the concrete chair. “What do you mean? I’m pretty sure I’d know if I strangled someone with a camera strap.”

  Mel glanced over her shoulder to be sure that Officer Kelley and Cupcake had gone into Blaise’s office to check on him. She could only imagine what Lisa would think if she heard what Angie had said.

  Angie twisted her fingers in her lap. “I just mean that we were talking about looking for bodies when Annabelle wasn’t in her shop right away, and, frankly, I had the same instinct here, too. When Blaise didn’t greet us in front like he usually does, it was my first thought, and then sure enough he’s dead. It’s like we’re bad juju or something.”

  “No!” Mel insisted. “No, you were right before. Think of all the great events we’ve done where people have been so happy. I refuse to believe that our paranoia got Blaise killed. It’s just a coincidence, a horrible, horrible coincidence.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?” Angie asked.

  “Because you’re overly emotional right now,” Mel said. “Blaise was your friend and this is a shock and you’re getting married in a week and of course it’s too much to take in.”

  Mel looked at Angie and forced herself to maintain eye contact. She was lying. Something felt wrong about this situation, really wrong.

  Their appointment was written on his chalkboard. It was clear to the whole world that they were to be here in this place at this time. Was Blaise’s death planned for when they arrived, or was Mel the one being paranoid?

  She had to be. It had to have been a random happenstance. Like a burglary gone wrong. Although, she couldn’t imagine why anyone would rob a photography studio, never mind harm Blaise.

  From what she knew of him, he was a great guy. Quick with a smile and a joke and he was a heck of a photographer—he knew how to make portraits intensely personal. Her gaze moved over the engagement shot of Angie and Tate. It was heartbreakingly perfect.

  “I just don’t understand,” Angie said. “Why Blaise? How could this happen?”

  Feeling utterly
useless, Mel shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Mel. Angie.” Uncle Stan charged into the studio with the ferocity of a lion protecting his pride.

  He didn’t slow down but barreled across the room. He reached for Mel and hugged her close, as if that was the only way he could be certain she was okay, and then he scooped up Angie for the same. His hug grounded Mel in a way nothing else could.

  Ever since her dad, Charlie Cooper, had been called to the all-you-can-eat catfish fry in the beyond, Uncle Stan had taken over his role of doling out the bracing hugs. Mel was ever so grateful. She watched as Angie hugged Uncle Stan back, and she could tell that she felt the same way.

  “You’re good?” Uncle Stan asked Angie, swiveling his head to include Mel in the questioning.

  They both nodded, despite the fact that their red-rimmed eyes made liars out of them.

  “We got here maybe twenty minutes ago,” Mel said. “The door was open, no sign of anything being disturbed. Blaise didn’t answer our greeting, so we checked his office and found him—”

  “Strangled with a camera strap,” Lisa finished for her. She crossed the room to stand beside Stan. “If you could come this way, Detective, I’ll show you the scene.”

  Uncle Stan glanced at Mel and Angie and they both nodded, letting him know they were fine.

  “I’ll have Officer Kelley come back out and take your formal statements,” he said. “There’s no reason for you two to linger here.”

  “Thanks,” Mel spoke for both of them.

  Lisa and Stan disappeared into the office while Cupcake sat just outside the door like a sentinel, and Mel felt her stomach twist, knowing the scene that would greet Uncle Stan. He was a pro. If anyone could handle it, it was him.

  The door was yanked open and Tate hustled inside. He looked wrecked and Mel felt her heart pinch. Angie jumped up from her seat and launched herself at him. Tate caught her close and hugged her hard, then he set her on her feet and cupped her face, checking to make sure she was all right.

  “I’m okay,” Angie said. She knew him well enough to know he needed to hear it.