Dark Chocolate Demise Read online

  “Not your fault,” Chad said. “I’m sure it was the feds. They probably have a gadget that locks people in rooms so they can snatch them. They’re trying to stop me, you know. They have me under constant surveillance.”

  Mel couldn’t help but glance at the camera in the corner of the shop. She gave it a sour look. Maybe Chad wasn’t just a conspiracy nut. Maybe he could sense he was being watched even now.

  “You’d better hurry on home then,” Mel said. “I imagine you’re safer there.”

  Chad glanced out at the dark street. He shivered and when he looked at Mel, his fear was palpable.

  “They did it, you know,” he said. “They killed her and I know why.”

  Mel felt her heart thump hard in her chest. Did Chad know something? Had he seen something at the zombie walk?

  “What do you know, Chad?” she asked.

  “She really was a zombie,” he said. “The dead woman was infected with the chemical gas that could make us all zombies, and they killed her because they didn’t want anyone to know.”

  Okaaaay. So Chad was crackers and not too tightly wrapped. Great.

  “Go home, Chad,” Mel said. “Get some rest.”

  “You believe me, don’t you?” he asked.

  Mel hesitated. If she said no, he would stand there badgering her all night. If she said yes, he might think they were allies or friends and start hanging around. Hmm. How was she going to get rid of him?

  “I believe that you believe it,” Mel said. Then she gave him a pat on the back that was more of a shove, and she shut and locked the door behind him.

  On that peculiar note, Mel decided to call it a night. She’d get up early to clean and bake. She had no stamina for it now. All she wanted at the moment was a glass of wine, her leftovers from last night’s meat loaf at her mom’s house, and a snuggle with Captain Jack, her mischievous cat.

  It took an ice pack and the promise of future cupcakes to get rid of Al and Paulie, but she was feeling very determined. She loved her friends and family, truly. She even had great affection for many of her customers, but right now she just wanted to be alone, completely and utterly alone.

  As she climbed the steps to her apartment above the shop, she thought about her longing for quiet, and then she felt a heart-pinching pang of terrible because she knew that Scott Streubel was going to be facing an awful lot of alone, too, and she knew he’d give anything for it not to be so.

  It seemed a sick sort of irony to her now that she’d only seen Kristin twice, and both times she’d been dressed as a bride. Mel remembered the first day she’d seen her, with her bridesmaids all dressed in bright yellow. At the time she’d thought they all looked like brilliant butterflies as they hovered around Kristin and her bright bouquet of sunflowers.

  When had that been? Six months ago? Kristin and Scott had had less than one year of wedded happiness before it was cut short. How was that right? How was that fair? And just like that, the sadness Mel had been feeling was squashed, hammered down by a meaty fist of rage that made her wish she could do some damage to the evil bastard who had done this to the young couple, especially if it turned out that they were really gunning for Angie.

  She unlocked the door to her studio apartment and stepped inside. She’d forgotten to put a light on and it was dark, so she braced herself, not knowing where her favorite fur ball was going to attack from. Captain Jack’s greetings were always an enthusiastic combination of yay-you’re-home and here-are-my-claws-digging-into-your-skin. Mel figured it was his passive-aggressive way of telling her he’d missed her, too.

  She waited for a beat but he didn’t greet her, which was odd, but didn’t explain the hair rising on the back of her neck. In an instant, Mel knew that something was wrong. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did. Someone was in the room with her.

  Twelve

  She stood frozen. She couldn’t leave unless she had Captain Jack, but she really didn’t want to stay and end up shot dead like Kristin Streubel.

  Could she just leave the door open and run down the stairs? Then if Captain Jack was in there he’d be able to escape. What if the person inside harmed Captain Jack? She couldn’t bear the thought.

  Wait, she chided herself. This was ridiculous. Surely Jack had just gotten himself shut in the bathroom. It had happened before. She let out a long breath. She was just nervous because of all the talk about the mobster Frank Tucci gunning for Angie. It was making her imagine things.

  “Jack,” she called. She was determined to prove to herself that she was just being an idiot. “Where are you, buddy?”

  She was just reaching for the lamp on the table behind her futon when she spotted the little fur ball curled up on the couch. In the dark she could make out his coat of soft white fur, and she reached out to scratch his head, filled with relief that her baby was fine.

  When he felt her hand, he pressed his head against her fingers to encourage more love. Mel smiled and rubbed him right behind the ears where he liked it best. Captain Jack uncurled and stretched, and Mel realized that he wasn’t curled up on her dark chenille throw, but rather he was napping on the chest of a man, a big hairy man with a broad chest and a beard.

  Ack! Mel let out a squeak and snatched Captain Jack off of the man. In her haste she lost her balance and landed on her butt on the floor. The noise woke the man and he sat up. Mel scrambled away. She had to get out of here.

  She rolled to her knees, keeping Jack in a football hold with her right arm. She half stumbled half crawled towards the door. Captain Jack let out a yowling protest, wiggled free, and darted towards the kitchenette, where normally she would be fixing his supper at this time.

  “No, Jack! Damn it!”

  Mel snatched her cordless phone from the holder and was trying to dial 9-1-1, but her hands were shaking and she was still trying to scuttle away.

  “Mel, wait!” the man said.

  Mel glanced up. She knew that voice. She felt the world contract and then spring back, or maybe that was just her heart.

  “It’s me,” he said. Then he reached over and switched on the same lamp she had been trying to turn on when she came in.

  Joe!

  He stood while Mel crawled onto the lone armchair in the room. She felt all of the blood rush to her head, and she could do no more than stare at him like an idiot. He took the opportunity to lock the door.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi?” she asked. She grabbed a pillow from behind her back and hurled it at him with the force of a closing pitcher in a pennant race.

  Joe caught it before it connected with his face. He lowered it and smiled at her. It was his knee-wilter, Joe DeLaura patent-worthy grin, the same one that had been turning her to jelly since she was twelve and he was sixteen.

  “It’s been a while,” he said.

  “Seven weeks, five days”—she paused to glance at the clock on the wall and then added—“and one hour. Not that I’ve kept track.”

  When he grinned, his teeth were a white slash against his scruffy beard. Mel wondered when he had acquired that. She wondered if it was soft or bristly; then she reminded herself that she didn’t care.

  “The brothers said you wanted to talk to me,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Mel said. But now that he was here and since so much had happened, she had no idea what to say to him. She’d thought she’d have more time to prepare.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said. His chocolate brown eyes looked as miserable as she felt. And the way he was staring at her made her feel as if he was trying to reacquaint himself with every bit of her.

  “Well, then perhaps you shouldn’t have rejected my proposal,” Mel said. She was pretty sure she was spitting out icicles with her words.

  Joe looked pained. They hadn’t spoken since the night he had told her that things had changed between them, no explanation, just a rejection of h
er proposal of marriage. Then he had disappeared into the night like a fugitive.

  “Mel, I’m sorry, I know I could have handled it better,” he said.

  “You think?” she asked. She rose to her feet. This had been a bad idea. She’d thought she wanted to talk to him just to see how he was doing and reassure herself that he was okay, but too many old feelings were bubbling to the surface. It was time for him to go.

  Joe tossed the pillow onto the futon, and they stood staring at each other. The four feet between them might as well have been filled with hot coals. There was no crossing this chasm.

  Mel was a potent cocktail of angry, sad, scared, confused, you name it. She was practically vibrating with the combustion of emotions inside of her, and she had no idea which one was going to explode out of her first. If Joe had a functional fight-or-flight response going on, he would be smart to run for cover, because she was a little bit crazy right now.

  Captain Jack had leapt up onto the counter. As if sensing a squabble brewing between his kitty parents, he let out a long, pitiful yowl and then knocked his plastic dish off the counter. Mel had no doubt that it was to remind her that no matter her personal issues, it was dinnertime.

  She heaved a sigh and strode over to the counter. Retrieving his dish from the floor, she crossed over to her pantry, which was little more than a narrow floor-to-ceiling cupboard.

  As she filled Jack’s bowl, she glanced at Joe, who was still watching her with the intensity of a laser beam. She swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat. She shook off any misguided attraction she might be feeling and reminded herself to cling to her rage.

  “I’m going to need my key back,” she said. She was pleased that her voice sounded even, almost casual in fact.

  “No,” Joe said.

  “Excuse me?” She placed the food bowl in front of Captain Jack, who commenced chowing down.

  “I’ll need it to keep an eye on the place,” he said. “I spoke to Tate. I know what happened today. You’re leaving town with Angie.”

  Mel thought it was a darn good thing all of her pots and pans were well out of reach, otherwise she might have been tempted to pick one up and brain him with it.

  “That’s not happening,” she said. She turned to face him, crossed her arms over her chest, and raised one eyebrow in challenge as she stared him down.

  Joe mimicked her stance right down to the eyebrow, and she knew it was game on.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I make it sound like it’s optional? Because it’s not.”

  “You are not the boss of me,” Mel said. “I have two weddings, a bar mitzvah, and three baby showers to bake for in the next two weeks. I am not going anywhere.”

  “Oz can do the baking,” he said.

  “He’s still in culinary school,” Mel said. “He doesn’t have time.”

  “Then cancel the orders,” he said.

  “No!” Mel said. “My business reputation will be destroyed.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Subcontract Olivia to fill the orders for you. You know she’d do it.”

  “And have her steal my customers?” Mel argued. She uncrossed her arms and spread them wide in the universal gesture that asked, Are you a moron?

  Joe scratched the beard on his chin as if it itched. Mel stepped closer to get a better look at his whiskers. There was something not right there. She reached out and grabbed the edge of his beard, and then she yanked. With a sound like Velcro separating, Joe’s beard peeled off of his face.

  “Yow!” he yelped and clapped a hand to his chin. “What did you do that for?”

  “Why are you wearing a fake beard?” she asked. She wanted to cling to her fury, but he looked so ridiculous that she was having a hard time not laughing at him.

  “I didn’t want anyone to recognize me,” he said. “I didn’t want to come anywhere near you until this case is over.”

  “And you think this piece of roadkill”—she paused to dangle the faux face hair in between them—“was a decent disguise?”

  “You have to see the whole thing,” he said.

  “Go on then,” she said.

  Joe turned away from her and scrounged around on her futon. He fumbled with his back to her, and when he turned around she had to admit he looked nothing like Joe DeLaura, assistant district attorney and snappy dresser. Instead he had a pillow-enhanced gut and a ratty NASCAR baseball hat, and when she handed over the beard and he stuck it back on his face, she knew she wouldn’t have recognized him if they’d passed each other on the street.

  Then she met his gaze, and his disguise unraveled like tugging a loose thread on a sweater. The long dark lashes that surrounded his warm brown eyes were so pretty they were almost feminine, and when he looked at her with equal parts worry and want, she felt the impact like a fist to the chest.

  Mel spun away from him. She didn’t want to do this anymore. It hurt.

  She went to check on Captain Jack, who kept his face in his food bowl and ignored her.

  “Good disguise,” she said. She heard Joe rustling behind her and she assumed he was removing the hat and pillow. “How is Scott doing?”

  The sounds behind her stopped. She would have turned around to look at him, but she didn’t want to. Maybe it was best if Joe stayed in disguise. Then she could pretend he’d gone to seed and try to get over him.

  Joe was silent for so long she wondered if he’d heard her. When she glanced behind her, she found him beardless, hatless, and pillow-less standing right behind her. He braced his hands on the counter, one on each side of her, caging her in. He was so close, Mel could feel the heat coming off of his body. The desire to lean against him and seek comfort after such a horrible day was almost more than she could resist.

  She stiffened her spine. She knew Joe was not above using her attraction to him to manipulate her into doing what he wanted. This was the problem with letting someone wholly into your heart; they knew exactly which buttons to push to get what they wanted.

  “He is beyond devastated,” Joe said. His voice was a low, gruff rub. “Kristin was his other half. At the medical examiner’s office, noises were coming out of him that I’ve never heard before. It sounded like someone was ripping his heart out of his chest with their bare hands.”

  Joe paused and ran his hand over his face as if he could wipe away the memory.

  “It is exactly how I would feel if anything happened to you. Don’t you see? You have to go,” he said.

  Mel felt herself soften under his pleading like wax under a flame. She broke eye contact. She shook it off.

  “Stop it,” she said. “Frank Tucci isn’t coming after me. He went after Angie—maybe. She’s the one who has to leave town, and I trust Tate to make sure that she does.”

  “And when she does, who do you think he’ll go after next?” Joe persisted. “Even with us being . . . apart, you’re still a target as my last girlfriend.”

  Last? Mel told herself she didn’t care, but the way her heart banged around in her chest, she knew she couldn’t deny that she was happy that Joe wasn’t dating anyone else. So stupid! As if the man had time to date while trying the biggest case of his career.

  “Do you really think that one of Tucci’s thugs killed Kristin thinking she was Angie?” Mel asked.

  Joe winced. He ran his hands through his thick black hair and blew out a breath. “I hate it, but yeah, that’s what I think. I can’t let him win, Mel. I’m going to get that son of a bitch, and I’m going to make him pay.”

  Thirteen

  His voice came from deep in his chest and sounded like the menacing growl of a wild dog. Mel had never seen him so furious or so determined.

  She nodded. She could only imagine how he must feel. The guilt that she felt after realizing that Angie was okay only because Scott’s wife was killed in her place had been the emotional equivalent of getting backs
lapped by a wrecking ball. She knew Angie and Tate felt the same.

  “Tate will convince Angie to leave,” she said. “But Joe, I can’t go. I would lose everything.”

  “Not your life,” he said.

  Mel saw his jaw jut out. Oh, boy. The DeLaura stubborn streak was rearing its blocky head.

  “I could always call your mother,” he said.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she protested.

  One of Joe’s eyebrows twitched, and she knew that he would tell Joyce and he wouldn’t even feel bad about it.

  “No, just no,” she said. “My mother does not need that kind of stress and worry. You could give the poor woman a heart attack.”

  “Not if you leave town,” he said.

  “Let me be very clear,” Mel said. “I. Am. Not. Leaving.”

  “But—” Joe began but she cut him off.

  “No,” she said. “Listen, if there had been an attempt on my life or any indication that I was in danger then sure, I’d consider leaving, but there hasn’t been. You should be happy. Dumping me really worked out for you.”

  It was a cheap shot to the man junk, and she knew it. Still, she didn’t take it back or apologize.

  “Mel,” he said. “You know it wasn’t like that. Listen, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you, but it was to keep you safe.”

  “Because I am just an idiot cupcake baker who can’t take care of herself, right?”

  “You know it’s not that simple.”

  Mel knew he was right, but she had a couple of months of stored-up hurt and resentment, so even knowing he was right, she kept on arguing.

  “Oh, I think it is that simple,” she said. “You think I am too dumb to handle myself in your world, so you just cut me loose.”

  Okay, now she was just needling him. She knew it. He knew it. She knew he knew it, and yet she couldn’t stop herself.

  “Mel.” Joe knuckled his eyes as if trying to get everything back into focus.