Buttercream Bump Off (24 page)

“Are you aware, Ms. Cooper, that we’ve had Elle Simpson under surveillance since the murder of Baxter Malloy?”

Mel was sitting in Detective Martinez’s office while he paced back and forth and growled at her.

“Now, I don’t care if you’re dating the head of the FBI—stay away from my case. Do not follow anyone around, do not try to question anyone, in fact, do not leave your bakery—ever! Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Mel said.

“And that goes for you, too,” Martinez snapped at Marty, who was sitting in the hard chair beside Mel.

Marty adjusted his cuffs and nodded.

A knock on the door interrupted them, and a silver head of hair appeared. Steve Wolfmeier. Mel stifled a groan.

“Detective Martinez,” Steve said with his hand out. “I do believe I should be present if you’re questioning my clients.”

Martinez ignored Steve’s hand and turned on Mel with one eyebrow raised. “You neglected to mention that you’ve retained legal services.”

“No, I haven’t,” Mel said. “Mr. Wolfmeier is an acquaintance at best.”

“Speak for yourself,” Marty said. He looked at Steve. “Can you spring us?”

“Absolutely,” Steve said, but Mel jumped up and interrupted.

“That’s not necessary, is it, Detective?”

Martinez glared at her as if he’d like to lock her up for at least a week or two or until his case was solved.

“Is this where the party is being held?” Joe DeLaura pushed his way in around Steve.

Mel rushed across the room to give him a hug. “Thanks for coming.”

“Detective, do you need Ms. Cooper or Mr. Zelaznik any longer?” Joe asked.

Mel wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Martinez looked even more irritated than before.

“No, they’re free to go, but I meant what I said, Ms. Cooper: Stay away from my case.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

Joe ushered Marty and Mel out of the office.

“DeLaura, can I have a word?” Martinez asked.

Joe handed Mel his keys and said, “I’ll meet you in the car.”

“I’ll walk you out, Melanie,” Steve offered.

“That’s not necessary,” Joe said. He stepped between them and stood there until Mel and Marty began to walk away. Steve shrugged and leaned against the wall.

Mel took one last look over her shoulder, but Joe went into Martinez’s office and shut the door behind him.

“What did you think you were going to accomplish by having Marty date one of the main suspects in Malloy’s murder?” Joe asked.

“I was hoping Marty would find out something useful to pin on Elle,” Mel said.

“Did you really think he was going to ply her with champagne, and she’d offer up a confession?”

“When you put it that way, it sounds ridiculous.”

“That’s because it
is
ridiculous!”

They were standing at the foot of the stairs that led up to Mel’s apartment.

“You’re not coming up, are you?” she asked.

“I can’t,” he said. He rubbed a hand over his face, and Mel saw how tired he looked. “I’m still sorting through some briefs for court tomorrow.”

“I called you away to come help me,” Mel said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he said. He kissed the top of her head, and even though she knew he meant it in a comforting way, she couldn’t help but feel even worse.

“Can I pack you some cupcakes?” she asked.

“No, but thanks,” he said. “Look, I know you mean well, but you have to steer clear of this case. Martinez isn’t kidding. If you get in his way again, even I won’t be able to help you.”

“Is that what he told you when he called you back to his office?”

Joe cocked his head to the side and studied her. “You are not fishing for information from me.”

“Does that mean you don’t have any?” she asked.

“Mel! You are the single most infuriating female I have ever met. You need to stay away from this case. Period.”

“Tell that to my mother,” Mel said. “She’s convinced the murderer is out to get her. She’s a basket case, and she’s driving me crazy.”

“Uncle Stan can handle your mother,” he said. “You need to focus on what you do best.”

Mel blew out an exasperated breath. “Fine, I’ll stay in the bakery.”

“That would ease my mind tremendously,” he said.

This time he kissed her on the lips and waited until she climbed the steps and let herself into her apartment.

As Mel brushed her teeth, she thought about their conversation. Technically speaking, staying in the kitchen didn’t mean she wasn’t going to keep asking questions. It just meant she’d have to do it from the bakery.

She prepped her bed and was just climbing in when there was a sharp knock on her door. She hurried across the room. Maybe Joe had finished working early and was going to stay over with her. She smoothed out her pajamas, wishing she’d picked her slinky nightie instead of her pink flannel set with cows, but it couldn’t be helped.

She fluffed her hair and bit her lips as she hurried over to the door. She pulled aside the curtain, and her eyes widened in surprise. It wasn’t Joe. It was Tate standing there.

She swiftly unlocked the deadbolt and ushered him in.

“What’s going on? Did you catch up to Angie? Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know, yes, and hell no,” he said. He stomped past her and threw himself down on her bed.

“Okay, you don’t know what’s going on, you did catch up to Angie, but nothing is okay.”

Tate put his hands over his eyes. He looked like he was in agony.

“I’m in love with her,” he said.

Mel crossed the room and plopped down beside him.

“No duh.”

“You know? How?” He lowered his arms to look at her.

“Would you really be trying to break up her and Roach if you weren’t?”

“No,” he said. “She thinks I’m in love with you.”

“I know,” Mel sighed.

“I’m not,” he said. He looked at her as if he was worried she’d be offended. Mel laughed.

“I know that, too,” she said. “I tried to tell her, but she doesn’t believe me.”

“Me, either,” he said.

“What are you going to do?” Mel asked.

“What can I do?” he asked. “She’s dating someone else.”

“You could tell her how you feel,” Mel said.

“What if she rejects me?”

“What if she doesn’t?”

Tate was silent, staring up at the ceiling.

“What have you got to lose?” Mel asked.

“Her,” he said.

Tate left a short while later. Mel wished she could make everything turn out all right for her friends, but she didn’t know what that meant. Tate and Angie together? With other people?
Sheesh!
She was barely keeping her own relationship out of the morgue.

Instead, she turned her mind to Baxter Malloy’s murder. Someone had strangled the man with her mother’s stocking. That was an act of rage if ever there was one. Of course, given Malloy’s shady business dealings, there were more suspects than she knew what to do with, and she suspected Detective Martinez felt the same way, which was probably why he was so cranky all of the time.

If the Hargraves had done it, it seemed odd that they would stay in town to bunk with family, especially family that was enjoying their downfall with such glee.

There was a long list of stiffed investors to comb through, but again, murder seemed harsh when litigation might have gotten them some if not all of their money back. Which brought Mel back to Roach.

He and his father were estranged. They hadn’t spoken in years, and yet Roach just happened to be in town when his father was murdered. And not just murdered but
strangled
. It would take physical strength to accomplish that, which Roach as a drummer certainly had. Then again, Angie was sure of his alibi. Mel hoped fervently that she was right. She didn’t want Angie to be hurt or, even worse, in danger.

So, who else had a passionate reason to kill Baxter Malloy? Elle Simpson, Malloy’s bodacious girlfriend.

She had been following Mel and her mother the day they went shopping for a dress, which meant she knew about the date. She had been checking out the competition, no doubt. Could she have gotten so angry about being removed from Malloy’s bankroll that she killed him?

Mel had seen her temper at the museum luncheon for herself. Elle was a tad high-strung. She was certainly young enough and fit enough to have taken on Malloy, especially if she surprised him.

If only Angie and Tate hadn’t had their blowout in the restaurant. Marty might have been able to get something useful out of Elle.
Damn.

A small, private service was held at Messinger Mortuary and Chapel. A minister gave a short sermon, and Roach offered a brief eulogy. There were only a handful of people in attendance: Angie, Mel, the band, and their crew. None of Baxter’s contemporaries made an appearance, which was not surprising, given that he had ripped off everyone he had ever known.

Sadly, it wasn’t a celebration of a life lived well, but rather a lesson in how not to go. Mel wondered if Baxter had ever imagined his own passing, and if so, if he had pictured it like this.

When the service was over, Roach stood by his father’s casket and received hugs and handshakes. He looked ill at ease, and Mel had to wonder if it was guilt that made him squirm so.

Detective Martinez had crept in halfway through the service, and Mel had noticed that Roach’s leg began to bounce up and down, as if he had become agitated at the sight of the detective. Was he nervous? Was Martinez here to arrest him?

Mel glanced at Angie, but she had eyes only for her man. If she was worried about the detective’s presence, it didn’t show.

“Stop!” a screech came from the doorway. “I demand that you stop!”

Mel turned towards the door. Ringed by paparazzi with flashbulbs popping was Elle Simpson.

“I was the love of Baxter’s life!” Elle declared. “How dare you shut me out of his funeral?”

The entire room stood slack-jawed and staring. One of the funeral directors raced forward to slam the door on the photographers, but not before a full-on flashbulb assault left them all seeing spots.

Roach recovered first. He was still standing by the casket, but now he turned and faced Elle.

“No, you weren’t. My mother was the love of his life, and you could never replace her.”

Elle clapped her hands over her prominent bosom as if she’d been shot. “Who has been his constant companion for the past three years? Me. Not you, his estranged son.”

Mel glanced past Elle to see Detective Martinez watching the encounter like it was a tennis match.

“My relationship with my father is none of your damn business.”

“I loved him. That makes it my business. And you have to admit it’s awfully convenient that you’re here in town, completely broke, your father’s sole heir, and—oh!—he gets murdered.” Elle made a face of mock alarm.