Dark Chocolate Demise (18 page)

“Wha—what?” Mel cried. “No, no, no! You can't do that. Oh, my god, Tate would filet us both with a rusty blade.”

“Just hear me out,” Angie said. “I have a plan.”

“What plan?” Mel asked. “To get yourself killed?”

“Stop!” Angie said. “No one has come after me. No one. I really think the target was Kristin.”

“Does that make sense?” Mel asked.

The kitchen door opened and Tate poked his head in.

“Hi, girls,” he said in his most chipper voice.

“Get out,” Angie snapped.

“There's my blushing bride,” Tate said. “Have I told you how beautiful you are today? Because you are truly breathtaking.”

Angie held up her hand and pointed for Tate to go back the way he came.

“Okay, then; I'll just be out front if you need me,” he said. The door swung shut behind him.

“How long do you plan to torture him?” Mel asked.

“Until the lesson sticks,” Angie said. “He's a bright boy. He should get it by this time tomorrow.”

“It would be very difficult for any of Tucci's associates to make a move on you since you've had your own personal security detail, so your argument that nothing has happened is shaky at best.”

“No, it's not,” Angie said. “Listen, there's stuff you don't know about Kristin Streubel.”

“Such as?” Mel asked.

“First, there is no record of a marriage between her and Scott Streubel,” Angie said.

“How do you know that?” Mel asked.

“Marty told me what Chad Bowman said when he was here before,” Angie said. “So I double-checked and he's right. There is no record of a marriage.”

“So what? You know how long it takes to file these things,” Mel said. “Maybe the paperwork got held up.”

Angie just stared at her. “Then why does the accounting firm she was supposed to have worked for have no record or even a recollection of her?”

Mel felt her heart pound hard in her chest. Could it be possible that Kristin wasn't who Mel had thought she was?

“If you tell me next that the government caused her to be a real zombie and then executed her so that people wouldn't find out, I'm calling the hallucination hotel and booking you a room,” Mel said.

“No, I'm not all the way around the bend yet,” Angie said. “But you have to admit, it's fishy.”

“Still not worth putting yourself out there to be shot,” Mel said.

She took a slab of the rolled-out green fondant and began to shape delicate green leaves to put around the rosebuds.

“Maybe, but if they really wanted to whack me, they would have by now,” Angie argued. “That's why I'm sure the target must have been Kristin, and if I go to Roach's party unencumbered and nothing happens to me that will prove it.”

“That's a big risk to take to prove you're right,” Mel said.

“No bigger than taking your mother to lunch at Frank and Mickey's restaurant,” Angie argued. “Wouldn't you do it?”

“Maybe,” Mel lied, knowing full well she would. “Let's review the situation one more time.”

“I have gone over and over this in my head,” Angie said. “It's taken the place of counting sheep for me.”

Mel looked at the dark circles under Angie's eyes. She knew her friend well enough to know that Angie was taking Kristin's death very much to heart. She couldn't blame her. She could only imagine the mix of emotions she'd have if she thought someone had been killed because they'd been mistaken for her.

“The suspect list on a homicide usually starts with the person closest to the victim,” Mel said. “That would be her husband Scott.”

“He looked truly messed up over it to me,” Angie said.

“Maybe,” Mel said.

Angie paused in placing another rose and squinted at Mel.

“What do you know?”

“Nothing,” Mel said. “It's just that . . .”

Angie waited and Mel knew she had gone too far to stop now.

“The brothers,” Mel began but Angie interrupted.

“My brothers?”

“No, the two boys who have been targeting Marty as a ghoul,” Mel said. “They said that they saw Scott at the festival kissing another woman, a zombie with blue hair.”

Angie's eyes went wide.

“I know,” Mel said. “I thought they must be wrong because I just couldn't believe it, but now . . .”

“Oh, my god, this whole thing could be about a man trying to get rid of his wife,” Angie said and clapped a hand over her mouth. “And wouldn't it be the perfect cover to have everyone think it was a mob hit?”

Mel held up her hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down the crazy talk.”

“It's not crazy!” Angie said. “It makes perfect sense.”

“It makes no sense!” Mel argued.

“Think about it,” Angie said. “Scott Streubel is married to Kristin but in love with someone else. How does he get out of it?”

“No!” Mel said. “I was at their wedding. Joe gave a speech. It was very touching.”

“Because you were with Joe or because there was heartfelt emotion going on there?” Angie asked.

Mel tried to think back to the day of the wedding. She could only remember bits and pieces as most of her attention was caught up in being with Joe. She sighed.

“What if Leo and Atom were wrong?” she asked. “What if they were mistaken and the blue-haired zombie woman was kissing someone else? I don't think I can risk putting Scott through an accusation like that.”

“Then we know what we have to do,” Angie said. “We need to find the blue-haired zombie woman.”

Mel blinked at her. “You have lost your mind.”

“Hear me out,” Angie said. “Samurai Comics had a free photo booth at the zombie walk and they posted the pictures online. Maybe they took a picture of her.”

“How do you know this?” Mel asked.

Angie glanced away. “I pay attention to stuff.”

Mel knew she wasn't getting the whole story but she decided to let it go, for now. “Even if they did, how are we going to figure out who she is?”

“First things first,” Angie said. She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried into the office. She came back holding the laptop Tate kept in the office.

Mel glanced at the door to the bakery. All was quiet. She supposed it didn't hurt to just look for the blue-haired zombie. After all, it was incredibly unlikely that they'd find her.

“All right, go ahead,” Mel said. She knew she sounded reluctant as she pressed her little green leaves onto the base of a rosebud.

“You know I have to do this, right?” Angie asked. “Please don't judge me. I've been a wreck.”

“I know,” Mel said. “I can't imagine . . .” Realizing she was about to say something really stupid, she let her words trail off, but the damage was done.

“What it feels like to think it's your fault a woman was killed. I can't sleep, I can't eat,” Angie paused to sob and then reached up and pushed her hair aside and pointed to what was clearly a bald spot, “and I'm losing my hair.”

Mel circled the table and hugged her friend close. Angie sobbed on her shoulder and Mel patted her back and rocked her as if she were one of Mel's nephews with a boo-boo. When Angie quieted down, Mel pulled back and studied her friend.

“Angie, you have to know this isn't your fault,” Mel said. “The person who killed Kristin is at fault. Not you.”

“Maybe,” Angie choked the word out. “I keep thinking what if Tate and I hadn't gone as a bride and groom. What if we'd gone as a zombified Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers?”

“That was an option?” Mel asked.

“Not really. Tate can't dance and we figured even as zombies they'd have been able to bust a move,” Angie said. “But there were so many other things we could have gone as. But if it wasn't Frank Tucci behind the shooting, if it was someone else . . .”

“Then she would have been killed either way,” Mel said.

“Yeah,” Angie said. “How sick am I to hope that's the case?”

“Not sick,” Mel said. “A little warped perhaps . . .”

Angie gave her a weak smile in return for her attempt at humor. Mel returned to her cupcakes while Angie dug into the pictures posted from the zombie walk.

Mel pressed a circular cookie cutter into the green fondant and then carefully lifted the circle of fondant off of the parchment paper. She placed it over the buttercream on a cupcake and smoothed the sides down with her fingers. She then brushed a little bit of water onto the top of the fondant-covered cupcake before placing a leaf cutout and one of her rosebuds on top. She gently pressed them onto the base and then leaned back to admire the results.

She finished off a dozen while Angie hunched over the laptop, saying nothing. Mel was about to suggest she give it a rest, when Angie gasped.

Mel glanced at her and then hurried back around the table to look at the screen. “Did you find her?”

“I think so. Look.” Angie tapped the screen, and Mel saw a blue-haired zombie woman posing for the camera. She was about to point out that there could be many blue-haired zombie women at the festival, but then she remembered the boys had said the one they saw was wearing a lab coat.

“That has to be her,” Mel said. “She's dressed just as the boys said.”

“Yes, but it gets even better,” Angie said. “Look at this.” She scrolled through the photos until she came to another page that had several pictures including the blue-haired woman. “This is an open invite from the Sewers to these selected zombies to attend the Sewers CD release party tonight.”

“What? Why?” Mel asked.

“When I talked to Roach, he said—”

“You talked to him?” Mel asked.

“Briefly, after Tate refused to let him drop off the VIP passes, I ‘bumped' into him when I stopped at Echo Coffee.”

“‘Bumped' meaning it was a setup?” Mel asked.

Angie shrugged and then continued. “Because of the . . . situation . . . the band doesn't want to use the promotional pictures they took at the zombie walk and are calling back their favorite zombies for photo ops at the party tonight. You realize what this means, right?”

“That we should call Roach and ask if he knows who she is?”

“No, it means I'm going to Roach's party tonight,” Angie said. “I need to make peace with him anyway.”

“You're fighting?” Mel asked.

“Not fighting so much as there's a lot left unsaid between us,” Angie said. “When I ran into him at the coffee joint, we started to talk, but then Tate and two of the brothers arrived. We agreed to talk later, but later never happened, as I didn't want another dustup between him and Tate. Hey, those look really beautiful.”

Angie pointed to the cupcakes. They were lovely with the pink rosebuds perched on tiny green leaves on the lighter green fondant base.

“They remind me of the simple beauty of a petit four,” Mel said.

“We could add some bright pink swirls if they want to jazz it up a bit,” Angie said.

Mel nodded but she wasn't thinking about the cupcakes. It was time. She took a deep breath.

“Roach came to see me last night,” she said. “Before you ‘bumped' into him at Echo.”

“What?” Angie asked. “And you're just telling me now?”

“It's been kind of crazy,” Mel said. “Plus, I wasn't sure how it would go over with you and Tate and, gah, why is it all so complicated?”

“Agreed.” Angie blew out a breath. She studied Mel's face. “What did he say?”

“He still cares about you very much,” Mel said. “He seemed worried.”

“I know,” Angie said. “I need to go see him, especially if it helps us track down the blue-haired woman.”

Mel was silent for a moment. She needed to contact Manny and tell him what they'd found out about Scott. Maybe in the footage he'd been reviewing, he'd pick up Scott and this woman. The thought made her stomach hurt.

“What time do you want to leave tonight?” she asked.

Angie's big brown eyes met hers. “You're in? You'll go with me?”

“Well, I'm not letting you go alone,” Mel said. “Assuming you'll let me.”

Angie got a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and she looked at Mel and said, “‘An old friend is never an extra guest.'”

Mel frowned. Angie was quoting a classic movie, black-and-white, with a swoon-worthy Cary Grant and the incomparable Ingrid Bergman. What was it?

“Give up?” Angie asked.

“No . . .
Notorious
!” Mel said.

“Nailed it.” Angie raised her hand and they exchanged a high five.

“All right, let's get these finished,” Mel said. “I am sure my wardrobe does not have anything even remotely resembling what to wear to a CD release party.”

“Actually, that's a good thing,” Angie said. “Because I think I know how we're going to ditch our bodyguards.”