Dark Chocolate Demise (16 page)

Once in the restaurant, Mel stopped by Heather's hostess station while Joyce went on to the bathroom.

“Hi,” Mel said. She noticed her voice was breathy, probably because she felt like hyperventilating, and her palms were sweaty. “Um, Vincent asked me to stop by his office on my way out.”

Heather glanced up. She looked Mel over as if trying to decide if Mel was competition or not. She gave Mel a scornful look, making it very apparent that, no, Mel was not considered a threat.

Mel knew it was ridiculous to feel insulted, but she did. She stood straighter and pushed her bosom out a bit as she followed the sashaying Heather passed the entrance to the kitchen and down a dark hallway at the back of the restaurant.

Heather rapped lightly on the office door. She looked back at Mel and then said, “Vincent, that baker is here to see you.”

She made it sound as if Mel was pursuing Vincent instead of Vincent being the one who had asked to see her.

“Great, send her in,” Vincent called from inside.

Heather pushed open the door, and Mel brushed by her. She had a feeling Heather was trying to intimidate her by not moving out of the doorway enough for Mel to go through. Mel was forced to rub up against Heather's hip, and that's when she noticed the bulge at Heather's upper thigh. She'd seen Uncle Stan's Glock enough to know exactly what the bulge was. The woman was packing!

Mel scuttled quickly by the woman, feeling her heart pound in her chest. As the door swung shut and Heather click-clacked away on her stilettos, Mel let out a pent-up breath.

The interior of the office was surprisingly bright and airy, painted in a soft eggshell color. The red maple furniture was upholstered in bold shades of green, giving the room a surprisingly upbeat feel.

Framed awards for Best of Phoenix and Best in Arizona lined the wall as well as pictures of Frank Tucci and Vincent Tucci with celebrity diners.

“Mel, thanks for stopping in,” Vincent said. He stood up behind his desk. “But where is your mother?”

“She went to freshen up,” Mel said. “I'm sorry, I have to . . . do you know your hostess carries a gun?”

Vincent lowered his head and gave her a small smile of understanding. “You saw that, huh?”

“More like felt it when I walked by her. I don't think I've ever eaten in a place where the hostess is armed,” Mel said. “I know it's Arizona and all, but . . . yikes.”

“Heather is more than a hostess,” Vincent said. “She's my personal bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?” Mel asked. Her voice sounded faint.

“Since my father's incarceration, he's made some threats,” Vincent said. “I have to be very careful.”

“Oh,” Mel said. She felt herself relax. That, at least, made sense.

“Don't worry,” he said. “No one has tried to kill me, lately. You're perfectly safe here. Go ahead and have a seat.”

He gestured to one of the green chairs on the other side of his desk. Despite his reassurances, she wondered if he could see how her knees were knocking together.

“I have to confess, I have a personal motive for inviting you back to my office,” he said.

Mel swallowed and she was pretty sure she heard a
yip
come from her phone. She ignored it. Tossing her blond bangs out of her eyes, she hoped she looked casual when she asked, “Oh, and what's that?”

“I desperately want to talk shop with someone who understands,” he said.

“Shop?” Mel asked. “But I don't know anything about the restaurant business.”

“I'm not talking about restaurants,” he said with a small smile. “I'm talking culinary arts.”

“You mean baking?” Mel repeated

“Yes,” he said. “I don't think I told you before that I went to culinary school.”

Mel couldn't have been more surprised if he'd poked her with a cake tester. “Really? Savory or sweet?”

“Sweet, definitely sweet,” he said. “I was one of three males in my class.”

“What was your specialty?” she asked.

“Pâte brisée,” he said.

“Hmm, my favorite piecrust,” Mel said. “To be perfect it has to be rich and buttery with a crisp and crumbly texture, which is so tricky to master. In France, I learned to make pâte brisée with aged cheddar and then fill it with apples, cinnamon, and raisins. It was melt-in-your-mouth amazing.”

Vincent leaned forward. “You have to share the recipe. My best was a frangipane pear tart.”

“Almond custard and pears,” Mel said with a sigh. Her nerves vanished with the talk of food. “Perfection.”

Vincent grinned. “I thought so. I do miss it. Sadly, when you have to sit on this side of the desk there is no time for playing in the kitchen.”

“I know what you mean,” Mel said. Quite unexpectedly, she found herself confiding in Vincent about her fears of franchising. “My partners want to take the bakery to the next level.”

“You sound reluctant,” he said.

“I'm not,” Mel said. “No, that's a lie. I'm terrified that the quality will suffer.”

Vincent gave her a sympathetic smile. “That's because you're an artist.”

Mel felt her face grow warm under his praise. “I wouldn't say that.”

“I would,” he said. He looked very earnest. “I've seen your work. You have a true culinary gift, Melanie. Don't let anyone diminish that.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I'll do my best. You've never considered franchising the restaurant?”

“No,” Vincent said. He looked away and then he looked back and Mel got the feeling something was bothering him. “Listen, I lied to you.”

“Oh,” Mel said. “So, you didn't go to cooking school?”

“No, that's true,” Vincent said.

“Oh, good because I really want that frangipane pear tart recipe,” she said.

“It's yours,” he promised. “What I lied about was my father.”

“The Frank in Frank and Mickey's?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Thank goodness my mother didn't live to see this disgrace, god rest her soul.”

He crossed himself and Mel wondered if she was supposed to do the same. She was pretty sure she wasn't so she stayed still, hoping her lack of motion wouldn't be too obvious if she was supposed to cross herself.

“What I lied about was saying my father had made some threats,” he said. “It's more than that. My father has tried to kill me.”

“Oh,” Mel said. She knew her mouth was hanging open a bit, but she didn't know what to say.
I'm sorry
seemed woefully inadequate.

“Listen, Melanie, my father is an evil man, and I don't doubt he's guilty of everything he's been accused of,” Vincent said. Mel's eyes went wide. “I know it's shockingly disloyal of me to admit that.”

“Do you have proof?” Mel asked. She was thinking Joe's case could be made if Frank's son testified against him.

“No, unfortunately,” Vincent said. “My father kept all of his business dealings from me. On her deathbed, my mother made him swear that he would never let me become a part of the life. As far as I know, it's the only promise my father has ever kept.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Mel asked.

“Because I've been watching the news,” Vincent said. “That woman who was killed at the zombie walk, she wasn't just a random victim.”

“What do you know?” Mel asked.

Vincent cursed. “Nothing for sure, but I know my father is behind it. That woman's body was put in a coffin in front of your cupcake van. Do you think that was a coincidence?”

“I don't know,” Mel said.

“It wasn't,” Vincent said. “That woman is married to that man who works in the prosecutor's office, right?”

It was public information, so Mel nodded.

“Melanie, it could have been you,” he said. She glanced up at him in surprise, and he added, “Everyone knows you used to date Joe DeLaura. And doesn't his sister work for you, too?”

Mel's throat felt suddenly dry and when she swallowed, it hurt. Vincent was confirming her worst fears.

“Joe and I are no longer together,” she said.

“That won't matter to my father if he suspects that DeLaura still cares about you,” Vincent said.

“He doesn't,” Mel said. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to lie when Vincent seemed to loathe his father as much as she did, but her instincts were guiding her.

“Why would your father go after Joe's sister?” Mel asked.

“To destroy him,” Vincent said. “It would work, wouldn't it?”

Mel didn't answer. She couldn't.

“Do you think the woman who was murdered was supposed to be one of us?” she asked. She was pleased that her voice didn't shake when she asked the question.

“As I told the police, I don't know,” Vincent said. “My father has kept me out of that part of his life. But would I put it past him? No. Melanie, until my father is locked away for good, I must warn you to be very, very careful.”

Mel nodded. Her heart felt like a stone sinking in her chest. She did not want to report this conversation to Angie or anyone else for that matter.

A knock sounded on the office door right before it was shoved open, and Heather stepped into the room.

“The beer distributor wants to talk to you,” she said. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking between them with an unhappy expression on her face.

Mel didn't need to be told twice. She rose from her seat and Vincent did the same, coming around the desk to join her. He put his hand on her lower back as they walked to the door.

“We'll have to get together again and compare cooking tips,” he said. “You know, when things are . . . calmer.”

“Absolutely,” Mel said.

“And I really do want to get Fairy Tale Cupcakes in here and on our menu,” he said.

“That would be great,” Mel said. She felt as if her enthusiasm was forced since all she could think about was Vincent's revelation that Angie may very well have been the one marked for death.

She shivered and felt Vincent's hand move up and down her back in a soothing gesture. He leaned close and whispered, “Remember what I said. Please, be careful.”

“I will,” Mel whispered back. “Thank you.”

Once outside the office, she turned and bolted down the hallway. She could feel Heather's narrowed gaze on her back, which did nothing to calm her nerves. Holding her purse up to her face she saw that her phone connection was still open. She picked it up and put it to her ear.

“Mom, meet me by my car,” she said.

“Sorry, cupcake, there's been a change of plan.” It was Joe who answered. “Now do exactly as I say.”

Mel gasped.

“Don't say my name,” Joe ordered. “Just act casual and get your butt outside. Your mom is already out here.”

Mel was halfway through the restaurant and saw Meatball standing by the bar, watching her leave. She gave him a little wave just as she would have had this been a normal lunch. To her relief, he waved back. Yes, the tip had definitely been worth it.

Mel stepped out into the daylight. She blinked against the sun's brightness and scanned the area, looking for her mother.

She heard Joe expel a relieved breath on the phone. Then he ruined it by sounding bossy. “Walk right to your car, do not turn around, do not pause, do not even think about avoiding me by trying to catch the city bus.”

“Fine,” Mel said. She trudged across the parking lot, where she had left her Mini Cooper. When she got there she glanced in to see Joe back in his redneck disguise, sitting in the driver's seat of her car, holding her mother's phone to his ear.

She opened the passenger door and climbed in. Joe barely waited until she'd shut the door before he hit the gas and zipped out of the parking lot.

“Where's—” Mel began but Joe interrupted her.

“Joyce is with Stan, who is taking her home,” he said. His jaw was clamped so tight Mel was surprised he could get the words out. “It's probably best if you do not speak right now.”

Mel was about to argue, but self-preservation made her close her yap. Joe was the most even-tempered person she'd ever met, but he did not look like that now. In fact, his resemblance to Angie when she blew a fuse was alarming to say the least.

He drove to the lot behind the bakery, where he parked in her usual spot. Mel went to climb out but Joe halted her by putting his hand on her arm.

“We need to talk. Your apartment. Now.”

Mel did not like his tone, but wisely realized that this might not be the best time to point it out to him. Instead, she got out of her car and strode across the alley to the stairs that led up to her apartment. She could hear Joe behind her, mostly because he was stomping his feet as if trying to exercise his foul mood on the steps.

Mel unlocked her door and pushed her way in. Captain Jack was snuggled in his favorite blanket and only blinked at the interruption before burying his nose in his tail and falling back to sleep.

“How did you know—” Mel began but Joe interrupted her again.

“No,” he said. He ripped off his beard and hat and pillow gut and stood in just a loose gray T-shirt and jeans. He shoved his hands through his hair. “I get to ask the questions.”

“Shouldn't you be in court?” Mel asked. She was hoping he'd forgotten and would now have to hurry back.

“We're recessed for the day,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. “Explain yourself.”

“There's nothing to explain,” Mel said. “Mom wanted to go out for lunch, so we went to Frank and Mickey's.”

“How dumb do you think I am?” he yelled.

Mel blinked. Joe sounded crazy mad. He never sounded crazy or mad. In fact, she couldn't recall a single time when they'd been dating where Joe had yelled at her like this. And since they weren't dating, she really didn't know where he got off thinking he could yell at her like this right now.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she said. She planted her hands on her hips and assumed her fighter's stance. “Don't you raise your voice to me.”

“Are you kidding me?” Joe asked. “This is nothing. You're lucky I didn't storm into that restaurant and carry you out over my shoulder caveman style.”

“You wouldn't!”

“Wouldn't I?”

Mel shook her head. There was no way she should find this domineering male thing he had going on attractive. And yet a tiny little feminine part of her swooned, which made the liberated woman inside of her vomit. She put her hand to her forehead. This was all too much to process.

She turned on her heel and headed to the giant ceramic cupcake on the counter where she kept her candy stash. She lifted off the lid and peered inside.

It was a sad state of affairs in there. She had a few stale chocolate hearts left over from Valentine's Day and half of a candy cane from Christmas. St. Patrick's Day wasn't known so much for candy as it was for beer, so that wasn't helpful. Thankfully, Easter was only a few weeks away. After that there really wasn't a good candy holiday until Halloween. Someone really needed to get on that. The Fourth of July needed its own candy with foil-wrapped chocolate stars or chocolate flags or something.

“Candy?” Joe asked. “You're foraging for candy
now
?”

He leaned over her shoulder to check out the stash.

“Can you think of a better time?” she asked.

“That's pitiful,” he said, eyeing the contents.

“Don't I know it,” Mel said. She reached in and grabbed the two hearts. She held one out to Joe. He was the only person alive who had a sweet tooth to rival her own.

He took the heart and gave her a severe look. “Do not think that by taking this candy I am in any way saying that what you did today is okay.”

“Noted,” Mel said. She unwrapped her candy heart and shoved it in her mouth. “But I don't like shouting, so if you could dial it back that would be great.”

Joe shoved his chocolate into his mouth, too. Mel wondered if it was to keep himself from yelling at her again. She glanced back into the cupcake.
Barren
was the word that leapt to mind. She sighed. If she had been planning to bribe him, she was out of luck.

“I'm sorry I yelled,” Joe said. “No, actually, I'm not. In fact, I feel like yelling a whole lot more.”

His volume started to go up, and Mel could feel her own temper kicking in.

“Stop!” she said. “We are not together anymore. You have no right to tell me what I can or can't do.”

“I have every right,” Joe argued. Mel opened her mouth to argue, but he held up his hand in a “stop” gesture. “Maybe not as your boyfriend but as the prosecutor in a very delicate case, you bet I do.”

“My eating at a restaurant that is open to the public has nothing to do with your case,” she said.

“Really?” he asked. He glowered at her but Mel refused to knuckle under to his glower. “Then explain to me why you were alone in a room with the son of a man who is likely responsible for a woman's death and why even Vincent the son was warning you to be careful, that his father is evil, and that you could very well be a target.”

“Ah,” Mel gasped. “How do you know all that?” She patted her clothes. “Do you have me bugged?”

For the first time a tiny smile lifted the corner of Joe's lips. He scowled, forcing it back.

“No, we have the restaurant under surveillance,” he said. “We have for ages. How do you think Stan and I knew you were there?”

“Oh,” Mel said.

Joe crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “I must say you and Vincent certainly seemed to hit it off over pâte brisée.”

“I had no idea he had been to culinary school,” Mel said. “Small world, huh?”

“Mel, just because he can roll out a piecrust doesn't mean he isn't dangerous,” Joe said.

“But you heard what he said, his father made his mother a promise on her deathbed to keep him out of the family business,” Mel said.

“Yeah, and because Frank Tucci is known for being a man of his word, I totally believe he did just that. Not. Just because we can't find any criminal activity in Vincent Tucci's past doesn't mean there isn't any. What the hell were you thinking going there for lunch?”

“I wanted to help Angie,” Mel shouted. She couldn't help it; her nerves were shot.

“How?” Joe shouted in return. “By getting yourself killed?”

“No, by using my connection to the restaurant to see if it was likely that Angie was the target,” Mel yelled. “The woman is losing her hair, Joe, I had to do something.”

“Hair grows back,” Joe argued. “But once you're dead, you're dead. You took a horrible risk. You have no idea what Tucci's goons could do to you.”

Mel thought about Tommy the Knuckle and shivered. “I do know. Manny told me about his associates.”

Joe was quiet for a while. “So, how did it go last night with Manny here?”

His voice sounded overly casual as if he was trying very hard to sound ambivalent.

“It was great,” Mel said. She wasn't sure what made her do it, but the devil flew into her and she added, “You know, minus the lack of sleep.”

Joe's brows lowered over his eyes. “Lack of sleep?”

“Yeah, we were up most of the night, if you know what I mean.” Mel turned away from him so he couldn't see her smirk.

“No, I don't,” he said. “Define ‘up.'”

Mel glanced over her shoulder at him. She let her gaze lower to the portion of his anatomy that had the ability to rise up, so to speak. But instead of answering him, she strode into the kitchen to attend the dishes she had neglected over the past few days.

As she opened her small dishwasher, she began to whistle. She could see Joe begin to mutter and pace in her peripheral vision. A part of her felt bad for teasing him, but the part of her that was still sore at him for being so insufferably bossy did not.

Finally, he stopped muttering and leaned over the counter and demanded, “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

Mel put the last glass in the dishwasher and closed it. She turned to face him. He looked punchy, tired, and utterly drained. She was pretty sure he'd lost at least ten pounds, and the bags under his eyes looked like they were packed and ready to head to the nearest deserted island they could find. She was enjoying nothing about this.

She leaned over the counter, meeting him halfway and putting them just inches away from each other.

“No, I'm not,” she said. “It hurts me to see you like this, and I'm mad at you for pushing me away when I could help you.”

He looked at her as if to say,
Oh but no.

“I could,” she insisted. “At the very least, I'd make sure you were eating and sleeping.”

Joe's warm brown eyes grew soft. “So, I don't have to worry about you and Manny?”

“You know you don't,” she said. She shook her head. “The cameras in the bakery would have made it perfectly clear that we slept in separate booths last night.”

Joe had the grace and good sense to look down and away. “Yeah, I knew that.”

“I figured you did,” she said. “Otherwise, I wouldn't have teased you. Manny's a good man.”

“He is,” he said.

“But I'm otherwise engaged,” she said.

“Engaged?” he asked. “Interesting word choice.”

Mel felt her face get hot. “I just meant that I'm not available right now.”

Joe smiled. “I like it the other way better.”

“Really?” she asked. “So, if I asked you to marry me right now, would you?”

“Oh, no,” he said. “It's too dangerous.”

It was Mel's turn to glower. She hadn't really expected him to hustle her out the door to the nearest JP, but she had thought he'd be okay with the general idea of marriage. Then again, maybe when he'd said no a few weeks back, it hadn't been just about this case. Maybe Joe really didn't want a happy ever after with her.

“Really? Too dangerous?” she asked. “Tell me this, Joe, when is it not going to be too dangerous?”

“Mel, you know I never wanted to end things between us. I'm just trying to keep you safe.”

“Not from a broken heart, apparently.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “You caught me off guard there. Of course I want to—”

“Save it,” she snapped. “You know what I think? I think you don't want me but you don't want anyone else to have me, either.”

“Not true,” he protested. “My only thought has been to keep you safe by any means possible. I never wanted to hurt you. Hell, I never wanted to break up with you. I wanted to marry you. Remember? It was a go right before you dumped me.”

“Oh, let's go there again,” she said. “You know I was working through some stuff. I'm over it now.”

“Are you?” he asked. “Then why do you take stupid risks and scare the beejezus out of me?”

“Lunch today had nothing to do with you,” she shouted. She had hit her boiling point in frustration. “I was trying to help Angie.”

“So you said, but how does putting yourself in the line of fire help Angie?” he asked. “Unless you think that being the one who gets killed will spare her, in which case isn't that a hell of a way to get out of being with me?”

Now they were both yelling—again. Captain Jack leapt onto the back of the couch and began to lick his foreleg. He looked disgusted with the both of them.

“That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard,” she said. “Here's some reality. You don't really want to be with anyone, and you're always going to play the ‘my life is too dangerous' card just to keep me, or anyone, away. Fine, then. I think we're done here. In fact, I want my key back and this time I mean it.”