Sugar and Iced (Cupcake Bakery Mystery) (5 page)

“Big Brother sure looked happy when he left,” Angie
said as she and Tate joined Mel in the kitchen.

Mel was channeling all of her relationship angst into her baking and was creating a new version of her popular Chocolate Peanut Butter Cupcake. Angie and Tate sat in seats across from her at the steel table and watched her work.

“Death by Chocolate will do that for you,” Mel said.

“Uh-huh,” Angie said. “Anything you care to share?”

“Nope.”

“We’re not going to have another incident where you are engaged and not telling us, are we?” Tate asked. “Because that wouldn’t go over well a second time.”

He reached for some of Mel’s chopped peanut butter cups and she smacked his hand away with the back of her wooden spoon.

“No!” Mel said. “I promise the next time I get engaged, I’ll be comfortable enough with it to tell everyone, even my mother.”

“You’d better,” Angie agreed. “I didn’t think Joyce had it in her to hold a grudge this long.”

“I’m hoping that working the pageant will give me a chance to mend the rift,” Mel said.

“Have you thought of having Joe talk to her?” Tate asked. “I mean, since he’s okay with the change in status, maybe he could talk her into it, too.”

“Or she’ll just remember why she loves him so much and get even madder at me,” Mel said.

“Um, I don’t think she could get any madder at you,” Angie said.

Mel sighed.

“So, what’s the itinerary for the pageant?” Tate asked. “Angie says you’ve agreed to install a cupcake display every day of the pageant in addition to baking the cupcakes that the girls design themselves. Correct?”

“Cici seemed to think it would tie the whole thing together,” Mel said. “They’re paying us and the publicity should be, pardon the pun, sweet.”

“What do you need me to do?” he asked.

“I’ll need you and Marty to mind the store,” Mel said. “And no making any deals to go local while I’m gone. We need to discuss that more before we make any changes.”

“Fine,” Tate said.

Mel paused as she was scooping her chocolate batter into her cupcake pan and stared at him.

“What?” he asked. He didn’t meet her eyes.

“Tate, what have you done?” she asked.

Angie snapped her head between Tate and Mel.

“It’s no big deal,” he began. “I just set up some meetings.”

“Tate,” Mel’s voice was a low growl.

“Just let me work up a proposal,” he said. “I know you like the size of your operation, but Mel, the expansion possibilities are endless.”

“But I don’t want to expand,” she protested. She knew she sounded petulant but she couldn’t help it. “I like my operation exactly as it is.”

“I do, too,” Angie said.

Given that Angie and Tate were now a thing, sort of, she really appreciated the backup, and if she could have reached Angie to hug her, she would have.

“Look, we all know that it was my start-up capital that got the business off the ground,” Tate said.

“Agreed,” Mel said. “I can never thank you enough.”

“I don’t want thanks,” Tate said. “It was the best investment of my life.”

They smiled at each other and Mel knew he meant it.

“But—” Tate began, and both Mel and Angie groaned. “Hear me out. Without access to big bucks, you’re going to have to expand, Mel, or you’re going to have to trim back on staffing.”

“What?”

Tate shrugged. “Sorry, but you’re not going to be able to maintain a staff of five if you don’t grow the biz a bit.”

“So, I’m supposed to let go of Marty or Oz?” Mel asked. “Aren’t we making enough to keep everyone on?”

“Barely,” Tate said. “A big chunk of money went into the cupcake van and we haven’t been utilizing it as much as we should.”

“Well, maybe that’s what you could be doing,” Mel said. “We could load you up and you could drive down to central Phoenix and work the heart of the city. Who wouldn’t want a cupcake for lunch?”

Tate frowned at her.

“That’s a pretty good idea,” Angie said. “I always felt like we should have the van out every day. The advertising alone would surely help boost our sales.”

“So it’s agreed,” Mel said. “I’ll do some extra baking tonight and tomorrow you can roll out, Tate.”

“This wasn’t really what I had in mind—” Tate began to protest.

“You wanted expansion,” Mel said. “Here it is.”

She gave him her best brick-wall face, as in nothing he said was going to change her mind because she was as intractable as a wall.

Tate rose from his seat and went back into the bakery, frowning as if he’d lost an argument he didn’t even know he was in.

Mel glanced at Angie. She had been surprised by Angie’s full support on the decision to outsource Tate into the van. She gave her a questioning look and Angie gave her a small smile.

“Tate needs a kick in the pants,” she said in explanation. “I’m hoping if he logs some time in the cupcake van, he’ll have a chance to figure out his life a bit.”

“It’s possible,” Mel said. “So, any progress between the two of you?”

Angie frowned. “Some. We’re officially dating, but he says he still needs to prove that he can be a provider before he can commit to more. Mel, I am running out of patience.”

“Well, maybe a week or two in the cupcake van will get him motivated to seek his fortune.”

Angie made a grumbling sound that Mel took as assent.

The swinging door to the kitchen opened and Mel glanced up, expecting to see Tate coming back ready to debate his tenure in the cupcake van now that he’d had a chance to think it over.

Instead, it was Oz. He was dressed in his usual black clothing with his blue Fairy Tale Cupcakes apron on. His bangs hung down past his nose, which always made Mel regard him as the bakery’s own personal Muppet.

“’Sup, Oz?” she asked. She did love to talk in teenspeak with him.

“Lupe,” he said. “I’m concerned.”

“About the pageant?” Mel asked. “See? Doesn’t it bother you to have your friend evaluated on her looks like she’s just a hollowed-out shell?”

Angie rolled her eyes and murmured, “Scholarship.”

“No, actually, I’m worried that she has no talent,” he said. “I mean, really, other than study, that girl can’t do a thing. What is she going to do?”

“You seem awfully twitchy, Oz.” Angie narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. “Uh-oh, you’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

“Got what?” he asked.

“You’ve got feelings for Lupe, don’t you?” Angie asked.

Oz shook his head and said, “Just friends.”

At least that’s what Mel thought he said. It was hard to tell since he was growling.

“Please,” Angie said. “Would you care this much if she was just a friend?”

“Yeah,” Oz said. Sarcasm enriched the word with a sprinkling of attitude and more syllables than necessary. “I put up one hundred dollars. That’s one hundred reasons to care right there.”

Mel raised her hands before Angie could poke holes in his defense. “Oz, between my mother and Ginny, they’ll have a talent for Lupe. Don’t worry.”

Oz stared at her for a long moment, then nodded and went back to the bakery.

“Really?” Angie asked. “You think they’ll be able to figure that out in a couple of days?”

“Oh, heck no,” Mel said. “But there’s no need for Oz to make himself crazy over it.”

“Interesting,” Angie said. She narrowed her gaze at Mel.

“What?” Mel asked, not enjoying the scrutiny.

“I just have to wonder,” Angie said. “Since you’ve obviously gone pro in the fibbing department, what else are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” Mel insisted. She hoped Angie didn’t notice that she didn’t meet her eyes.

They used the van to deliver the cupcake tier on the
first day of the pageant. After helping them to set up, Tate took off to hit the downtown lunchtime crowd while Marty held down the bakery until Oz joined him after school.

The resort had given Mel and Angie a nice piece of lobby real estate. They were nestled in an alcove between the bar that led to the pool patio and the hallway that led to the pageant events. Today was the interview day. This was the day when the candidates met individually with the three judges so that the judges could get a feel for their personalities.

Cici dragged Mel and Angie into the interview room to meet the judges before the interviews began. Mariel had been too busy barking at someone on her cell phone to do more than wave at them, quite dismissively, but the other two were personable enough. Lexi Armstrong, a willowy brunette, stood and shook their hands.

“I’ve heard an awful lot about you two,” she said.

Mel and Angie exchanged a look. Was this good or bad?

“Lexi is the features director at
Southwest Style
magazine,” Cici said.

“Oh!” Mel clapped her hands together. She and Angie had become friends with the staff of the magazine after they did a spread on the bakery for one of their issues. “How is everyone at SWS?”

“They’re doing fine,” Lexi said. She glanced at the phone in her hand. “Oh, but Justin Freehold wanted me to give you a message. Hang on. It’s in my phone. He said to say, “‘I like a woman who can take it on the chin.’”

She glanced up at them and frowned. “I hope you know what that means because I haven’t a clue.”

Mel and Angie exchanged a grin and said together, “
Miss Firecracker
.”

“Huh?” grunted the other judge. He was tall and thin, dressed all in black from his cowboy boots to his dark sunglasses. Mel recognized him immediately.

“It’s a movie quote,” Angie explained. The man made a sour face.

“Jay Driscoll,” Cici introduced him. “Fashion photographer.”

“Angie DeLaura,” Angie said and held out her hand, which he ignored.

“You’re too short,” Jay said. “Great hair, though.”

“We’ve met before,” Mel said before he could give her his assessment.

“Oh, well, if that’s all, I’m off to the bar,” he said.

Angie looked at Mel as if checking to see that Mel thought Jay was as rude as she did.

Mel nodded. “Yes, he is. I’ve met him before. He’s the photographer who was so charming to me after Christy died.”

Angie frowned. “The one who told you that you were too heavy and too old to be a model.”

“Same one,” Mel said.

“Gee, thanks for the intro, Cici.”

“He’s not that bad, okay, yes, he is, but he’s still connected to the New York fashion industry,” Cici said. “And so we tolerate him. See you girls later.”

As they made their way back to their cupcake tower, Angie fretted. “Sheesh, I hope he’s nicer to the girls when they interview. He could do some serious damage to a young girl’s self-esteem.”

“Which is why I don’t like pageants to begin with,” Mel said.

“Let it go,” Angie chided her. “Remember, this is business.”

“Fine,” Mel said. But she couldn’t help but worry that Jay Driscoll would be mean to Lupe and she’d want to stomp him. Even more worrisome, if he was mean, Oz would probably do it for real. She could only hope that Lupe shined, for all their sakes.

Joyce and Ginny had spent the day before at the bakery, quizzing Lupe on her answers while Oz watched in growing alarm. When Ginny had asked Lupe what her favorite feature on a man was, Oz had looked at Mel in horror.

“They’re not going to ask her stuff like that, are they?” he’d asked.

“No, Ginny probably just mixed up her practice questions with a quiz out of
Cosmopolitan
,” Mel had assured him.

He’d blown out a breath in relief. However, she’d noted that he had leaned close to hear Lupe’s answer, which had been a man’s smile. Joyce had beamed at her while Ginny scoffed. Oz had looked relieved but then Mel saw him checking his smile in the reflection of a silver napkin holder. Poor guy.

As Mel relaxed behind the tower of cupcakes, she watched while Angie worked the lobby, carrying a tray full of their most popular flavors. She noticed that even the sourest looking oldster paused to take a cupcake and left with a smile. It reminded her that this was why she’d picked cupcakes as the signature item in her bakery. Only a real curmudgeon could remain unmoved by a cupcake.

“When will we find out how we did?” a voice asked.

Mel glanced up to see a sharp-looking, redheaded teen walk by. The young woman was shredding a tissue with her fingers while an older-looking version of her walked beside her, making soothing noises and rubbing the girl’s arm.

“Stop touching me, Mom,” the girl snapped. “It’s just creepy.”

“I’m sorry, Sarah.” The mother withdrew her hand as if she’d been bitten.

The angry energy pouring off of the young woman made Mel long for a cupcake, or at least to offer one to the mother. What a brat!

Were the interviews really that scary? Maybe public speaking wasn’t the redhead’s forte. Mel tried to picture Lupe in an interview situation. Given that she’d known her since Oz had come to work at the bakery and that she always hid behind colorful bangs, Mel didn’t really have a feel for how Lupe would do. She had always been pleasant and polite, but this was a high-pressure situation where the charm factor was critical.

The thought made her edgy, as she’d promised to text Oz as soon as she heard anything. What if it was bad news? What would she say?

Mel fretted, rearranging the cupcakes on the large tower in an effort to combat her anxiety with action.

A leggy, blond young woman dressed in a becoming blue print dress strolled by with a woman who looked to be an older, plasticized version of the young woman. Mel was noticing a theme now.

This pair caught Mel’s attention because she could see from the daughter’s natural glow the beauty that the mother must have been at one time—like, before her lips had been plumped up beyond repair and her skin had been poisoned into the sort of immobility found only on a mannequin.

Mel had noted that the pageant positively swarmed with mothers and daughters, and for the first time ever Mel was grateful that she had been a Large Marge and the pageant scene had never even been an option when she was a teen.

As they paused beside the cupcake tower, the teen glanced from the tower to Mel as if uncertain of whether she was allowed to touch them or not.

“Help yourself,” Mel encouraged with a smile. “We’re Fairy Tale Cupcakes and we’ll be baking the cupcakes you design as part of your competition.”

The young woman reached out to take a cupcake with a pretty pink flower on top, but her mother snatched it out of her hand. The mother, Mel noted, was dressed in tight leather pants, wedge heels, and an animal-print blouse. She was also draped in enough gold jewelry and diamonds to make a pirate giddy.

Mel found it interesting that the daughter was light on jewelry and makeup, and her print dress was demure, as if they were going for sweet and innocent for her interview. Mel had another spasm of worry about Lupe. She had no idea what she had worn to her interview.

“No, Destiny!” the woman scolded. “You may not stuff yourself with cupcakes. Need I remind you that you’re in competition and have to watch your figure?”

“No,” Destiny’s voice came out in a sad sigh that made Mel want to give her a box of cupcakes of her own.

“I’ll eat this one,” the mother said. “Just to make sure this baker is up to creating your vision. Oh, and maybe that one and that one, too.”

Mel watched as the woman grabbed two more cupcakes.

“What about your diet, Mom?” the teen asked with a definite note of annoyance in her voice.

“No problem,” the mother said, taking a bite out of the first one. “I’ll throw them up later.”

Without so much as a thank-you, the woman continued eating as she walked away. Mel watched her lecture her daughter through her mouthful of cupcake.

She stared after them in wonder. Throw them up? That was sacrilege! She had to force herself not to race after the woman and smack the cupcakes out of her hand.

“She’s a horror show, isn’t she?” a voice asked.

Mel whirled around to find Ginny standing behind her. Today’s water bottle was purple and Ginny had a tight grip on it, but she’d abandoned her fur-lined coat for a pale blue cashmere sweater that accentuated her eyes and blond hair. Mel realized that Destiny and Ginny had the same sort of fragile, porcelain-doll look and she wondered if that was a requirement for success in the pageant circuit. She hoped for Lupe’s sake it wasn’t.

Mel nodded toward the girl and her mother. “Who are they?”

“Destiny Richards is a contestant,” Ginny said. “Her mother, Brittany, is a pain in the a—”

“Aside from that,” Mel clarified. “What I meant was, did Brittany ever win the Miss Sweet Tiara title?”

“Oh, hell, no,” Ginny said. “What you have there is a case of a loser mother using her child’s youth and beauty to make up for the lack of her own. Sort of like a tick on a deer.”

“You’re calling Brittany a bloodsucker?”

“Metaphorically, yes,” Ginny said. “She’s one of the worst stage mothers I’ve ever seen and believe me, I’ve seen my share.”

Ginny glanced around the lobby to make sure no one was in earshot and then wiggled a finger at Mel indicating that she should come closer.

“For Destiny’s sixteenth birthday, her mother gave her bolt-ons,” Ginny whispered in a voice that still managed to carry across the lobby.

“What?” Mel asked. “What does that even mean?”

Ginny held her free hand in front of her chest and made a gesture like screwing on the lid of a jar. “You know, bolt-ons.”

“A boob job?” Mel asked. “At sixteen? Is that legal?”

“Oh, please. Don’t even get me started on her nose,” Ginny said. “Did you see the snot locker on Brittany? That thing has been modified at least three times. There is no way that little button is Destiny’s real nose
.”

Ginny took a swig from her water bottle while Mel processed the horror of it all.

“You’re not making me feel good about being here,” Mel said. “I already witnessed one case of nasty daughter and cowed mother.”

“Let me guess,” Ginny said. “Redheaded girl with more attitude than looks?”

“That’s the one,” Mel said.

“Sarah Hendricks,” Ginny said. “Pageant crybaby who also happens to have a vicious mean streak and a serious lack of people-pleasing skills. She’s the current bane of the pageant circuit.”

“Lovely,” Mel said. “Why do I feel like we’ve put Lupe in a viper pit?”

“Nah, there are some genuinely nice girls here, too. It’s just that the nasties are more memorable.” Ginny shrugged. “Our girl Lupe is going to kill, don’t worry. She’s the real deal.”

Mel raised her eyebrows. She vowed to have a chat with Lupe at the earliest possible moment about the dangers of elective surgery and why beauty was really something beyond measure on the inside of a person and had nothing to do with her bra size, or her schnoz size for that matter.

“Ready for another walkabout?” Angie asked as she returned to the tower with an empty tray. “They are scarfing these babies up. Great idea to put the bakery name on the paper cupcake liners.”

“Thanks,” Mel said.

She started putting cupcakes on Angie’s tray while Angie took a sip of the iced tea she’d left behind the tower. Mel was halfway done when the sound of a door slamming boomed down the hallway.

She glanced around with the rest of the people in the lobby and saw Mariel Mars stomping toward them as if she wished someone’s head was beneath the spiky points of her heels.

“Ms. Mars!” a voice called after her. “Wait!”

Mel and Ginny exchanged a glance before they both leaned forward. They knew that voice. It was Joyce and she was running after Mariel.

As if aware of the lobby watching her, Mariel came to an abrupt stop and appeared to force her lips into a smile that came out more like a grimace.

“I’m sorry, Ms.—” Mariel shrugged as if Joyce’s name was of no importance and continued. “I really have nothing more to say.”

Joyce was breathing hard as she stopped in front of the judge.

“But these scores,” Joyce said, holding a sheet of paper out to her. “They’re so incredibly low. They could knock Lupe out of the first round of the competition.”

“So?” Mariel asked, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder.

And that’s when Mel saw it. The hellfire that was normally banked in her mother’s hazel-blue eyes crackled to life. The only other time Mel had seen her mother ignite like this was when someone went after Mel or her brother, Charlie.

“So?” Joyce repeated as if talking to a half wit. “None of the other judges scored her anywhere near as low as you did.”

“I have higher standards,” Mariel said. She examined her manicure as if it were infinitely more interesting than the conversation she was having.

“Perhaps,” Joyce said. “Or maybe you’re cheating.”