Dark Chocolate Demise (3 page)

Paulie opened his mouth and then closed it. He didn't know what to say and it showed.

Mel tried to juice up her eyes a little. It wasn't hard to do given how much she'd missed Joe over the past few months. In fact, the sob that made her throat constrict was barely manufactured at all.

“Please . . .” she said.

Al groaned and Paulie nodded. She knew she had them.

“Brains! Brains! Brains!” Chanting voices interrupted Mel's plea and she was shoved back when one particularly large zombie pushed her aside to get to the cupcake van. She was separated from Paulie and Al as the horde of zombies shambled forward.

“Sorry, Mel, gotta go,” Al cried as he and Paulie dove into the horde, hiding from her.

Mel glanced over her shoulder to see that the park was filling up with the undead. It appeared the walk was over and the festival had begun.

Marty came shuffling back to the van, not that much of an act for him, and took up his post beside the coffin.

“I got this,” he said as he climbed back into the coffin.

When a group of teen zombies walked by, Marty reached out with a curled hand and grabbed one on the shoulder. The adolescent boy let out a yelp, which his friends thought was hilarious. Marty gestured for the youth to take his spot and prank the next group that came along. The teen jumped at the chance. Seeing that Marty had the front under control, Mel went back to stalking the brothers.

If Al and Paulie thought they had escaped her, they were so very wrong. Mel circled the cupcake van where Tate, Angie, and Oz were doling out chocolate coffins, mummies, eyeballs, and brains. Judging by the crowd, it appeared even zombies would forgo brains for cupcakes. Good to know, if there ever was a true zombie apocalypse.

She figured Paulie and Al had decided to blend with the crowd in an effort to hide from her. But she knew them too well. The lure of buttercream was their downfall, and sure enough, she found the two brothers hunkered down behind the van's engine, trying to get Angie's attention so they could score some cupcakes. Did they really think this wasn't the first place Mel would look for them? Honestly, did they not know her at all?

Mel strode forward and braced an arm on each side of the zombie brothers. “All right, you two, start talking.”

Al hung his head while Paulie let out a yip of fright.

“Mel, we can't,” Al said. “First, Joe would kill us. Second, it really is too dangerous for you to have any contact with him. We love you like a sister; we can't risk anything happening to you.”

“Save it,” Mel said. “If you've seen him and nothing has happened to any of you, then I'll be fine, too.”

“Now we haven't actually seen him,” Paulie said. “He won't see any of us. He says it's too dangerous.”

“Then how have you been in contact with him?” Mel asked. The brothers were quiet. “Tony rigged something, didn't he?”

Al pursed his lips and began to whistle while studiously not looking at her. Paulie examined his fake arm as if he were a surgeon trying to figure out how to reattach it.

“Angie!” Mel yelled.

Angie poked her head out of the passenger side window of the front of the van. “Hey, there you are, we were wondering where you went. We could use a hand in here, you know.”

Paulie held up his fake arm. “Here you go, Sis.”

“You've been waiting for someone to open that door all day, haven't you?” Al asked.

Paulie nodded and grinned. “I can't believe she said that. It was beautiful.”

“I need two chocolate coffins,” Mel said. “Stat.”

Angie frowned. “Why?”

“I need to loosen some lips,” Mel said.

Angie looked back at her brothers. Her eyes narrowed and she disappeared back into the van. Instead of handing them through the window, Angie climbed out the driver's side door and walked around.

“Chocolate cake with chunks of chocolate mixed into the batter, a dark chocolate buttercream with a milk chocolate coffin perched on top,” Angie said as she studied the two cupcakes in her hands. “I think we should rename these the Rest in Peace cupcakes.”

“Oh, I like that,” Mel said. “Did you know that chocolate releases endorphins? Studies show that even the smell of it makes you feel better.”

She and Angie both took a sniff of the cupcakes and sighed.

Al and Paulie looked as if they'd taken a punch to the gut.

“Too bad we don't know anyone with a weakness for chocolate,” Mel said.

“Yeah, it's a shame,” Angie agreed. “I'm sure they'd really enjoy these.”

“Hey, now, you're not playing fair,” Paulie protested. “We took a brothers' oath, a vow that we can't break. You have to respect that.”

“You're right,” Mel said. “You should put those back, Angie.”

“Wah,” Paulie sniveled. “Come on, have a heart. It's not our fault we can't tell you that Tony has rigged up the bakery so Joe can monitor—”

“You did not just say that!” Al interrupted.

“Say what?” Paulie asked. Mel held out the cupcake to him, and his eyes lit up as he chomped a bite of cake and frosting. “Oh, man, this is your best cupcake yet.”

“Details,” Angie said. She waved the cupcake under Al's nose. “We need details.”

“All right, all right,” Al said. “Paulie pretty much blabbed it all out anyway. Tony rigged up a camera system at the bakery so that the brothers could communicate with Joe and he could keep an eye on who came and went at the bakery in case there was anyone suspicious.”

“Suspicious how?” Mel asked.

“Like someone sent to do a hit,” Al said.

He grabbed the cupcake from Angie and took a bite. Mel and Angie exchanged a look, and Mel wondered if she'd just gone as pale as Angie had.

“What do you mean ‘sent to do a hit'?” Angie asked.

Al looked at her while he chewed. “What do you think I mean?”

“What about Mom and Dad and the rest of the family?” she asked. “Is he having all of us watched?”

“Maybe,” Paulie said, which meant yes. “Oh, Joe did say that you make an adorable zombie chef, Mel, really cute.”

For a moment Mel felt the same schoolgirl gushy mushy feeling inside that she always felt when Joe DeLaura's name came up in conversation. Then like a soap bubble it popped.

“Explain to me how this spying on me works exactly,” she said.

Al and Paulie shook their heads.

“We can't,” Paulie protested. “Joe would kill us. Dead.”

“Deader than dead,” Al said.

“That's nothing compared to what I'll do if you don't tell us,” Angie said.

“What could you do?” Al scoffed.

Angie took her cell phone out of the bodice of her dress and opened the images file. She tossed her veil back from her face as she studied the small screen. Finally, she found what she was looking for and she opened the picture, making it bigger.

Mel glanced over her shoulder and bust into a belly laugh. “Is that . . . ? Oh, wow, that's hilarious.”

“So, help me, Alfonso DeLaura, you tell us how the system works, or I go live on your social media files and share this picture of you with the world.”

“What picture?” Al asked.

Angie turned the camera so he could see it. When he tried to grab it, she smacked his hand away.

“No!” he cried. “Where did you get that?”

Paulie looked over his brother's shoulder and burst out laughing. “I remember that. Virginia Beach, summer of '95. Ange wanted someone to play dress up with her, and she was so pitiful that you volunteered. Dude, you look horrible in a bikini and makeup. And, wow, your chest was hairy even when you were fourteen.”

“Shut up!” Al yelled at his brother. Then he turned on Angie. “Delete that!”

“Yeah, no,” she said. “I found it in Mom's box of old photos and took a quick snap of it for exactly this reason.”

“Blackmail?” Al asked. “That's just heartless. You're a cold woman, Angela Maria Lucia DeLaura.”

Angie shrugged. “I can live with it. Start talking.”

“Fine,” Al said. He gestured to Paulie. “Tell them.”

“Why me?” Paulie asked. “She's not blackmailing me.”

“Everyone knows you're the weak link in the DeLaura chain,” Al said. “Besides, you understand Tony's gizmo better than I do.”

“When the front window of the bakery got smashed a couple of months ago and we were doing cleanup, Tony took the opportunity to install some security cameras, monitoring the interior of the building and the perimeter. We've all been taking turns watching the feed. It's not that hard when there are seven of you. Less than three and a half hours per day.”

“You've been spying on us?” Angie accused.

“No, just monitoring,” Al said. “The cameras don't have sound, so it's not like we could hear your conversations or anything.”

“So let me get this straight,” Mel said. “Joe has been watching all of us for the past few months, even while telling us it was too dangerous to have any communication with us. How is it that he can communicate with you all?”

“That was the ingenious part,” Al said. “Tony has us communicating using aliases on the Deep Web.”

“The what?” Mel asked.

“Tony would be better at explaining it,” Al said. “But essentially for the past ten years, searching the Internet is sort of like skimming the cream off of fresh milk. There is a lot more to the bottle of milk below the surface in the Deep Web, but it's very tricky to access, so that's what we've been using to communicate.”

Mel looked at Angie. “Tony is like scary smart, isn't he?”

“Criminally,” she agreed. She looked back at her brothers. “So, is that all of it?”

“Yeah,” Paulie said. “Ange, I think I deserve a second cupcake for spilling my guts.”

Angie studied him for a second and then hoisted up her poufy skirts and climbed back into the van to get him one.

“One of the brain ones, please,” Paulie called after her.

“Why didn't Joe tell us?” Mel asked. Her feelings of betrayal ran deep and right into rage. “He had no right!”

Her mind was spinning. What if she had started dating? He would have seen it. If the bakery was wired, was her home as well? Was he watching her most intimate moments? Which had been a horrifying amount of midnight pizza eating and Carmen Miranda movies, because really, how could a gal not be cheered by a woman dancing with a basket of fruit on her head and a sausage and green olive pizza?

“Relax,” Al said as if reading her mind. “It's just the inside of the bakery and the exits. He was very clear that Tony stay out of your personal space. He's only checking to make sure that whoever threw that brick through the front window a few months ago—you remember, that one that caused you to get four stitches—yeah, he wants to avoid that again.”

Mel blew out a breath. Joe cared. That wasn't a bad thing, right? She still cared, too. Then why was she hopping mad? Because he wasn't playing fair. She had to worry about whether he'd be gunned down by bad guys day and night, but he was sitting back monitoring her every move.

How much easier would the past few months have been if she could have checked a computer screen to see that he was okay? Lots. And why was it okay for him to communicate with his brothers on the Deep Web but not with her? No, this was unacceptable. Completely unacceptable.

Angie came back bearing brain cupcakes, but Mel stepped in between her and the brothers, blocking Angie's path.

“You can have the cupcakes,” Mel said. “But you have to make me a promise first.”

Al and Paulie exchanged nervous glances.

“That sort of depends upon what the promise is,” Al said.

“It's simple,” Mel said. “You tell Joe I want to talk to him. I don't care if it's on the Deep Web or in person, but tell him, I am going to talk to him or I am going to rip the cameras out of the bakery. Am I clear?”

“Aw, man,” Paulie whined. “Joe's going to kill us.”

“That shouldn't be a problem,” Mel said as she gestured to their outfits. “Since you're already dead.”

Looking decidedly morose, Al and Paulie took their cupcakes and disappeared into the crowd. Mel didn't feel sorry for them. For the first time in weeks, her heart didn't feel as if it were made out of lead, and she knew it was because one way or another she was going to get to talk to Joe.

“You look entirely too happy to be dead or undead or whatever we are,” Tate said as he joined Mel and Angie.

“I know, right?” Mel asked. She grinned at them, but they were not sharing her joy. Instead, they glared at each other, still caught up in their argument from earlier. Mel shook her head. “Oh, no. You are not going to keep squabbling about the maid of honor–best man wedding sitch. We'll figure it out.”

Angie and Tate did not look as if they were ready to unbend, but Mel was having none of it.

“Come on,” she ordered. She looped an arm through each of theirs and tugged them together. “I can hear the band is starting up. Let's get into the spirit of things, yes?”

“Fine,” Angie grumbled.

“Sure,” Tate said.

“Marty, will you help Oz out in the van?” Mel asked as she moved around the van and peered into the coffin. “We'll be right back. We're just going to check out the band.”

Marty was reclined against the blue satin, looking horrifyingly at home. Mel was afraid he was getting a wee bit too attached to the wooden box as he looked to be nodding off again.

She coughed and his eyes popped open at the sound. He stifled a yawn. He stretched as he climbed out of the wooden box, and Mel noted that he gave it a loving pat. He closed the lid and when Mel frowned, he gave her his most innocent look.

“What?” he asked. “We can't have people climbing in there unsupervised. They could get trapped and suffocate.”

“Uh-huh,” Mel said. He didn't fool her, not one little bit.

Marty made a shooing motion with his hands, and Mel turned and left the van, dragging Angie and Tate with her. She marched on, dragging the bride and groom with the relentlessness of a mama determined to see her baby girl married off. Mel was certain that some good music was just what Angie and Tate needed to take their mind off their wedding dilemma.

Mel squinted at the stage across the park. She had only met Chad Bowman once, when Fairy Tale Cupcakes had signed on to be a vendor at the zombie festival. Her impression of Chad was that of a twenty-something hipster as evidenced by his skinny jeans, white Converse high-tops, paisley shirts, and well-worn tweed trilby. Marty had observed that Chad looked as if a thrift store had vomited on him. Hard to argue.

As he stood on the stage getting ready to announce the band, Mel noted that even Chad's zombie persona was a hipster, with a trendy blue scarf wrapped around his neck and smart-looking black-framed glasses accentuating the gash in the side of his head.

Mel parked the three of them under a tree as close to the stage as they could get without being on it. She was hoping the entertainment was something upbeat and fun, maybe an eighties cover band that would get Angie and Tate feeling nostalgic about all of their eighties movie nights.

As they watched, Chad strode out to center stage and took the mic out of its holder. His grunt of welcome was magnified across the park and the horde of zombies grunted back.

“Welcome to the first annual Old Town Zombie Walk,” he said. “We have a last-minute surprise for you. One of Scottsdale's own is in town to do a promotional photo shoot for their latest album, and they agreed to play here today because they're just that cool.”

A rumble of excitement whipped through the crowd. Mel wondered who it was. She really hoped it was someone good and not some lame one-hit wonder has-been.

“Oh, no,” Angie murmured on Mel's right. She clutched Mel's arm in a grip that pinched. “We have to get out of here—now!”

“Why?” Mel asked. “What's the matter?”

Angie was scooping up her wedding dress skirts and looking to find a way out, but the crowd of zombies behind them was pressing forward, trapping them at the front of the stage.

“So without further ado, put your undead hands together for . . . the Sewers!” Chad yelled into the mic, and the crowd went nuts.

Mel felt Tate stiffen beside her as the first one to run out onto the stage was Angie's old boyfriend Roach. At six foot three, his tall, lanky frame commanded the stage. Per usual, he was shirtless, showing off his many tattoos as he jumped behind his enormous drum kit and began to snap out a rhythm as the rest of the band followed him out onto the stage.

“Did you know he was going to be here?” Tate asked Mel.

“No!” Mel shook her head. “I'm just as surprised as you.”

Angie was trying to fight her way out of the crowd, but they weren't budging. If anything they were pushing the three of them closer. She dropped her skirts and wailed, “It's no use. We're trapped!”

Just then the band kicked in, playing one of the singles that had hit the top of the charts a few years ago. Despite herself, Mel felt herself getting swept up into the music. She had been a fan of the Sewers before Angie started dating Roach, and secretly she still was.

“What are you doing?” Tate hissed in her ear.

“Huh?” Mel asked.

“Stop singing,” he hissed.

“I can't help it,” Mel said. “It's catchy.”

“So is the flu,” he grumbled.

Mel glanced at him and Angie. They looked to be the picture of misery. Seeing Roach while they were in the middle of their skirmish was obviously not helping the already tense situation.

She grabbed Tate by the arm and pulled him into her spot while she maneuvered around him. It was best if the two of them faced Angie's past as a united front. At least, she hoped they'd manage that.

Mel bobbed on her feet in the tiny square foot of space that the press of bodies allotted her to dance in, and watched her friends out of the corner of her eye. Tate was leaning down and whispering in Angie's ear. She looked irritated, and then she looked up at him with her big brown, sunken eyes, and a smile parted her black lips.

Angie grabbed Tate's hand in hers and began to dance to the band. Mel wondered what he'd said to her. She wondered if he'd given in and told Angie that she could have Mel for her maid of honor. Mel was okay with that. She was okay with whatever they chose, although she did dig the idea of wearing a tux and being Tate's best wo-man, but that was just the lure of men's fashion. The truth was, Mel was just as divided as Angie and Tate about which of them she should stand up for. Who'd a thunk?

The band blasted through three more raucous songs before they turned it down to play a ballad. Mel got a nervous flutter in her stomach when she realized this one was to be sung by Roach. Oh, no, he wouldn't. He couldn't.

“This is a song I wrote about a girl who stole my heart and then smashed it,” Roach said into the mic. “It's called ‘Angie.'”

He did!

Mel felt the acid in her stomach bubble and gurgle. Where was her Uncle Stan and his ever-handy roll of antacid tablets when she needed him?

Roach paused and scanned the crowd as if he knew Angie was out there. His light blue eyes turned their way, and Mel's breath stalled out in her lungs when Roach spotted Angie in her zombie wedding dress! Oh, this was not going to end well.

The guitarist must have been thinking the same thing, because he stepped forward when Roach jumped up from his seat behind the drums, and put his hand out, gesturing for Roach to stop. Roach looked like he wanted to argue but the bass player joined them.

Roach shot Angie a desperate look, which she missed since she was staring at her shoes, but Tate didn't. He threw an arm around Angie's shoulders and hugged her close. Roach narrowed his eyes and Mel was afraid he was going to launch himself off the stage and crowd surf over to them if he had to.

Thankfully, the band manager Jimbo had the presence of mind to grab Roach by the back of his sparkly belt and haul him back into his seat. He seemed visibly shaken, but, ever the performer, Roach shook his head of long black hair and kicked into his ballad about Angie.

Mel had heard the song a million times; sort of hard to avoid a chart topper. As Angie said, she felt like the song was bird-dogging her in the grocery store, the gas station, the mall, truly, it had been a megahit. But in all those times, Mel had never heard Roach's voice sound so plaintive. He sang the song right to Angie, and Mel almost felt like an intruder on their moment.

Tate must have felt the same way, because with a heavy sigh he took his possessive arm off of Angie and stepped behind her, letting Roach sing just to her.

“That's awfully nice of you.” Mel stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear.

“How can I not feel bad for the poor bastard?” Tate whispered back. “He lost
her
.”

Mel gave Tate a half hug. This was one of the many reasons why she loved him so much. He was good all the way down to his core. He was going to make a wonderful husband for Angie.

After glancing at Tate and getting a small nod of approval in return, Angie lifted her face and watched Roach play with a small, bittersweet smile on her lips. Mel assumed that now that Angie was engaged to Tate, perhaps she could forgive Roach for writing a song about their relationship, which had turned into the monster breakup song of the past year. Perhaps.

When the song ended, the crowd went nuts and the band broke into a thrasher of a tune that had all of the zombies dancing on their feet. Mel glanced behind them to see if she could work her way out of the crowd. She didn't like the idea of leaving Marty and Oz on their own in the van for this long.

She began to wind her way out, glancing back to let Tate and Angie know she was going. To her surprise, or maybe not, they were following her. When they cleared the crowd, she studied Angie's face, trying to determine her state of mind. The heavy gray makeup made it impossible.

“You all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, I'm good,” Angie said. She sounded unsure and must have known it as she added, “I think that was surprisingly good closure.”

Tate looked at her. His gaze was direct as if it killed him to ask, but he had to anyway, so he said, “No regrets?”

Angie stopped walking and looked at him. Her brown eyes glowed with warmth when she smiled up at him.

“Not a one,” she said and jumped into his arms.

Tate laughed. He didn't hesitate but snatched her close and planted a kiss on her that made Mel blush.

“Well, then, I'll just . . . yeah.” Mel turned and strode back through the crowd, unable to stop the smile that creased her lips. There was something magical about Tate and Angie's relationship, and she couldn't help but be happy for them.

Back at the cupcake van, she saw the undead were circled around the vehicle. She climbed up into the back, taking Oz's place at the window.

“Go out and open up the casket; it'll give them all something to do while they wait,” she said. Oz nodded.

“I'll go,” Marty volunteered.

“No,” Mel said. “Oz needs out of the van for a bit.” Marty made a sour face and Mel added, “Relax. Tate and Angie should be back shortly to spell you both.”

Two boys in green coveralls with a nuclear emblem on the front were next up at the window.

“What can I get you?” Mel asked.

“Have you witnessed any paranormal activity, ma'am?” the taller of the two asked.

“Excuse me?” Mel said.

“We're the Bonehead Investigators,” the boy said. He looked at Mel as if this should mean something to her.

“We're ghost hunters,” the smaller one said as if Mel were too stupid to live. “I'm Atom and this is Leo. Our specter meter clearly indicates that you have a paranormal presence here. Please confirm.”

He gave her a severe look and Mel blinked. He was holding a small gadget that looked like an iPhone, and it was flashing with blue lights and making a whistling noise.

“What's the holdup?” Marty groused from behind Mel. “Order some cupcakes, kids, or move along.”

The meter in the boy's hand went berserk, the flashing intensified, and its whistle became a screech that had both Mel and Marty covering their ears.

“Shut it off!” Mel cried as she saw the costumed people behind the boys cover their ears and back away.

The two boys looked from the meter to Marty and then at each other. In unison, they cried, “It's him!”