Dark Chocolate Demise (9 page)

“Hello, ladies,” Sal DeLaura said as he stepped through the door. “Hey, Ange, I did not appreciate the hand gesture you just sent to the camera.”

“Aw, what?” Angie asked. “How'd you know I did that so fast?”

“Tony and I were on the phone,” he said and wagged his cell phone at her. “Now, look, I'll try and stay out of your way, but Joe said I was to monitor every person who comes into the shop. Tony has them on camera surveillance but we figure if there is trouble, I can jump in.”

Mel stared stupidly at Sal. “I'm sorry, what are you doing here?”

“I'm your bodyguard,” Sal said. “But don't go all Whitney Houston to my Kevin Costner. Joe still has dibs.”

“Dibs?” Mel said. “Like I'm the front seat of a car?”

“Or the last Pringle in the can,” Sal agreed.

“Don't worry,” Angie said. “Mel won't go near you. Aside from the fact that you're not Joe, your girlfriend would skin her alive and probably enjoy it.”

Mel knew the DeLaura clan had yet to warm up to Sal's girlfriend. She was a Jersey girl with the big hair and attitude to match and, yeah, Mel was afraid of her.

“Carla is a little possessive like that,” Sal said. He looked pleased by the observation. “So, I'll check back here. We'll be keeping it locked and then I'll go sweep the front.”

Mel was still gaping as Sal locked the door, searched the kitchen, including the walk-in cooler, and then headed out front. She looked at Angie, who was still looking peeved.

“Wild guess here,” Mel said. “Your scary face this morning is because Joe is having the brothers monitor the shop.”

Angie put one index finger on her nose and then pointed at Mel with the other. “Bingo.”

“Well, now I know what he meant by alternate measures,” Mel said. She saw Angie looking at her, but she didn't explain. “I'm guessing we have no choice.”

“I tried to ditch him,” Angie said. “Tate is at the lawyer's office, working out some franchise stuff, so he was thrilled to have Sal keep tabs on me. I think Tate was actually going to cancel his meeting just to follow me around all day. So dumb. Believe me, I have tried to shake Sal loose, but he clings like a wart.”

“We'll just have to make the best of it,” Mel said. “Maybe if we humor them, they'll go away.”

Angie gave her a dubious look. “Have you not known the brothers for twenty-plus years?”

Mel shrugged. “I know, I know, but we're not twelve anymore. Maybe it won't be as bad as we fear.”

It wasn't. It was worse.

Sal utilized his time by intimidating every customer who entered the bakery. He was so into his task that Mel was surprised he didn't frisk them as they came through the door.

In fact, when one of her favorite customers, Dawn Frazier, a cute brunette with a powerful love of dark chocolate cupcakes, popped in to order a dozen for a party she was going to, Sal followed her to the counter and stared at her as if he expected her to pull out a gun or a bomb or a very large knife.

As he loomed over her, Dawn turned to face him. Her blunt-cut bangs gave her a no-nonsense look and she lowered her sunglasses and glanced at Sal over them. In a voice that did not invite an argument, she said, “Back up.”

Sal's eyes widened as if this was proof that Dawn was there to cause them bodily harm. Mel blew out a breath of exasperation.

“You heard her, Sal,” she said from behind the counter. “Give her some space.”

“But she could be a cold-blooded killer,” Sal protested. “What if she's armed?”

“Sal, you numbskull, Dawn's a regular,” Angie said as she joined Mel behind the counter. “She always pops in when she blows through town.”

“Oh,” Sal said. He looked disappointed.

As Mel handed Dawn the big box of cupcakes, Dawn leaned over the counter and whispered, “You might want to consider buying him a leash.”

All three women looked at Sal in disapproval but he was too busy to notice, staring at the two teens who had just entered the bakery.

“Duly noted,” Angie said.

They waved good-bye to Dawn, and Mel turned to Angie while the teens debated flavors, and said, “We're going to have to do something.”

“Agreed,” she said. “Pants him?”

“Um, no, how would that go over if Carla found out?”

“Good point.” Angie nodded. “Well, what can we do?”

“I don't know but it'll come to me,” Mel said. “Maybe we can put him to work.”

“Doing what?” Angie asked. “The brothers are only good at plowing through our walk-in cooler on a cupcake-eating bender. They wouldn't know a spatula from a PEZ dispenser.”

Mel raised her eyebrows. “You might be onto something there.” She gestured to the kitchen. “Marty should be here shortly to take over the counter. Let's get to work. I'm thinking we need to bulk up our supplies.”

Marty clocked in while Mel and Angie scrambled to start baking for the display counter. As Angie was covering a just-cooled batch of chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter frosting, Sal strolled into the kitchen with his nose twitching like a bunny sniffing a carrot.

“Do I smell peanut butter?” he asked.

Angie shoved a peanut butter cup into the top of the cupcake and gave her brother her most innocent look.

“Do you like peanut butter?” she asked.

“Ange, come on,” Sal said. He put his hand on his hips. “You know it's my weakness.”

“Oh, you should have one then,” Mel said. “In fact, eat as many as you want. It's the least we can do for you since you're looking after us and all.”

She didn't have to insist. Sal's eyes lit up and he licked his lips as he debated which one to pick. Torn between two, he grabbed both. Mel noticed Angie had lowered her head to hide her smile.

Sal scarfed down his cupcakes in a blink, and then he offered to deliver the tray of cupcakes Angie was working on to Marty, so he could put them in the display case. Sal had been gone thirty minutes when Marty popped his head through the swinging door.

“Ange, we're going to need a twelve-step program or a stomach pump if you don't come out here and stop Sal from eating his body weight in cupcakes.”

“Oh, really?” Angie asked innocently. “Gee, I wonder what's gotten into him.”

“Aw, don't try to bamboozle me,” Marty grumped. “You gave him carte blanche and, boy howdy, is he going for it.”

The door was pushed wider from behind Marty, and Sal staggered into the kitchen, looking pasty and sweaty. He sat at the metal table and groaned.

“I'm sorry, Ange, I had to call in a backup,” he said. “I don't know what happened. I think I have the flu.”

“More like frosting poisoning,” Marty grumbled.

“Go home, Sal, you look like garbage,” Dom, the oldest of the DeLaura brothers, said as he entered the kitchen.

“Dom!” Angie cried.

She gave Mel a concerned look over Dom's shoulder as she hugged him. Not only was Dom chronologically the oldest DeLaura brother but he was born an old soul, too. In his mid-forties, with his thick head of hair just starting to go gray, he looked the part of the conservative husband and father that he was. Conning him into eating too many cupcakes was going to be near impossible.

Mel shrugged and moved in to hug Dom, too. She didn't mind if Dom stayed to keep an eye on them. She didn't think he'd go the way of Sal and try to intimidate everyone who entered the bakery.

“You're looking as lovely as ever, Mel,” Dom said.

“Oh, thanks,” Mel said. “Can I get you anything?”

“No thanks,” he said and patted his middle. “The wife has me on a diet.”

“Ha!” Sal scoffed. “You'd never catch me being told what I can and can't eat.”

Dom lifted a brow as he studied his brother. “Is that chocolate frosting on your lip?”

Sal hastily wiped at his mouth. “Peanut butter, and so what if it is?”

“How many cupcakes have you eaten?” Dom asked.

“A few,” Sal said, not meeting his brother's eyes.

“Uh-huh,” Dom said. “Looks like you need to go home and purge.”

“You're not the boss of me,” Sal protested.

“Tell me about it,” Angie muttered under her breath.

“Go,” Dom ordered, making it clear he did think he was the boss. “Mel, is it okay if I sit out front?” He gestured to the laptop bag he carried. “I have some work to do.”

“No problem,” Mel said. “If you need anything, let me know.”

“Thanks,” Dom said. He pushed through the swinging doors and disappeared.

“He thinks he's such a hotshot,” Sal said. His stomach made a horrible grumbling noise and he quickly slipped out the back door, looking decidedly green.

“Should we feel bad about that?” Mel asked.

Angie shook her head. “We didn't make him eat all of those cupcakes. Life is choices, and Sal tends to make bad ones.”

Mel nodded. She'd known him long enough to know this was true.

The kitchen door swung open again, and this time it was Tate. He was grinning from ear to ear, which Mel thought was pretty amazing given that his fiancée was being targeted for murder.

Tate beelined it for Angie, picked her up, and swung her around in circles until she was breathless and clinging to him for fear of falling.

“What has gotten into you?” she asked.

“Millions,” he said.

“Millions of what?” Angie asked as he set her down on one of the stools around the worktable.

“Cupcakes,” he said.

Mel smiled. “I think that's how many Sal ate, but he's not looking as happy as you.”

“That's because he ate those cupcakes instead of franchising them,” Tate said. “Check this out. After extensive research and cost analysis, I have determined that the best price to buy into a Fairy Tale Cupcake franchise would be two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Mel rolled her eyes. She might have known this had to do with Tate's franchise idea. Then she smiled. No way was anyone ever going to pay that to start up a sister bakery to her original store.

Angie bit her lip and said what Mel was thinking, “No one is ever going to pay that.”

“You're right,” Tate said.

Mel almost jumped up and down and clapped with joy. She was so tired of having the same argument with Tate.

“No
one
is going to pay that,” he said. Then he grinned. “However, five some
ones
have already filed the paperwork to buy in. My dears, we are going to be rich!”

Angie cheered and launched herself into Tate's arms. “You are a financial genius!”

Mel twisted her apron in her hands. She truly did not want to be the flat can of pop at the picnic, but all she could hear in her head was her hysterical baker voice screaming about the quality of the franchised baked goods.

Tate must have sensed she was starting to hyperventilate, and he quickly turned and grabbed her hands in his and said, “‘If we're not pioneers, what have we become? What do you call people, who when they're faced with a condition or fear, do nothing about it?'”

“Charles Bronson in
Death Wish,
” Mel said with a smile. Leave it to Tate to pick that movie to quote, such a dude's pick. “But let's not forget that is a movie and not my bakery.”

“Mel, you'll have the authority to oversee operations and make sure that everything is up to scratch,” Angie said.

“Nice wordplay,” Tate said and kissed her.

“I know, I know that's what we agreed on, but until I see it in action, it's very stressful,” Mel said.

“On the upside, one of the strongest applicants is in Vegas,” Tate said.

“Road trip?” Angie asked. “Oh, man, we have to watch
Viva Las Vegas
before we go.”

While a fan of all things Elvis, Mel felt a little hurly at the thought of her cupcakes trying to hold their own on the Strip.

“It'll be okay,” Tate said. “I promise.”

Mel nodded. She believed him. She did. Really.

“So where is your chaperone?” Tate asked.

“Oh, yeah, that sounds so much better than bodyguard,” Angie said. “Not.”

“Sal went home ill,” Mel said. “Dom is out front keeping an eye on things. Didn't you see him when you came in?”

“No,” Tate said. He turned and strode through the swinging doors to the front. Mel and Angie followed him.

Dom was in a corner booth. His laptop was open and he was on his cell phone. His face was a mottled shade of red, and his low voice boomed through the bakery when he growled, “Put your sister on the phone. Now.”

Fearless, Angie approached her brother, looking concerned. “What's going on?”

In answer, Dom spun the laptop so that she could see. Angie's eyes went round and she backed away. She rejoined Mel and Tate and said, “We may want to clear the area. Big brother is about to go vol-freaking-canic.”

“Why?” Tate asked. He looked nervous and Mel knew it was because his status as fiancé was still under scrutiny by the brothers.

“My niece, in a singular lack of good judgment, posted a pic to her social media page of her swigging a beer at a party,” Angie said.

“She's sixteen!” Mel said.

“Yeah, and I'm not sure she's going to see seventeen,” Angie said.

“Are we having a staff meeting?” Marty asked as he joined them.

“More like watching a DeLaura implosion,” Tate said.

“What's the hullaballoo?” Marty asked.

“Niece. Beer bottle. Internet.”

Marty shook his head, clearly confused. “What's the big stink?”

“You are grounded!” Dom thundered into the phone. “You will not be going anywhere this weekend, no parties, no friends, nada. Do not sass me, young lady.”

There was a pause. Dom gasped. Then he pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it as if it had bit him.

“She hung up on me.”

“Oh, that's not going to go well,” Angie said.

Sure enough, Dom began throwing all of his things into his laptop bag. He paused beside their gawking group and looked at Tate.

“You got this?” he asked.

Tate put his arm around Angie. “With my life.”

“If necessary,” Dom said. He left the bakery at a run.

“Parents these days,” Marty said.

“Don't you mean ‘kids these days'?” Angie asked.

“Nah, it's the parents,” he said. “They give ‘precious' a participation trophy just for showing up, and they wonder why the kid thinks they don't have to do squat but should still get a trophy.”

“I don't think I ever got a participation trophy,” Mel said.

“That's because you didn't join anything,” Tate said. “I got a few. They were lame.”

“Agreed,” Angie said. “They never meant as much as the awards I knew I'd earned. How does that factor into my niece being an idiot?”

“No consequences,” Marty said. “You think she would have posted that picture if she knew her dad was going to take a hammer to her phone if she did anything that dumb? No, instead he grounds her. What's that going to teach her when she's still connected to her friends with her phone?”

“Good point,” Angie said. “I'm going to text him your suggestion.”

She pulled out her phone and fired off a text to her brother.

“So, it's about respect,” Tate said. “And a little fear.”

“Exactly. Your kids aren't your friends until they're grown-ups. People just don't get that,” Marty said. “How many times do we have moms come in here, and if we don't have the cupcake flavor little Johnny wants, she starts negotiating with him. You've heard it. Mom bends down to the squirt's level while he's pitching a stink and she says, ‘How about vanilla? You like vanilla,' and on and on it goes while the little runt gets meaner and meaner. What she should do is order what she wants and let the wee one go without. Once is all it would take.”