Red Velvet Revenge (22 page)

Ruth opened her mouth to answer, but the sheriff returned to their group and said, “Ms. DeLaura, I’m going to need you to stop by the station to be fingerprinted.”

Twenty-four

“What? No!” Oz and Mel protested at the same time.

Sheriff Dolan held up his hands. “Relax. She’s not a suspect, but we need to have a copy of her fingerprints so we can rule them out when we check the pitchfork.”

Mel and Oz both nodded and stood down. Angie looked at Mel and said, “It’s fine—anything to help them catch whoever did it.”

“We should call Tate and Marty,” Mel said. “They’ll want to know what’s going on.”

“No, don’t ruin their dates,” Angie said.

Her tone was a little sharp, but Mel let it go. She didn’t envy Angie having to explain to the brothers why she had been fingerprinted in Juniper Pass. They never took that sort of news well.

“You two need to get back to the truck,” Angie said.

“I texted Tate to tell him to get back there,” Mel said. She checked her phone. “I haven’t heard back from him yet.”

“I imagine he’s busy,” Angie said. “You’d better go. We can’t risk having anyone vandalize our product again.”

“Vandalize?” Sheriff Dolan asked. “Explain.”

“It’s just speculation on Angie’s part,” Mel said with a warning glance at her friend. “The reason we had to make cake pops was because somehow our van got unplugged, and all of our cupcakes were defrosted. We didn’t think we could keep them fresh until the end of the rodeo unless we re-created them into something else.”

“Well, those pops are mighty tasty,” the sheriff said.

“Indeed,” Ruth said. “Before you leave Juniper Pass, you have to teach me.”

“Pie secrets for cake pop secrets?” Mel bargained.

They shook on it.

“Now, go before someone breaks in and steals all of our yummies,” Angie said.

“Call me if you need me,” Mel said. She gave Angie a quick hug.

“Don’t worry,” Ruth said. “I’ll stay with her through the whole thing.”

“Sorry about this, darlin’,” Sheriff Dolan said to her as he opened his phone to make another call.

“It’s our date night,” Ruth explained with a shrug. “Such is the life of being married to a lawman.”

Mel thought of all the times court cases had taken up all of Joe’s time, to the point where she’d pretty much only see him when he was unconscious.

“I know the feeling,” she said. “Thanks for babysitting our girl.”

“I heard that,” Angie said.

“You were supposed to,” Mel said, and then winked at her. Angie gave her a grumpy but not-really-annoyed
humph
and went with Ruth to sit on a bench by the wall.

Mel and Oz walked back to the truck. Oz was quiet, and Mel suspected he was mentally beating himself up.

“It’s not your fault that you wanted to go and see the bull,” Mel said.

His head snapped in her direction as if surprised.

“How did you know?”

“Because you’re a nice person, so it would make sense that you would think that it’s your fault that Angie has to go to the police station,” Mel said. “On the upside, you’ve absolved yourself of anything to do with the murder, because now that they have what appears to be the murder weapon, they’ll hopefully get a clue as to who did this.”

“I suppose,” Oz said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

They got back to the cupcake truck, which looked to be untouched. Mel checked that the doors were still locked, and when she climbed into the back, the first thing she did was make sure that their cake pops were secure.

“Looks like we’re good,” she said.

She and Oz sat in the front of the truck. She wondered if it was really necessary to stake out the van, but then, could she risk having the last of her product destroyed if someone broke into the truck?

No. So, that answered that. They sat quietly for a few moments, and she noticed that Oz’s head was drooping. Poor kid. He must be exhausted.

She wondered if he was beginning to see Shelby for what she was. He certainly hadn’t seemed to be as enamored
of her as he had been before she fingered him to the police. Mel still didn’t like her. And now that she knew that Ty and Shelby had a history, she wondered if a lovers’ spat had caused Ty’s death.

She knew it was none of her business. She knew that Joe would tell her quite plainly to butt out, but still, now her best friend was going to the police station to have her fingerprints taken. Her employee had been sighted near the scene of the murder. Even if she was actively trying to ignore the whole situation, it was a bit more in her face than could be avoided.

Marty and Tate showed up about an hour later. Marty was whistling a tune that sounded like one from Old Blue Eyes about Jupiter and Mars. Mel eased her door open and climbed down. Oz was full-on snoring in his seat, and when Mel shut her door, he didn’t even flinch.

“Martin Zelaznik, reporting for duty,” Marty said with a salute that wobbled. He looked a little too happy, and Mel frowned.

“Had a good time, did we?”

“I only had the fruit punch,” Marty slurred.

“Which was spiked,” Tate added with a grin.

“Oh, you are kidding me,” Mel said. “Is he…?”

“Wasted,” Tate confirmed.

“Oh, for the love of Pete,” Mel said.

“No, no, the name is Marty,” Marty said. Then he walked around her and opened the door to the truck and took her vacated seat. “You two go on; me and the kid have it all under control.”

Mel looked at Tate. “Does that seem wise?”

“I don’t think he can manage the walk back to town,”
Tate said. “He’ll end up sleeping it off on the side of the road somewhere.”

Mel had to admit that seemed likely, and Oz still hadn’t moved. She went over to the open window, and looked at Marty as he burrowed himself into the seat like a dog circling for just the right spot.

“Do not get into any mischief,” she said. Marty gave her a bleary-eyed look. “I mean it.”

“No mischief,” he said. “Got it.”

Then he passed out with his chin on the windowsill.

“Well, at least he really can’t get into trouble in a state like that,” Tate said.

Mel gave him a dark look. She made sure the van was locked and secure, but she couldn’t really imagine anyone disturbing it with two men, even sleeping men, in attendance.

Now that they were out of cupcakes, the beauty of the cake pop had hit Mel. Cake pops needed to be stored in a cool, dry place, because freezing them would cause them to go soft with condensation when they were thawed. Once the freezers were cleared out, they hadn’t turned them back on; instead they’d used them as the perfect cool, dry place for the cake pops. So unless someone actually broke into the van and destroyed the pops, their product was safe. Unplugging the power for the freezers on the outside of the truck would no longer do any harm.

“Fine,” she said.

She pushed Marty’s head over and grabbed her purse from the floor. He mumbled and smacked his lips together and slid back against the seat, sound asleep.

Tate fell into step beside her. She felt his gaze on the side
of her face, and she sensed he wanted to ask her something but wasn’t sure how it would be received. Smart man.

“Angie’s at the jail,” she said.

“What?” Tate skidded to a halt in his shiny new boots and gaped at her. She knew full well that he wanted to know where Angie was. She decided to take pity on him but only a little.

“You heard me,” she said.

Okay, she could have eased his mind with more information, but no. Let the two-timing, two-stepping potato head figure it out for himself.

She strode ahead, and Tate hobbled along behind her, trying to catch up. Apparently, after a night of dancing, the new cowboy boots pinched. She found it hard to dig up any pity for him.

“Mel,” he called from several paces behind her.

She ignored him. She heard him heave a sigh as he tried to keep up and failed miserably.

“Are you forgetting that you asked me to find out what I could about Shelby?” he hollered when they were halfway to town.

Mel paused. Drat. She had asked him to cozy up to Lily and find out more about Shelby, but that had been before Angie found the murder weapon and had to give her fingerprints.

“Fair enough,” she said. She waited for him to catch up. “What did you find out about Shelby?”

“Oh, no, you tell me what is going on with Angie first,” he said.

They were on the edge of the main road, just a few doors down from the Last Chance.

“Come on, you’re going to need a drink when I tell you about this new development.”

The band was playing, Henry was tending bar, and the Last Chance was comfortably full without being overly crowded. Mel glanced at her watch and figured most people had shuffled off to bed after the dance. Only the hard-core had come out to continue the party at the Last Chance.

They ordered two beers and found a vacant corner table. Mel took a sip off her ice-cold mug and felt her entire body relax. Tate was staring at her as if he could will the words out of her.

“Angie found what appears to be the murder weapon, and they need her fingerprints to rule them out when they test the pitchfork themselves.”

“Pitchfork?” Tate gaped at her. “How did she just happen to find a pitchfork?”

“She and Oz were going to see the bull,” Mel explained.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because Oz had been cooped up in the van all day, and he wanted to go and check on the bull, so Angie went with him.”

“And she managed to stumble on a pitchfork?”

“A bloody pitchfork,” Mel said.

They both paused to sip their beers.

The doors to the Last Chance swung open, and in strode Angie. Her long hair was mussed, and she looked pasty, pale, and tired.

“Angie!” Tate sprang up from his seat and crossed the room in several strides. “Are you all right?”

She spun around and stared at him as if she had so many
things that she wanted to say, she couldn’t seem to pick which she wanted to say first.

“What? Is your date over?” she spat.

Tate leaned back from the venom in her tone.

“Hey, I was worried about you,” he protested.

“Really?” Angie blew her bangs off her forehead and planted her hands on her hips.

Mel knew this stance. This was volcano Angie right before she erupted. Tate knew this stance, too, and if he had a brain in his head, he would be backing up now.

“Yeah, really!” he argued.

Nope, no brains.

“I’m surprised you managed to tear yourself away from your date to even notice that I was having a less-than-two-stepping evening myself,” she said.

“For the hundredth time, it was not a date.”

“Ha!”

“It wasn’t,” he protested. “Besides, why do you even care? You have a boyfriend—a rock-star boyfriend.”

“Don’t you bring Roach into this,” she said.

“How can I not?” he asked.

Mel noticed that all of the clientele in the bar was watching the drama unfold before them. She wondered if she should give her friends a heads-up, but figured they were having too heated a confrontation to notice; besides, maybe this would finally clear the air between them.

“You have to make a decision, Angie. Are you moving to Los Angeles with Roach or not?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t decided yet.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. It
made her seem vulnerable, and Tate must have seen that, too, because he went in for the kill.

“Well, don’t you think it’s about time you decided?” he asked. “It’s pretty simple, really—either you love him or you don’t. So, what is it, Angie? Do you love him or not?”

“It’s not that simple,” she argued.

“Yes, it is,” he said. He took a step toward her. “Decide, Angie.”

“Listen, when I’m with Roach, I feel like I am somebody,” she said. “Not a schoolteacher, not a baker, not a little sister or best friend, but I feel like I’m somebody special and important.”

Her cheeks were flushed, and she was looking down at the floor as if it cost her to admit this. Tate reached out and cupped her chin, lifting her face until she met his gaze.

Mel was clutching her mug so tightly, she was afraid her fingers had frozen to the glass.

With his other hand, Tate brushed the bangs out of Angie’s eyes.

“You’ve always been somebody to me,” he said. Then he stepped back and walked around Angie, heading out the front door of the saloon, like a cowboy hitting the trail.

Twenty-five