Read Sprinkle with Murder Online
Authors: Jenn McKinlay
Sprinkle with Murder (8 page)
Nine
No, Mel said. She wanted her voice to sound stern and huffy, but instead it came out giggly and amused. How very annoying.
In her own defense, it was hard to stay mad at a man who looked at her from beneath a thick fringe of lashes and whose crooked smile let her know he was feeling chagrined.
Well, it was worth a try, he said. Actually, I was in the area having dinner with a colleague, and I thought Id stop by and apologize. I realized, when I got back to my office, that I sounded accusatory towards you, and I didnt mean to be. Its just the nature of my work to always be looking for the guilty party.
Angie ripped you to shreddle, didnt she?
Im going to have scars, he confirmed.
Serves you right, Mel said with a laugh. But thank you for the apology.
Silence fell between them. The soft glow of a distant streetlight illuminated the back of Joes head and Mel had a hard time making out his features, but she knew he was looking at her, studying her.
Mel, if you think of anything about today, about finding Christie, that you think is relevant, I want you to call me.
Okay, she said. She took the card that he fished out of his pocket.
This is going to be a very high-profile case, he said. Beware of the press and anyone else who asks you questions.
I assume that anyone means anyone but you, she said.
His grin flashed white in the night. You assume correct.
There was nothing left to say, yet Mel was reluctant to climb the stairs to her apartment.
Joe? a womans voice called from the alley. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of high heels clacking against the cement walkway towards them.
The woman stepped into the light, and Mel wasnt sure what struck her first: her twig-thin figure in a curve-hugging skirt and blue silk blouse, the copper highlights in her long, wavy mahogany hair, or her full lips painted a lovely plum color and set perfectly in her heart-shaped face.
She looped her hand around Joes elbow as if she needed him for balance, but Mel suspected it was really more a possession is nine-tenths of the law sort of thing. Mel knew that move. Shed used it herself.
Susan, Joe said with a smile, meet Melanie Cooper. She owns Fairy Tale Cupcakes with my little sister, Angie.
Oh. Susans brown eyes went wide, and she loosened her hold on Joe. Its nice to meet you.
Mel shook her outstretched hand. She couldnt help but notice that Susan had a perfect manicure, French tips on hands that were as soft as butter. She felt like shoving her own short-nailed, dry-skinned paws into her pockets, but she didnt.
Mel, this is Susan Ross. Shes a colleague of mine, Joe said.
The lovely brunette tossed her hair over her shoulder and gazed up at Joe. She gushed, Oh, were more than that, arent we, Joe?
Joe smiled down at her, and the brunette snuggled back up against him. Mel wished she had a bowl of buttercream frosting and a spatula handy. It had done wonders on Olivias van; she could only imagine what it would do to these two.
There wasnt anything more to be said, so she wished them both a good night and skedaddled up to her apartment. She could hear Susans laughter echoing in the alley behind her.
Mel was awake before her mother keyed into her apartment. Not only was she awake, she was slurping coffee and reading the newspaper.
Her mother blinked at her and glanced around the small apartment, as if looking for something that needed doing to justify her presence.
Coffee, Mom? Mel asked.
Why, yes, thank you, Joyce said. That would be lovely.
Mel rose from her seat and retrieved a white ceramic mug from the cupboard above the coffeepot while her mother sat at the small table in the corner.
Youre up awfully early, Joyce said. Did you have trouble sleeping?
I slept like a baby. She did not mention it was more like a colicky baby with sleep issues.
The few dreams shed had centered on the image of Christies leg sticking out from under her designer gowns, followed by visions of Joe DeLaura glaring at her from the prosecutors table while she sat on the witness stand on a seat that resembled a bed of nails. Before she could stop it, a shudder ran through her.
Mel glanced over her shoulder and saw her mother reading the headlines of the
Arizona Republic.
They didnt get your good side, Joyce said as she pushed the paper away.
I dont have a good side, Mel retorted.
She had retrieved her paper this morning and found that a large color photo of herself hugging Tate at the crime scene was the focal point of the lead story, which of course was Christies murder. Without saying as much, the paper managed to make her longtime friendship with Tate sound seedy and suspect.
Her temper had boiled at the reporters innuendo-laden story. She had scrutinized the article line by line, and realized that the reporter had written a tabloid-worthy story that she couldnt refute, because it was all speculation and no hard facts.
Damn it! She could only imagine how this was going to make Tate feel. The thought of him suffering for their friendship made Mels temper flare again, and she had to force herself to breathe in slowly and try to calm down.
I made an appointment with Johnny Dietz for you, Joyce said.
Mel put her mothers coffee in front of her and resumed her own seat at the table.
Any particular reason? she asked, fighting to keep her voice even.
You need a lawyer, her mother said.
No, I dont, I didnt do anything wrong.
Theyre going to come after you, Joyce said, her voice trembling. You need to protect yourself.
Mom, Johnny Dietz is a tax attorney.
Your father used him for years, Joyce said. Our taxes were always perfect, never any audits, not one.
Mel had to look down at the table to keep from laughing. She supposed it was probably hysterics, but still, the thought of Johnny Dietz, in all his round and bald glory, going nose to nose with Joe DeLaura gave her a severe case of the giggles.
Something is funny? Joyce asked. A young woman is dead, and youre the prime suspect. I dont see whats so funny.
Duly rebuked, Mel felt her smile slink off the side of her face like a misbehaving puppy putting its tail between its legs.
Sorry, Mom, she said. I appreciate that youre looking out for me, I do.
Joyce sniffed and opened another section of the paper. Your horoscope is only giving you a one-star day. Id go back to bed if I were you.
After her mother left, Mel called Angie and told her about her appointment with Alma. Angie offered to come along, but Mel figured shed best keep this meeting one on one, so Alma didnt feel ganged up on. She really didnt know what information she was going to get out of the surly designer, but she had to try for Tates sake, if not her own.
She hurried through her shower. Alma was a fashion designer, so she knew there was no way she was going to intimidate the young woman with her extensive wardrobe of jeans and T-shirts, but she still needed her outfit to set the tone. She thought back to her days as a marketing exec. When trying to woo a client, the firm researched the company thoroughly. If its execs dressed in Armani, so did Mel and her team. It was a basic rapport builder.
She doubted she had time to dye her short blonde hair black, but she could definitely throw together an ensemble worthy of Elvira, Queen of the Night, though perhaps with less cleavage showing, lots less.
Mel donned her black Hilfiger jeans and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt that shed picked up at Target. Black Converse All Stars and a heavy hand with her black eyeliner, and she was ready. A glance in the mirror told her she looked somewhat scary. She hoped it was in a good way.
Java Jive was around the corner on Marshall Way, wedged between a falafel house and an art gallery. The interior of the place was dark, as if trying to maintain the illusion of night and not offend those of its clientele who were not yet ready to face the day. Mel crossed the scarred wooden floor as the distinct aroma of burnt coffee grounds saturated her senses. The only lighting in the place was from blue neon tracks that ran along the ceiling, giving the room just enough light to keep patrons from bumping into the furniture.
Mel scoped the place, hoping to be sitting before Alma arrived. A glance at a small square table in the corner, however, told her that her date had arrived before her, probably with the same intention. No matter.
Mel rolled her shoulders and wove her way through the sea of small café tables to the corner. Alma didnt bother to glance up, although Mel was sure shed seen her approaching.
Hi, Alma, she said. Thanks for meeting me.
Alma put aside the issue of
Vogue
and swept Mel from head to foot with her gaze. As if aware of her strategy, Alma lifted the corner of her mouth in a small sneer and said, Nice.
Mel took the seat opposite her. The table wobbled when she plunked her purse on it, so she moved her bag onto the seat next to her.
A waitress with cranberry-colored spiked hair and a nose ring paused at their table.
Hi, welcome to Java Jive. What can I get you? she asked.
A latte, please, Mel said.
Alma had an espresso already in front of her, and shook her head to let the waitress know she was fine.
What do you want to know? Alma asked. She glanced at her watch.
You have someplace to be? Mel asked.
Alma stared at her. Her dark brown eyes were rimmed with kohl, and her foundation was several shades lighter than her skin tone. Her inky black hair was styled in careless spikes, and she wore a black knit bodysuit with a black leather minidress over it. If they were in a morgue, Mel would have thought someone had left a body bag unzipped.
I have a job interview, Alma said.
What about the studio? Mel asked.
Its closed, Alma said. I have no idea who Christies beneficiary is, and Im not sticking around to find out. As far as Im concerned, my contract with Christie is now null and void. Im free.
Free? Mel repeated. Interesting choice of words. They were silent as the waitress returned with Mels latte. She stirred in a packet of sugar and glanced up at Alma, who was considering her through a narrowed gaze.
Dont read anything into it, Alma said. I didnt murder Christie. Its just that my contract with her was more binding than I realized upon signing.
When would it have expired? Mel asked.
I was locked into a five-year contract, Alma said. I had three to go.
Wasnt working for Christie Stevens a coup? Mel asked. I mean, shes international, Paris runways and all of that.
Shes an up-and-comer, or at least she was, Alma agreed.
But? Mel encouraged her to continue.
But the only one getting any attention at her studio was Christie. Phoebe and I created the looks and Christie put her name on them.
Surely, she . . .
No, Alma interrupted. Her brown eyes were narrowed with anger. Christie was the head of the company, but she didnt design anything. She collected the CFDA awards and the accolades, but the vision and the talent belonged to me and Phoebe.
Sounds like you hated her, Mel said.
Pretty much. In the beginning it was an honor to work for her, but when I saw my sketches, my ideas, become hers, I realized she was stealing my work and calling it her own.
How did Phoebe feel about it? Mel asked. Was she as angry as you?
Alma shook her head, her lip curled in disgust. She worshipped Christie. Shed have given up her firstborn if Christie asked for it. It was sickening.
You realize you have a pretty strong motive to want Christie dead, Mel said.
Thats what the cops said, Alma agreed. But I have an alibi for the entire night, and they seem to be focusing on another angle, a love triangle sort of thing.
A nasty smile played around her lips, and Mel felt all of the blood drain from her face. She hadnt had the warm fuzzies for Alma before, but now she felt it was safe to say that she actively disliked the young woman.
Yeah, well, when they discover theyre wrong, I imagine theyll come back to you, Mel said. She made her voice saccharine sweet when she added, I think theyll find it quite interesting that you were the one who delivered the cupcakes from my shop to Christie, and she was holding one when she died.
It was Almas turn to become pale, which was an achievement, given the amount of pasty foundation she was wearing. Mel couldnt help but feel a flush of satisfaction at her discomfiture.
Alma scowled. Whats your point?
Work with me. If neither of us killed her, then who did?
How would I know? Alma asked. Christie had a lot of enemies. It could be anyone.
Did she fight with anyone recently?
Daily, Alma replied.
Mel sighed. She was losing her patience. Was there anyone who seemed angrier with her than usual?
Alma stared into her half-empty cup. Lets see. The models hated her, and so did the photographers. No one was ever pretty enough for her clothes, and she had constant battles with the photographers over their vision versus hers. Her rival Terry Longmore wasnt signing up for her fan club anytime soon. And for that matter, the wedding vendors were getting pretty snarky with all of her demands, too. The caterer told her he hoped she choked on a canapé right before he quit.
Why? Mel asked.
Contract issues, Alma said. Christie likes . . . liked to own everything. She wanted music written just for her and flower arrangements just for her. She wanted all of her vendors to sign contracts giving her ownership of their creations.
So it wasnt just me, Mel said.
Hardly. Christie had an obsessive need to own everything. It was almost pathologic, like she was afraid some crumb of fame might pass her by if she didnt get full credit for every single aspect of her life.
Whoa, Mel said.
She was a total head case. Alma watched Mel for a minute. Ive met your friend, Tate. He was always nice. What, exactly, did he see in her?
I wish I knew.
Alma nodded as if she understood, but how could she, when Mel didnt understand it herself?
Alma glanced at her watch and rose abruptly from her chair. I have to go.
Whos your interview with?
None of your business, Alma said. Its been real.
Mel watched her walk away, and was surprised when Alma turned around and approached the table.
Listen, the thing with Christie was going to happen one way or another, Alma said. She was racking up enemies like some women collect shoes. The outcome was inevitable.
Then Alma turned and strode out of the coffee shop without a backward glance. Mel got the distinct impression that the young woman thought she had done the thing with Christie and was absolving her of the crime. She wanted to protest her innocence, but there was no one to hear her. Alma was gone, and none of the other customers were paying her any attention.
She paid for her half-finished latte and hurried back to Fairy Tale Cupcakes
,
needing to be comforted by the familiar for as long as she was able.
