Death by the Dozen (8 page)

“Stop eating the profits!” Angie slapped her brother Tony’s hand as he reached into the glass display case.

“I need fuel if I’m going to man this bakery all by myself,” he protested. He clutched his injured hand to his chest and gave her his best wounded look.

“Have a banana,” Mel said. She handed him one from the bowl of fruit she kept in the kitchen as an alternative to a steady diet of sugar.

Tony took the banana with a put-upon sigh.

“Now what do you do if you get a special order while we’re at the competition?” Angie asked.

“Take the person’s name and number, and tell them you’ll call them back,” he said.

“Do you use any of the kitchen implements—yes, this includes the mixer—while we’re gone?” Mel asked.

“I know, no touching the equipment,” he said. “Gees, you two act like I’m an idiot.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Angie said. She didn’t sound sorry at all. She turned to Mel and said, “Silly me, I must have dreamt that the last time he covered the shop for us, he tried to modify the Hobart with a robotic arm that would frost cupcakes by itself.”

“You have to admit, it would have been cool,” Tony protested. He was the gadget geek of the DeLaura family and spent most of his days cooking up new and different electronic gizmos that he was sure would make him a fortune.

“Yeah, except we were cleaning up frosting for two days,” Mel reminded him. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

“And Oz, our intern, is coming in later to help out,” Angie said. “Be nice to him.”

“All right. Go kick some baking butt already.” Tony was tall and thin, and he hunkered down to hug them both. They squeezed him back, giving him one last warning look before they headed out the door.

The competition was being held outside at the Scottsdale Civic Center Mall, which was easy walking distance from the shop. But as they drew closer to the event, Mel was suddenly riddled with doubt. What if this plan for publicity backfired and she was bounced from the competition in round one? Olivia would probably announce it to the world with a billboard on the interstate. How would Mel live with the humiliation?

As they reached the grounds, she could see there were white-topped booths lining all twenty-one acres of the Scottsdale Civic Center Mall. Vendors including kitchen stores and local restaurants were all scurrying to unpack their assigned booths. The festival would be opening in just a few hours.

Colorful burgundy booths lined one of the pathways around the fountains. Mel knew from their packet of information that this was where the challenge to the chefs would be taking place.

“You know I always love attending the festival,” Angie said as they paused to survey their work area. “But it’s kind of weird to be in it.”

“Agreed,” Mel said.

“Melanie! Angela! Yoo-hoo!”

Mel looked behind her to see her mother, wearing a lime green polo shirt and matching sun visor, waving at her from the volunteers’ booth.

They both waved back.

“I didn’t know your mother was volunteering,” Angie said.

“Neither did I,” Mel said.

They crossed over to the booth, which was stuffed to the gills with women and men adorned in lime green. A stout woman with a clipboard, wearing bright orange lipstick with her lime green uniform, was addressing the group.

“Now, for every shift you work, you get ten free tasting coupons.”

Mel sidled over to her mother’s side. “Who is that?”

“That’s Millicent Penny,” Joyce whispered. “She’s in charge of the volunteers.”

“What are you doing here, Mom?” Mel asked.

“Ginny thought it might be fun for us to volunteer,” Joyce said. “She’s over there behind Millicent.”

Mel glanced over the crowd. Sure enough, there was her mother’s best friend, Ginny Lobo. She was a tiny little thing with platinum hair and huge blue eyes. Ginny had come from poverty and married up when she snagged Monty Lobo.

Now she was as rich as all get-out, but her elevator had gotten stuck somewhere between floors, and she spent a lot of time and money trying to convince the world that she was the love child of Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe.

She caught sight of Mel and Angie and gave them a little finger wave over Millicent’s head. She was sipping on a bright pink water bottle that Mel would have bet her last cupcake did not have water in it.

“Why would you want to do this?”

Joyce’s face flamed red under her green visor. She had recently taken to streaking her naturally blonde hair with copper, and now it matched the color in her cheeks.

“Ginny thought I might . . .” she mumbled with her head turned to the side, making it impossible for Mel to hear her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Mel said.

“Me either,” Angie chimed in.

“Now remember, people, you are the face of the festival. You must be smiles, smiles, smiles!” Millicent called out.

Joyce ducked her head and repeated herself, but Mel still couldn’t hear her over Millicent bellowing out the roll call for the volunteers.

“What?” Mel yelled. “I still can’t hear you.”

“Meet a man!” Joyce yelled in return. “Ginny thought I might meet a man here.”

Millicent had stopped calling the roll right as Joyce had shouted. Now the horde of volunteers swiveled their heads to look at them.

“Oh, nuts,” Joyce said. Now her face flamed even brighter than her hair.

One of the male volunteers stepped forward. Beneath his lime green shirt, he wore pink and green checkered polyester pants with a wide white belt and matching white shoes. He gave Joyce the once-over and then shifted his dentures in his mouth and winked at her.

“No need to look any further, lovely lady, I do like a spicy redhead.”

“Oh, gross! Do you want me to punch him in the face for you?” Angie asked Joyce.

“Oh, heavens no,” Joyce said. “You just can’t go around punching people, Angela.”

“Really? How unfortunate.” Angie leaned toward the paunchy oldster with the bad comb over and smacked her left palm with her right fist. He backed up in a hurry.

Mel blew out a breath. She couldn’t shake the feeling that having her mother and Ginny volunteering here was going to be a titanic disaster.

“People!” Millicent clapped as she addressed the group. “It is time to man your stations.” She fluttered her hands at them, and the group dispersed.

“We need to go check in,” Mel said to Angie. “Mom, try to stay out of trouble. You, too, Ginny!”

Ginny lifted her mouth from the straw in her plastic cup and yelled, “Aw, don’t be a party pooper, Mel!”

Mel opened her mouth to protest, but Angie half carried and half dragged her away. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“She just called me a party pooper!” Mel protested. She tried to turn back and give Ginny a good zap of stink eye, but Angie pulled her inexorably forward.

“Now is not the time,” Angie said.

“You think she’s right, don’t you?” Mel asked.

“Are you kidding? Heck no, you’re more fun than a barrel of monkeys,” Angie said.

“A barrel of monkeys?” Mel repeated. “That’s the best you could do. How old are we, five?”

“Hey, monkeys are fun and they’re cute,” Angie said.

“They are not cute; they’re known for throwing their own poo,” Mel argued.

“That could be cute, depending upon the target,” Angie countered.

“Cute? Who’s cute, or are you talking about me again?”

Mel spun around to find Dutch walking behind them.

Angie sucked in a small breath and said, “I’ll go sign us in.”

Dutch watched her go with a small smile on his lips.

“Stay away from my sous-chef,” Mel said. “She’s vulnerable right now.”

Dutch raised his eyebrows in an interested look, and Mel could have kicked her own backside. What an idiot she was. Here the shark was circling the water, and she pointed out the blood to him, you know, in case he missed it.

“I thought you said she had a boyfriend,” he said.

“He’s away on business,” Mel said. She didn’t dare mention that Angie was dating a rock star for fear that this might make her even more enticing to Dutch.

He studied her and then shrugged.

“The first round starts in an hour, you ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” she said. “It’s hard to prep when you don’t know what the mystery ingredient is.”

“You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”

“Of course. I’m a pro,” she said. There was no need to mention it had been at Angie and Tate’s prodding.

“Good, I’m counting on you to win,” he said.

Mel gave him a quick glance. “What do you mean?”

He gave her a careless shrug. “Nothing. I’m just hoping for the best for you.”

He turned and walked away. He looked like the consummate superstar in his powder blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled back to his elbows, his crisply creased coffee brown dress slacks, and brown Archdale loafers with the perforated skull and crossbones on the toes. His outfit probably cost more than Mel spent on clothes in a year.

She glanced down and took in her pink Converse One Stars and olive cargo pants. Thankfully, she and Angie were wearing white chef coats, and they’d don their pleated toques before they started cooking. Mel had figured she only needed to look like a pro from the waist up.

She felt her cell phone in the lower right pocket of her pants vibrate. She had shut off its usual
Gone with the Wind
ringtone so as not to be disturbed during the competition.

She pulled out her phone and checked the display window. It read
Fairy Tale Cupcakes
. Oh, no!

“Hello?” she answered.

“So, I was thinking what you’re really missing here is a punk rock cupcake.”

“Oz?”

“Yep, it’s me,” he said. “You’ve got too much pink here. You need some balance. Punk rock cupcakes would be the way to go. It could be a niche market.”

“Because cupcakes aren’t enough of a niche?” Mel pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and her pointer finger.

“I’m thinking black icing.”

“You’re calling me with this now?” she asked. “I saw the bakery name pop up on my phone, and I thought it was Tony calling to tell me the place was on fire.”

“How could it be on fire when you won’t let me use the oven?” he asked.

“Oz, you and Tony are babysitting the shop until we get back,” Mel said. “There’s usually a lot of foot traffic because of the festival. Are you sure you two can handle this?”

“Two of us?” he asked. “I have a DeLaura brother, and the T-man is hanging out.”

“T-man?” Mel asked.

“Tate,” Oz explained. “He’s kind of cool when he loses the suit.”

“He’s okay,” Mel said, feeling cranky. “Aren’t you a little early for your shift? I thought you had school in the morning.”

“Early release day,” he said. “So, picture this: a dark chocolate cupcake with smooth white frosting, possibly a fondant, with a black fondant skull on it.”

“Halloween isn’t for six months,” she said.

“Okay, I can see where it might appear seasonal,” he said. “How about we spell out
Black Flag
or the
Ramones
?”

Mel was watching Angie sign in when all of a sudden Olivia Puckett appeared beside Angie and hip-checked her out of the way.

“Oz, I’m kind of busy here,” Mel said.

“It’s cool, just think about it,” he said.

“Right, don’t use the oven or the mixer,” Mel said. “Keep Tony from eating everything, and call me if there’s trouble!”

She snapped her phone shut and hurried over to the table, where Angie looked like she was going to launch herself at Olivia. Mel slid into the gap between them and smiled at the registration lady, who was looking decidedly alarmed.

“Problem?” Mel asked Angie.

“Not yet,” Angie said. She glared over Mel’s shoulder at Olivia.

“I’m going to frost your cute little butt right out of round one,” Olivia growled as she sauntered by Mel.

“We’ll see,” Mel said.

She refused to take the bait, mostly because if the situation escalated, she’d have a hard time controlling Angie and her temper. Angie was known to swing first and talk later, which was why she’d had her own personal desk in the detention room in middle school. Mel couldn’t afford to lose her assistant chef this close to competition time.

“Challenge to the chefs competitors, please report to the conference room,” the registration woman called through a microphone, which let loose a shriek of piercing feedback, making Mel jump.

Once the competitors had all packed into the room to don their chef clothes, a skinny woman with a big head, sporting a highly teased hairdo of vibrant red hair, addressed the group.

“I am Felicity Parnassus. I am the chairwoman of this year’s festival.”

She paused as if to give them a chance to applaud. There was a smattering of claps, and she nodded her head in acknowledgment. Angie caught Mel’s gaze and rolled her eyes. Mel looked away before she laughed.