Buttercream Bump Off Read Free Page A

nice,” Mel said.
    “He’s our accountant,” Angie argued. “He’s logic and numbers and eau de stinky.”
    “I was just trying to help,” Mel said. “Besides, you set me up with the wandering eyeball.”
    “Clint is a good guy,” Angie protested. “He just has a lazy eye.”
    “Really? Because the way it followed every pair of tatas that entered the room, it seemed to be getting quite the workout to me.”
    Angie let out a put-upon sigh.
    “Change of subject, I get it,” Mel said. “Now why did we name our shop Fairy Tale Cupcakes?”
    “Because a yummy cupcake is our idea of living happily ever after,” Angie said.
    “Correct,” said Mel. She put a wire whisk and rubber spatula beside each bowl. “Now, who always guarantees a happy ending in a fairy tale?”
    “The handsome albeit devoid-of-personality prince?” Angie guessed.
    “No.”
    “Well, it’s not the evil stepmother,” Angie said. “And the mother is usually dead, so that leaves the furry wood-land creatures?”
    “No.” Mel shook her head. “Come on, think.”
    “Who’s left? The fairy godmother?”
    “That’s it!”
    Angie glanced around the room. “And this works for us how?”
    “We’ll raffle ourselves off as the lucky winner’s fairy godmothers for one day, and we’ll call it the Fairy Tale Cupcake Contest.”
    “Our oven is electric,” Angie said. “So you’re not suffering brain damage from a gas leak.”
    “Oh, come on, it’s a good idea,” Mel said.
    “I don’t know,” Angie said. “I’m not really the fairy godmother type. I’m more the surly dragon who flames people.”
    “No flaming,” Mel said. “I figure we can launch the idea on our website and in a print ad in the Phoenix New Times . I’m thinking for every four-pack of cupcakes purchased, the customer can fill out a slip and enter the drawing.”
    “So, what exactly will we be doing as fairy godmothers?” Angie asked.
    “The same thing fairy godmothers always do,” Mel said. “Make sure our winner and their date have a fabulous night on the town.”
    “So, we’re talking dinner and transportation?” Angie asked.
    “And cupcakes,” Mel added.
    “How are you planning to pull this off?”
    “Simple,” she said. “Tate’s company has a car service. I’m sure he’ll let us use it for one night. And you’ve heard of the chef Chris Carlisle?”
    “The Iron Chef guy over at the Orangewood Resort in Paradise Valley?”
    “That’s him. Well, he can’t make a pie crust to save his life,” Mel said. “He would have flunked cooking school if it wasn’t for me. He owes me, and I think a romantic dinner for two may pay his bill.”
    There was a beat of silence while Angie considered her with an expression that was equal parts dismay and admiration.
    “I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”
    Mel paused to consider and then said, “No.”
    “Fine,” Angie said. “I’ll check my closet at home and see if I have a pair of fairy wings hanging in there.”
    “That’s my girl.” Mel grinned.
    The bells on the front door sounded, and they both glanced at the wall clock. Seven o’clock. Time for class.
    The Bakersons, Irene and Dan, were the first couple to come in. Mel guessed them to be somewhere in their sixties. Irene wore her gray hair in fat curls all over her head. She was short and sturdy; in fact, she and Dan had similar builds, but where he carried his extra weight hanging low over the front of his belt, Irene carried hers more in the caboose.
    What was left of Dan’s hair was combed over the large bald spot on the top of his head, fooling no one except himself into thinking he had anything close to a full head of hair. They both wore glasses and track suits, making them look like a matched set. You’d think a couple who chose to spend so much time together would get along better, but no, not these two. They both seemed to have a permanent cantankerous expression etched onto their faces, but only