Death by the Dozen Read Free

Puckett?” he asked.
    “Yep.” Angie said. “She tried to block us from turning in our paperwork.”
    “How did you get past her?”
    Mel and Angie exchanged a look. Angie ducked back behind the display case and began rapidly unloading the Choco-Poms. Mel grabbed a rag and began wiping down the counter even though she had just finished doing so minutes before.
    Tate lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as if bracing himself for a migraine. “You might as well tell me. It can’t be any worse than what I’m imagining.”
    “The fall-over feint,” Mel mumbled.
    “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Tate said. He cupped his ear and leaned close.
    “The fall-over feint,” Mel repeated with a grimace.
    “You didn’t,” he said. He looked as if his knees might give out, and he lowered himself into a nearby chair.
    “We did.” Angie popped up from the display case with an empty tray. “And it worked, too.”
    “Of course it worked,” Tate said. “It always works! Last time it worked so well, your brother Tony ended up in the hospital with a concussion. Please tell me Olivia is unconcussed.”
    “She got up on her own power,” Angie said. “As soon as I got off of her.”
    “Does the word lawsuit mean anything to you two?” Tate asked. He looked as if he might have a seizure.
    “She was blocking our way,” Mel said. “We really had no choice.”
    “If Joe hears about this . . .” Tate’s voice trailed off, and Mel blanched.
    Her boyfriend, Joe DeLaura, one of Angie’s older brothers, was an assistant district attorney. There was no question. He would be very unhappy to find out she and Angie had tackled someone, even someone as annoying as Olivia Puckett.
    “Well, I don’t see why he would unless someone shoots his mouth off,” Angie said. She glowered at Tate, making it very clear who she thought the weak link might be.
    He raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. Angie scowled, picked up her tray, and pushed her way through the swinging door back into the kitchen.
    “What did I say?” he asked Mel.
    “‘It has been my experience that men are least attracted to women who treat them well,’” Mel said.
    “Miss Bowers in Death on the Nile ,” Tate cited the quote without blinking. “Played by Maggie Smith, I believe.”
    “Correct and correct,” Mel said.
    “So, enlighten me,” he said. He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table, eagerness etched in every line of his body. “What’s going on with Ange?”
    “Don’t get your hopes up,” Mel warned him.
    “Too late.” He grinned. “Did she dump him? Is it over? Was he crushed?”
    “No, no, and no,” Mel said. “In fact, I’m worried about her. He hasn’t called her in two days.”
    Tate let out a groan and leaned back. “That’s it?”
    “He’s never missed a day,” Mel said. She put away her cleaning rag and wiped her hands on her bright pink bib apron that had Fairy Tale Cupcakes scrawled in glittery script across the front.
    Tate rolled his eyes. “Why is she still dating him? I mean, what can she possibly see in him?”
    He was referring to Angie’s boyfriend of three months. Brian Malloy, known to his fans as Roach, was the drummer in the popular rock band the Sewers. He and Angie had met when his father had been murdered on a date with Mel’s mother. Roach had made the mistake of accusing Mel of harming his father, and Angie had gone nuclear on him. Mel suspected very few people got in the rock star’s face, and he had been bowled over by Angie and asked her out immediately.
    “Um, let’s see, he’s hot,” Mel said. She came around the counter and sat across from Tate. “Oh, yeah, and he’s hot.”
    “Only if you go for the ‘skinny, tattooed, with stringy hair’ type,” Tate grumped.
    Mel pressed her lips together. Over the past few months, she had become a master at knowing when to keep her mouth shut. Whatever happened between Angie and Tate, she fervently hoped they