Free Buttercream Bump Off by Jenn McKinlay

Mel and her mother for two hours upon learning that Mel had burned her mother’s dress. For some reason, he didn’t believe her mother thought the dress was cursed, but instead thought they were trying to destroy evidence. He’d even sent a forensic unit over to Tate’s to take samples from the grill.
    The interrogation only ended because Uncle Stan and Joe arrived and went nose to nose with Detective Martinez. When the detective accused Joe of covering up for his girlfriend, Mel was sure Joe was going to slug him. The detective even grinned at him as if hoping Joe would lose his cool. Instead, Joe had turned to Mel and said, “Get your things. This interview is over.”
    Uncle Stan had muscled Detective Martinez out the door on their heels and slammed it in his face.
    While Joe helped Mel into his car, she heard the detective call, “This isn’t over, DeLaura.”
    “Oh, yes, it is,” Joe muttered under his breath before he roared out of her mother’s driveway.
    “What were you thinking?” Joe finally spoke. “Do you have any idea how this looks?”
    “Bad?” Mel guessed.
    “Detective Martinez is now suspicious that your mother had something to do with Malloy’s murder,” he said. “They were looking at Malloy’s son, but now . . .”
    “Funny you should mention him. Brian, right? Yeah, well, Angie’s got a date with him,” Mel said. Joe whipped his head in her direction with an incredulous expression.
    She wasn’t proud of herself, but Mel knew that one way to stop Joe from being mad at her was to throw Angie under the wheels of the overprotective-big-brother bus. She felt a little bad about it, but she promised herself she’d make it up to Angie one day.
    They turned into the parking lot behind the bakery, and Joe stomped on the brakes of his black Prius, making them screech.
    “Explain,” he demanded. He hit the button to lock the doors of the car, keeping Mel right where she was.
    “Roach, aka Brian Malloy, came into the shop today because he thought I was the woman dating his father, and he thought I killed him for some nefarious reason of my own,” she said. “Angie set him straight, and I think he was quite taken with her, because he asked her out, and she said yes.”
    “But he’s . . .”
    “A drummer in a rock band, who goes by the name Roach,” Mel said.
    “I was thinking he’s a murder suspect, but the rock-band thing isn’t winning me over either,” he said.
    “Quite a pickle, isn’t it?” She reached over Joe and pushed the button to unlock the doors. “I’m guessing you want to go talk to her, so I won’t keep you. Call me.”
    She shoved open her door and was halfway out when a strong hand grabbed the tail of her shirt and hauled her back into the car. She landed back in her seat with a thud.
    “Why do I get the feeling that dating you is career suicide?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer but kissed her with an incendiary heat that made Tate’s grill seem like a Bunsen burner.
    “Go,” he said, releasing her with a rueful smile. “Flip the light on twice, so I know you’re safe.”
    Mel scraped her limp body off the expensive leather seat and hurried up the staircase to her apartment above. She unlocked the door, peered inside the studio apartment, and flipped the light switch off and on so that Joe knew she was safe. She watched as he drove away and then collapsed onto her futon with an exhaustion she hadn’t known was possible.

    The first person in the door when the bakery opened the next morning was Mr. Zelaznik. He shuffled in and demanded a four-pack of cupcakes and a glass of water.
    “Breakfast of champions,” Angie said as she went to fill his order.
    Mel had been watching Angie all morning. She hadn’t said anything about Tate or Joe, so Mel was left to wonder if either of them had said anything to Angie about her date.
    Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, Tate strolled in. He looked pensive—again.
    “How did it go