those eyes. Although he did look familiar, she just couldn’t figure out why.
“You’re a little young for him, don’t you think?”
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“But then, that makes sense doesn’t it?” he asked.
“No, actually, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.
Angie came through the swinging doors from the kitchen with a tray full of Death by Chocolate Cupcakes for the display case. She plopped the tray on the counter and glanced over at Mel and the man with the bad attitude.
“Need help?” she asked.
The man glowered at her. “Tell your friend her little plan won’t work.”
Angie glanced at Mel. “Your little plan won’t work.” Then she looked back at the man. She cocked her head and studied him. “Just to clarify, what plan would that be?”
“To get away with murdering my father,” he said. He glared at Mel. “I heard the old man was running around with a blonde.”
Mel opened her mouth to protest, but he gave her a scathing head-to-toe sweep with his eyes. “I don’t know what you have to gain by killing an old man, but I plan to find out.”
Mel felt her eyes pop, but she was rendered temporarily speechless from sheer shock. Angie, however, was not.
“What are you talking about?” she snapped.
She did not have seven older brothers for nothing. Virtually no one and nothing ever intimidated her. She stomped around the counter and, despite her diminutive stature, she managed to get right under the angry man’s nose and give him what for. “Who do you think you are, coming into our place of business and accusing one of us of murder? Why I ought to . . .”
She paused to look for a weapon and, in a show of good sense, the angry man backed up a few steps. Not that it helped him any as, unable to latch on to a suitable weapon, Angie pursued, keeping her face inches from his chest while she jabbed him in the belly with her pointer finger.
“Apologize, you big dummy, and make it quick, because I am losing my patience!”
The man raised his hands in surrender and looked at Angie as if she were the most marvelous thing he’d ever seen.
“I . . . I’m . . . sorry,” he stammered. “The police said Ms. Cooper was with my father when he died. After they got done questioning me, I just lost it. I called information, and they gave me this address.”
“Is that the best you can do?” she challenged.
“I am very sorry,” he said, looking over Angie’s head at Mel. “Please forgive me.”
“You’re Baxter Malloy’s son?” Mel asked.
“Yes,” he said.
Mel stepped forward and put her hand on Angie’s shoulder, easing her back from the man. “He just lost his father,” she said. “Let’s give him a break.”
Angie squinted at him and finally muttered, “Okay.”
“Would you like to sit down?” Mel asked.
The man nodded and slid into an empty booth. His rage was gone, leaving him looking bewildered. Mel knew how it felt to lose a father, and she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, even if he had wrongly accused her of being involved.
“Can I offer you a cupcake?” she asked.
“Thanks, but I’m not really a sweets guy,” he said.
Mel nodded. She’d figured.
“How about a glass of iced tea, unsweetened?” Angie offered. She looked as if it pained her to do so.
The man smiled at her, and the grin transformed his face into one of pure charm. Again, Mel felt sure she had seen him somewhere before. “Thanks, that would be great.”
Angie went to the kitchen, and Mel took the seat across from him.
“I’m Mel Cooper,” she said and extended her hand. “My mother is Joyce Cooper. She’s the one who had a date with your father.”
He shook her hand, looking chagrinned. “Oh, I really did step in it, didn’t I?”
“Barefoot,” Mel confirmed.
Angie returned to the booth with a tray of three iced teas. She slid in beside Mel.
“I’m Brian Malloy,” he said. He held out his hand to Angie, who took it
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley