“Was Blaise seeing anyone?” Mel asked. “I know he was single at your engagement party, but maybe he’d met someone since then.”
“Do you mean someone who knows what’s going on in his life and can clue us in?” Angie asked. “Or someone who might be angry with him enough to kill him?”
“I feel like strangling someone with their camera strap is a particularly angry way to murder them,” Mel said. “I mean, to use his own equipment; it was either a weapon of convenience or it must bear some significance in another way.”
“I’m the least photogenic person who ever lived,” Angie said. “And I have the chubby-cheeked, unibrow, squinty-eyed pictures to prove it, but even I never felt the need to strangle the photographer.”
Her voice wobbled and Mel knew her friend was struggling to keep it together and not cry again.
“Which is why I’m thinking it has to be someone in his life who has a grudge,” Mel said. “If only we could see his client list, then we could talk to them—”
Angie’s eyes were round. She was making slashing motions across her throat. She began to clear her throat really loudly and Mel tipped her head to the side, trying to figure out if she was having a fit or a delayed reaction to the murder or not.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
Angie flapped her hands in the air and Mel looked to see if there was a fly buzzing her.
“Sheesh, Cooper, she’s trying to warn you that someone is listening,” a voice spoke behind Mel. “Even I got that. A bit slow on the uptake, aren’t you?”
Three
Mel didn’t have to look to know to whom the voice belonged. It was Detective Tara Martinez, Uncle Stan’s partner, and the woman who hated Mel’s guts because Tara had a thing for Mel’s fiancé. Great, just great.
Mel turned around slowly. “Hello, Detective Martinez.”
The short Hispanic officer was in street clothes with her badge clipped onto the waistband of her slacks. She looked polished and professional while Mel felt as if she’d just crawled out of her own hamper.
“Hi. Where’s my partner?” Tara asked.
“He’s in the office with Bla— the victim,” Mel said.
She gestured towards the other room and Tara glanced at her hand. It was her left hand, the one that displayed her engagement ring. Tara stared at it until Mel shoved her hand behind her back, feeling self-conscious.
Tara’s gaze met Mel’s for just a moment and the look of hurt in her eyes made Mel suck in a breath. Tara was taking her engagement to Joe pretty hard, and Mel felt bad about that but not enough to deny her own joy.
Tara walked towards the office but paused beside Angie and said, “I heard he was a friend of yours. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” Angie said. “I . . . we . . . we’re all a bit shocked. He was a good man.”
“We’ll find out who did it,” Tara said. “I promise.”
Angie’s face crumbled in her grief and Tara patted her shoulder before joining Uncle Stan, Tate, and Lisa in Blaise’s office.
Feeling drained, Mel sat on the edge of Angie’s uncomfortable chair. She could have sat on her own seat, but she felt the need to be close to someone to buffer the upset that was ricocheting through her like a rogue pinball.
Angie must have needed it, too, because she leaned her head on Mel’s shoulder and let out a long drawn-out sigh. Mel put her arm around her friend. Mel wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. The muted conversation from the office gave her no idea as to what was happening. Cupcake, the dog, never moved but sat silently at attention, her ears twitching occasionally, the only indicator that she was mindful of what was happening around her.
Tate came back and Mel moved seats. Tate promptly picked Angie up and sat in her seat holding her on his lap. His eyes were red and his face pale. Grief was etched in the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. He rested his cheek on the top of Angie’s head and Mel knew he was taking comfort in her closeness.
The door opened and Mel turned and felt her heart leap in her chest. Joe! She was halfway across the room before she realized she was moving and she was in his arms and hugging him close without ever realizing that she’d grabbed him.
He pulled her close and his mouth was right beside her ear when he whispered, “Hey, cupcake, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’m here.”
A half sob, half chuckle bubbled out of her before she could stop it. Joe leaned back to see her face. His dark brown eyes looked concerned as he studied her face.
“What is it?” he asked. “I came as soon as Stan called. Are you okay? He said you weren’t hurt.”
His hands swept over her as if assuring himself that she was all right.
“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just . . .” She glanced at the police dog still sitting at attention. “Cupcake is her name.”
Joe looked from her to the dog. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Mel nodded. Her throat was tight. “Sorry. I might be teensy bit hysterical right now.”
“It’s understandable,” he said. He pulled her in tight and placed a kiss against her temple.
This. This was why she was going to marry this man and become Mrs. Joe DeLaura. He was her rock. When everything was chaotic and crazy, Joe knew exactly what to do. And right now, it was to hug her and tell her that what she was feeling was totally legit. He didn’t try to fix it, make it go away, or diminish it. He just let her feel.
“Better?” he asked after a moment.
“A little,” she said. She sniffed and used the tissue wadded up in her
