Buttercream Bump Off by Jenn McKinlay Page B

said.
    “I might be dead tomorrow,” the old man grumped.
    “He has a point,” Mel said. “I think we can let him enter today.”
    “Okay,” Angie said. “When you buy a four-pack of cupcakes, you get an entry form, and you can fill it out and put it right in that box. What four cupcakes would you like?”
    “How should I know?” he snapped. “What do you have?”
    Angie looked over her shoulder at Mel, who shrugged. It had been long established that Angie was the cranky magnet. It never failed that if a cranky person came in, he went right to Angie.
    “What’s that one?” he asked as he tapped the glass of the display case.
    “This one?” Angie asked, pointing to a Death by Chocolate.
    “No, the other one,” he said. His tone made it clear that he didn’t think she was very bright.
    “That’s our Blonde Bombshell,” she said. “It’s an almond cupcake . . .”
    “Then why is it pink?” he asked.
    “It’s not pink,” she said.
    “Then it’s not the one I’m asking about,” he said. “What’s the pink one?”
    “That’s called a Tinkerbell,” Angie said.
    “Stupid name,” he grumbled.
    Angie took a deep breath through her nose and kept going. “It’s a lemon cupcake with a raspberry buttercream frosting.”
    “Give me four,” he said.
    “Okay, then,” she said. Angie reached below the counter to get a box, but he stopped her.
    “I don’t need a box,” he said. “I’m going to eat them here.”
    “All four?” she asked.
    “Yep,” he said. “And don’t forget my entry form.”
    “Certainly,” Angie said. “Anything to drink?”
    “Water,” he said.
    The man filled out the form with a shaky hand while Angie rang up his order. He handed it to Mel and asked, “Can you read it?”
    The writing resembled spider tracks, but it was still legible.
    “Yes, Mr. Zelaznik,” she said. “I can read it.”
    “Good,” he said. “I have a hot mama I’ve been planning to ask out, and your contest is just the ticket to show her a good time.”
    Angie and Mel exchanged a glance and then Mel turned back with a smile. “Well, good luck.”
    She tucked his form into the box while Angie took his tray to a nearby booth. Mr. Zelaznik trailed after her, easing into the booth as if he were afraid he might fall and be stuck on his back like a turtle on its shell.
    Two hours later, Mr. Zelaznik was still in his booth. The Sunday afternoon tourist crush had come and gone, and still he sat working on his sixteenth cupcake.
    “Do you think he might go into sugar shock?” Angie asked. “I love sweets more than anyone, but even I’d throw up if I ate that many cupcakes in one sitting.”
    Mr. Zelaznik looked red-faced and sweaty. His hair hat was askew, and his eyes were becoming glassy. Mel was worried he’d had a four-pack too many.
    “Maybe we should call him a cab,” she said to Angie. She had locked the front door and flipped the hanging sign on the front window to CLOSED.
    “Mr. Zelaznik,” she said. “It’s time to go home.”
    He looked at her, but she could tell he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
    “Mr. Zelaznik, put down the fork!” Angie barked in her schoolteacher voice.
    He dropped his fork and blinked at them.
    “You know, you don’t have to eat the cupcakes all at once,” she said. “You could take some home and share them with a friend.”
    “Nah,” he grumped. “I don’t want anyone to know what I’m doing. They’ll steal my idea.”
    He shuffled out of the booth. Mel was encouraged to see he was moving faster than when he came in, but that could be all the sugar coursing through his bloodstream.
    “Would you like us to call a ride for you?” she asked.
    “Nah,” he refused. “The trolley will take me right to my house.”
    “If you’re sure,” she said.
    Angie dumped her apron and grabbed her purse from the back room.
    “I’m going to follow him to make sure he gets home okay,” she said.
    “Good idea,” Mel said. “See you