Page 15 of The Killer Cupcake (Poison Cherry #3)

P resent. The heavy thunk of Debbie’s purse hitting the formica countertop echoed louder than she intended in the deserted salon, Debbie’s Place .

Janey moved past her, the scent of her perfume trailing in her wake.

With deliberate calm, she walked through the shadowed rows, her heels tapping on the black-and-white checkerboard linoleum.

One by one, banks of fluorescent lights flickered and hummed to life overhead.

The glare reflected harshly on the chrome-plated styling chairs, the glass shelves of rattail combs and perm rods, the posters of black women with impossibly tall Afros frozen in time—the lingering smells of peroxide, setting lotion, and hairspray mixed uneasily with the tension.

“Where’s Willa?” Debbie asked, her voice tight. She watched Janey move like a panther surveying its territory.

“Home,” Janey replied, her tone clipped.

She stopped before a plush, avocado-green styling chair and sank into it, a queen claiming her throne.

She carefully removed her small, black velvet pillbox hat and the delicate net veil that had obscured the upper half of her face.

Her eyes, dark and unnervingly sharp, locked onto Debbie’s.

“I brought Coffey with me instead. Told her to stay parked out front in the Cadillac. Figured this… reunion … was best kept between you and me. Woman to woman.” A ghost of a cold smile touched her ruby red lips. “Cousin to cousin.”

Debbie flinched at the word ‘cousin’. She glanced nervously towards the street visible through the salon’s large plate-glass window, then back at Janey’s unnervingly composed figure.

She walked stiffly down the aisle and took the chair directly opposite, its vinyl squeaking under her weight.

She sat ramrod straight, hands clasped in her lap like a shield. War had been declared.

“Kathy’s gone, Janey,” Debbie stated, the rehearsed words tasting like ash.

“And Cassandra’s home. It happened… fast. Too fast. They found her car off Route 17 in Jersey.

Burnt down to the frame. There was… a body inside.

A woman.” Debbie swallowed hard, the image seared into her own nightmares.

“They couldn’t… We had a closed-casket service.

We buried her last Tuesday. The hurt… it’s raw for everyone. ”

Janey’s crimson lips parted. A slash of defiance against her composed, mocha-brown face–slowly curled into a contemptuous smirk. “My Kathy,” she stated, each word dropping like ice, “is not dead. Try again, Debbie. And this time, try the truth.”

Debbie drew a shaky breath. “Matteo’s out of prison, Janey.”

A soft, utterly humorless laugh escaped Janey. “For how long this time? A weekend pass?”

“He’s out . Pardoned,” Debbie pressed on, her voice gaining a desperate edge. “And Carmelo… Carmelo’s dead .”

The smirk vanished from Janey’s face like a snuffed candle. Her eyes narrowed to slits, pinning Debbie in place. The temperature in the salon seemed to drop ten degrees. Debbie started talking fast, the words tumbling out under the pressure of that murderous gaze.

“It started with the big arrests. You must have heard, even, hell, I don’t know where you live now, but the news went everywhere.

The Feds swept through Harlem like locusts.

Took down Nikki Barnes and his whole damn ‘Black Council’.

Left a power vacuum big enough to drive a truck through.

” Debbie stumbled through the rest. “The mob smelled blood. They’re moving in.

Starting fires and shaking down businesses, Kathy worked hard to keep things clean…

It’s a different kind of war with the Wolf gone.

And Matteo is finally Don. But he has enemies everywhere, even in his own family. ”

“I don’t care about Mafia wars. What happened to Carmelo?” Janey demanded.

“Upstate.” Debbie closed her eyes briefly. “Carmelo was there visiting Nino. Someone planted a bomb in Melo’s Lincoln. Tore it apart. They said… they said there wasn’t enough left of the men to fill a shoebox.”

Debbie opened her eyes, meeting Janey’s frozen stare.

“Kathy… she went wild when she heard. I mean, it really broke her. Screamed it wasn’t true and fought Brother when he tried to keep her from going out to Staten Island to confront Matteo and the Riccis.

Came to me several nights later, eyes like a madwoman’s.

Said Carmelo couldn’t be dead. She could feel him.

Told me to watch the store, the books, everything.

Said she was going to ‘see someone’ who could tell her the truth.

To find out the truth. Then… she vanished.

Just gone. A week later… Jersey. The car.

The fire.” Debbie spread her hands helplessly.

“The cops, the papers… they’re saying it’s not connected, that it was just an accident, case closed. ”

She took another breath, plunging into the deepest betrayal.

“Matteo… he doesn’t believe it either. Not about Carmelo.

Or Kathy. He thinks… he thinks they’re alive .

That they staged it, and he thinks… he thinks the answer is in Kathy’s diaries.

Don’t ask me why, or what is in those diaries that could fix any of this, but Matteo is stuck on it.

Sandy’s been holed up in Kathy’s house for days now, reading through them all.

Matteo thinks if she reads enough, remembers enough… it’ll lead him to the truth.”

Silence descended, thick and suffocating.

Janey sat perfectly still, only the icy fury in her eyes betraying the storm within.

Debbie remembered the whispers about Janey – poison was her art, but the Senator she’d shot point-blank in California was proof she wasn’t afraid to get her hands bloody.

And she’d walked away clean. Another woman was burned in the electric chair for her crimes.

Even now, Kathy and Debbie could never figure out how Willa survived Janey’s wrath, how Coffey came to be.

“Kathy,” Janey’s voice was a low, dangerous rasp, cutting the silence, “would never fake her death and leave Sandy behind. Never . Not for Carmelo, not for the Pope, not for God Almighty. That means this…” Janey pointed a long, manicured finger at Debbie, “…is his doing. The Wolf, she spent half her life trying to tame, finally bit the hand that loves him. The fucking bastard! I should have killed him when I had the chance!”

“What do you want from me, Janey? I’m telling you the truth,” she insisted.

“You and your sisters! You vanished! Paris, Ireland, Kathy said you and Willa dragged poor little Coffey everywhere after your husband died. You were ghosts in Hawaii the last time she spoke to you! Kathy stopped talking about you years ago. How was I supposed to find you? I tried! I called down to Butt’s, asked the Browns about Izzy.

They said they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her or you in two years! How was I supposed to tell you?”

Janey dismissed the plea with a flick of her wrist. “Spare me the theatrics. Where would they run? If they did run? Where would the Wolf take my girl to ground?”

“Are you even listening?” Debbie snapped, desperation turning to anger. “I told you, Matteo doesn’t know! He thinks Kathy’s diaries hold the key! That’s why Sandy’s reading them!”

“That child’s head is empty,” Janey hissed, standing, “full of as many holes as this cockamamie story you’re spinning!

Fake deaths? Mafia and FBI takedowns? Matteo pardoned ?

Burnt cars in Jersey?” She took a step towards Debbie, the soft life Carmine and the Marcellos’ money provided, and the strange, ageless aura that always clung to her, making her seem impervious to time.

“It’s bullshit . But I’m here now. I’m going to peel back every layer of this lie until I find the truth. Coffey and I will stay with Sandy.”

“Wait, no !” Debbie surged to her feet, panic flaring. “You can’t! Leave Cassandra out of this! She doesn’t know about the Poison Cherry.”

“Liar! She’s reading her mother’s diaries. What the hell do you think is in them?” Janey spat.

“Leave her out of it, Janey,” Debbie pleaded. “Whatever you’re planning. Leave her be.”

Janey’s sculpted eyebrows arched high. “ Leave her out ? You just sat there and confessed that you and Matteo are neck-deep in dragging her into it and making her pour over her mama’s private thoughts like some…

some treasure map ! Diaries full of things that child doesn’t understand !

Like who her daddy is, and what her Mama did to keep that secret!

” Janey’s voice dropped to a venomous whisper.

“I’d bet my last dime she’s gonna find out, reading those ‘stupid books’ Kathy put her soul into and it’s gonna snap what little sense she does have. ”

Debbie deflated, sinking back onto the edge of the chair.

“I… I have a plan , Janey. A way to handle this. I check on Sandy every day. We need her to remember, naturally. The good and the bad. The past. We need those memories back. But you can’t force them!

It doesn’t work like that! That’s not what the doctors told Kathy after…

after the accident, the seizures, the surgeries, the medication.

This… the diaries, familiar things… It’s supposed to be the way.

Gentle. Natural. Kathy always told me that if something happened to her, to give Sandy those diaries. I swore to her I would.”

Janey moved like lightning. Before Debbie could react, Janey’s hand shot out, fingers like steel vices gripped Debbie’s chin, forced her head up.

Debbie gasped at the strength and the sudden intimacy of the assault.

Janey’s face was inches from hers, eyes burning with decades-old resentment, her irises golden like flames.

“I told Kathy,” Janey said each word slow, her voice trembling with suppressed rage, “that you were the real poison in this family. Not me. Not Willa. Not Izzy.Not Mae. You . I never forgot, Debbie. Never forgot how you covered for that Wolf when he married that puttana Maria Romero. Smiling and encouraging Kathy to believe in her fantasy love while he slunk down to New Orleans, playing the dutiful boyfriend, filling her head with lies until her belly swelled with a baby like yours, except you got your prince and my Kathy only got shame!” Janey’s grip tightened.

“ I had to show her the truth you knew about all along. You were a lying bitch then, Debbie. And you’re a lying bitch now. ”

Debbie wrenched her chin free with a sob, dropping back into the chair. Hot tears welled, threatening to ruin her carefully applied mascara. “Get out!” Debbie choked, pointing a trembling finger towards the door. “Get out of my salon!”

Janey didn’t hurry. She smoothed the front of her elegant black silk suit, walked back to her styling chair, and picked up her hat and purse with deliberate calm.

She placed the hat precisely back on her head, the veil casting a slight shadow over her fierce eyes.

She paused at the door, turning back for a final shot.

“I’ll be staying with Sandy,” she announced again, her voice regaining its chilling composure.

“Whatever secrets you and Matteo think are buried in my sweet sugar-baby’s broken mind, I’m going to find them first. And when I do,” she unlocked the deadbolt with a decisive click, “I’ll bring Kathy home myself. ”

The bell above the door jingled with obscene cheerfulness as Janey stepped out into the Harlem morning sun, sashaying towards the waiting Cadillac like a queen returning from battle.

Debbie stood frozen for a second, then the dam broke.

Sobs wracked her body as she crumpled inside.

Janey’s words were knives, twisting the oldest, deepest wound.

Kathy had forgiven her for that sin, for the betrayal over Carmelo’s marriage.

But Debbie had never forgiven herself. Every kind word, every shared struggle in the hard years since, felt like ashes now after Janey’s lashing.

The sudden, shrill ringing of the salon phone shattered her tears. It rang and rang, insistent, demanding. Wiping furiously at her smearing mascara with the back of her hand, Debbie walked towards the cluttered reception desk near the front. She snatched up the receiver.

“Why the hell aren’t you answering? My guys called – said some woman showed up at the salon! I already have Junior bringing Sandy to my penthouse….”

“What? You have Sandy?” she said with relief.

“Of course! We’re getting married. You forget? You were just supposed to grab your damn appointment book and come straight back!” Matteo’s voice was a furious rasp on the line.

Of course, he had men watching , Debbie thought with a fresh wave of exhaustion. Always watching her. The tears came harder, uncontrollable gasps escaping her.

Matteo’s tirade stopped abruptly. He heard the raw distress. “Debbie? Debbie! What happened? Who was there?”

She couldn’t form words; only harsh, shuddering breaths crackled down the line.

A beat of silence, then Matteo’s voice, lower, harder: “Stay there. Don’t move. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m on my way.” The line went dead.

Debbie slowly replaced the receiver. The silence of the overlit salon pressed in again, now charged with a different kind of dread.

She turned, her gaze sweeping over the empty chairs, the gleaming mirrors reflecting her own shattered reflection, the lingering scent of Janey’s gardenias mixed with the acrid smell of her own fear.

Mechanically, she walked past the silent hairdryers, through the archway leading to her small back office.

She didn’t turn on the light. She dropped onto the worn velvet sofa in the dark, pulled her knees to her chest, and waited for the next storm to arrive.

The mysteries of Kathy and Carmelo's disappearance now had two ruthless, opposing forces digging – and Sandy, fragile and unaware, was caught squarely in the middle.