Pamela DuMond - Annie Graceland 04 - Cupcakes, Paws, and Bad Santa Claus

by Pamela DuMond

  “What’s the rush Mrs. Claus?” Annie said.

  “Because he’s gone and done it this time. Screwed up again. Made me leave my gig. Hopefully I can get back there quickly and not get fired. I’d happily kill that man.”

  “Another suspect,” Grady hissed.

  “You must be Kenny’s wife in real life,” Annie said. “Sounds like the level of irritation that only a spouse could produce.”

  “He’s not my husband,” Mrs. Claus said. “Kenny’s my older brother. My name’s Connie by the way.” She extended her arm and shook Annie’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you Connie. I’m Annie Graceland.”

  “Kenny’s been bossing me around and irritating me since the day I was born. He forgot his inhaler tonight. He gets the asthma around too many animals. I told him not to take this gig, but he heard about the legendary Bauerfeld liquor cellar and wanted a shot at finding it and his beloved scotch. Here.” She pulled an inhaler out of her purse. “Would you give this to him as soon as he comes back from break? I need to get back to my gig.” She handed Annie the inhaler.

  “Sure,” Annie said.

  “Thanks,” Connie said. “And tell him in the spirit of Christmas, I’m waiving our ‘We don’t see each other on the actual day’ rule. He’s welcome to join us for turkey dinner at four p.m. He doesn’t even need to bring anything. Just his cantankerous, old self.”

  “Will do.” A few tears welled in Annie’s eyes and she glanced at Derrick.

  “You can’t tell her,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Must run!” Connie said. “I’m working Snotsky’s of Santa Monica Department Store Holiday Party tonight. Thanks for helping. Merry Christmas!” She turned and strode away.

  “Oh.” Annie tucked the inhaler in her cleavage. “Now I feel even shittier.”

  “Fannie!” Lisette hollered from across the room and jabbed her finger in the air at the half-finished cupcake tree.

  “Forget the tree,” Derrick said. “You have to help me.”

  “You mean I have to help Kenny Klausen,” Annie said. “But, if someone doesn’t finish that tree, I fear Kenny won’t be the only dead person in the crowd tonight.”

  When a cute, twenty-something, freckle-faced, ginger-haired guy walked up behind Grady and squeezed his shoulders. “Happy anniversary, boyfriend. Can I help?” Liam asked in his Irish brogue.

  “Liam! You’re here! Yes, we’d love your help,” Grady said. “We have to finish setting up the cupcake tree. Lives depend on it.”

  “Lives?” Liam asked.

  “For real,” Annie said.

  “Done.” Liam smiled.

  Easy-Peasy Holiday Eggnog

  Serves: 8

  Prep Time: 25 minutes to prepare. Add at least another hour to chill before serving.

  INGREDIENTS:

  12 large eggs, separated

  1 pint whipping cream

  1 ¾ cups sugar

  Pinch of cinnamon

  1 teaspoon of vanilla extract (the real stuff – not the fake stuff.)

  ½ teaspoon of nutmeg

  Two Tbsp of bourbon

  Two Tbsp of either rum or brandy

  (Skip the booze if kids will be imbibing.)

  DIRECTIONS:

  Whisk or beat egg whites until they are slightly firm. Mix sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg together in a separate bowl. Add sugar and spice concoction and vanilla to whites and continue whisking until the mixture is fluffy. Whip the cream in a separate bowl. In a larger bowl, beat the egg yolks until they are light in color and slowly add the booze and stir it in. Add the cream to the yolk mixture. Then add the egg whites.

  Refrigerate for at least an hour before serving.

  10

  Miracle on 24th Street

  Annie and Derrick navigated through the packed ballroom filled with delighted partygoers who signed their marks on silent auction bid forms and cuddled rescue animals. It was a resplendent Christmas event filled with holiday songs, barking dogs, meowing cats, tasty appetizers and yummy drinks. They made their way toward Kenny Klausen who sat on the floor next to his Santa throne, collapsed dejectedly against the wall, playing with the with the candy cane sticking out of his chest.

  “Okay Derrick,” Annie said. “You and I know that Bad Santa is dead. But he doesn’t. Do you have any suggestions on the most delicate way that I can break the news to him? I was thinking I should just be myself. Be straightforward. Honest. Maybe crack a ‘Wow, can you believe you’re dead joke,’ or something light like that. Then after he gets it, ask him who he thinks killed him. I’ll get the lead on a couple of suspects. Someone can anonymously call the LAPD with that info. Then I’ll encourage Kenny to go to the light. And leave this place before my boyfriend, Raphael Campillio, arrives on the scene to investigate.

  “Don’t be yourself,” Derrick said. “Never be straight forward. No one buys it. Honesty? That’ll get you nowhere. I’d skip the ‘wow you’re dead joke’ as it’s way too soon and he won’t get it. Definitely hit him with who he thinks might have killed him. Look, I’ve done my good deed for tonight. I encouraged you to step outside of your boundaries, escape your selfish thoughts and help Kenny Klausen. But I fear I must leave you now.”

  “You can’t leave me here all alone with a dead pervert!”

  “Really?” Derrick gazed at Annie and waggled his eyebrows. “Haven’t you learned anything in the seven months that we’ve become BFFs?”

  Annie frowned. “We are not ‘BFFs.’”

  “If Kenny sees me—and in his current condition he might—he’ll be star struck and unable to concentrate on whom he thinks his killer is, let alone focusing on going to the light.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Annie said. “You’re a deceased self-help author. Not Brad Pitt.”

  “I’ve sold over thirty million books and impacted millions of lives for the better. I’m like Elvis. Marilyn. JFK. I am timeless. No one will ever forget Derrick Fuller.” He turned and walked off into the ballroom wearing only his silver Pucci thong and a smile on his handsome face.

  Annie sighed. Kenny was stomping toward the cupcake tree on his way to the front door, muttering under his breath. She realized if he left the Bauerfeld House before she told him the grim reality—that he might end up a homeless ghost wandering the streets of Los Angeles—confused and clueless why no one could hear, let alone help him. She pursued him as quickly as she could totter in her platform heels. “Hey Santa!” she said. “Attention Mr. Klausen!” When her bustier buzzed.

  She stared down at her cleavage confused—when she remembered she’d stuffed not only Kenny’s inhaler down there but her iPhone as well. She pulled the glistening phone out from between her boobs, wiped the sweat off on her mini-skirt and placed it to her ear.

  “I’m sorry,” Annie said. “This isn’t a great time to talk.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Annie’s mom, Nancy, said. “Shall I wait for a Christmas miracle on 24th street in It’s a Splendor in the Grass Life as I wait for my only daughter to remember to call and wish me happy holidays?”

  “Mom,” Annie said. “I thought we agreed that you were going to call me.”

  “No. You were supposed to call me.”

  “Either way we’re talking now,” Annie said. “Give me a quick update on your Christmas in Bethlehem tour with the Wild Women.”

  Kenny shoved his way past a few Furball volunteers and picked up speed. “Stupid Christmas. What was I thinking taking this job?”

  Bootsy placed a ten by twelve inch picture frame reverently on the table holding the cupcake tree. Her dogs kicked, growled and wrestled each other on the floor nearby.

  “With the exception of your Aunt Susan losing it at the Wailing Wall incident, this trip has been wonderful,” Nancy said.

  “That’s nice, Mom.” Annie kept Kenny in her sights and picked up her pace, praying she wouldn’t wipeout and sprain her ankle.

  Bootsy’s naughty dog pulled away from Dasher the puppy, peered up at Kenny—hesi
tated for a moment—then trotted after him.

  “We visited Old Jerusalem,” Nancy said. “Much better than new Jerusalem, as far as I’m concerned. Kind of like the old Coke versus the new Coke. Why try to change or improve something that everyone’s heard of when the older version is probably better.”

  Annie plowed forward and stepped squarely on a woman’s foot.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry!” Annie said. “So very sorry.”

  “You broke my toe!”

  “My sincerest apologies,” Annie said. “Use some ice and elevate that foot when you get home. I’ll be crossing my fingers that it’s just a bruise.”

  “We took a cable car ride to the Masada,” Nancy said. “Mrs. McGillicuddy got motion sickness and upchucked her all-you-can-eat falafel luncheon special on the tram’s floor. Thank God I packed Handi-wipes in case we encountered unsanitary conditions on our trip.”

  Kenny was just yards from the door when Annie caught up to him and grabbed the back of his shoulder. “Stop right there, Mr. Klausen. You can’t leave yet. We’ve got important business.”

  “…Bethlehem at Christmas time is magical. Did you know there’s even a Manger’s Square?” Nancy asked. “Not to be confused with a Baker’s Square. They have the best pies. Except for yours of course. I don’t know if Manger’s Square has pies. Wait a second…your Aunt Susan is blabbing about something…”

  Kenny turned around, eyed her up and down and leered. “Playboy Mrs. Claus? I thought I was lost, but now I am found. Perhaps the Gods have smiled upon me this holiday season after all.”

  “We haven’t been formally introduced.” Annie stuck out her hand to him. “My name is Annie Graceland. I’m a baker. I’m slightly psychic. And unfortunately, I’m here to bring you some bad tidings.”

  “I’m not sure I want bad tidings,” Kenny said.

  “I’m not sure I want to deliver them to you,” Annie said.

  “Aunt Susan wanted me to tell you she spotted a sign in front of a café in Manger’s Square that offers shepherd’s pies,” Nancy said.

  “Mom,” Annie said. “I’m kind of in the middle of something important. Can we finish this phone call later?”

  “Absolutely,” Nancy said, “Next up the girls and I are going to relax, lounge on the beach and take a refreshing soak in the mineral waters of the Dead Sea. There’s so much salt, I’ve heard that you just bob. In case you’re at all interested, the men in this section of the world are quite handsome. I’ve received several depositions.”

  “Propositions,” Annie said.

  “I like propositions,” Kenny said.

  “Good for you Mom! Merry Christmas and happy holidays to you, Aunt Susan, and the Wild Women. I love you mucho and I’ll call you tomorrow. Mwah!” Annie hung up the phone. She yanked Kenny’s inhaler from her cleavage and thrust it at him. “Your sister, Connie, dropped this off for you.”

  Kenny smiled and reached for it “Oh. Thank you.” But he couldn’t pick it up. “What the?” His fingers trembled. “There’s something wrong with me. I had back pain earlier? Should we call 911?”

  “We should definitely call 911 Mr. Klausen. But first—the bad tidings. There’s a reason you can’t pick up that inhaler. There’s a reason the elves aren’t getting off your throne. And there’s a reason you couldn’t partake of the tooth-picked buffalo mozzarella cheese appetizers with the cherry tomatoes and basil.”

  “God I love those mini-caprese appetizers,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  “What’s the reason?” Kenny asked.

  Annie shook her head. “Before I forget—Connie said you’re invited to her holiday dinner on Christmas day. Four p.m. You don’t even have to bring anything.”

  “Really?” He asked. “She hasn’t asked me over in years. Why now?”

  “Because sometimes family members realize their differences don’t matter all that much. And a sister or a brother decides to be kind, instead of taking each other for granted. Which means, Kenny, people actually love you,” Annie said. “Which is the true meaning of Christmas.”

  “One person loves me,” he said.

  “And one person is enough. One person matters,” Annie said. Bootsy’s dog wagged his tail as he yipped and pawed Kenny’s shin. “Oh, look! A dog likes you too!”

  “I’m not big on the animals,” Kenny said. “Does the candy cane attached to my chest have anything to do with the reason I had back pain and I can’t seem to eat or drink anything at this swell event?”

  Annie looked at the candy cane. It wasn’t just any cane. It was about a foot long and there were words embedded in the stripes. She tilted her head, squinted, leaned in a little closer and read, “WESTSIDE MALL—We’ve got it all!”

  “Oh my God!” Annie said as the puzzle pieces started fitting together. Now she just had to find a way to get all the players to participate in the game that was about to unfold at the Furball.

  11

  Bad Tidings

  Grady and Liam waved at Annie from the middle of the ballroom and pointed to the cupcake tree. Twinkly Italian lights wrapped around its base, draped over the curves of the tiers all the way to the top of the stand, where a star alight. Each level was filled with her baked goods: it was beautiful. Bootsy stared at the framed picture next to the tree and wiped a few tears away. In the soft glow of the holiday lights Annie could see the photo: a small, white, scruffy dog wore an impish smile. An inscription printed in block letters at the bottom read, “In loving memory of BLITZEN…”

  She peered at the dog that pawed Kenny’s leg. “Oh my God!” she said. “Blitzen?”

  The ghost of Bootsy’s dearly departed dog, Blitzen, wagged his tail and started chasing it.

  “You interrupted my bad tidings to talk to a dog?” Kenny asked. “You need to tell me what’s going on? Are we going to call 911? Because no matter what I do, I simply can’t pull this stupid candy cane out of my chest. Watch.” He held the base of the cane with both fists, pulled as hard as he could, thrashed about and grunted.

  Blitzen barked and bolted toward Bootsy. She regained her composure, stood tall and ambled toward the elves with Dasher under her arm.

  And it dawned on Annie how best she could tell Bad Santa the very bad news. “I need to show you something.” She took his arm. “Walk with me.”

  They strode across the ballroom. Kenny even hoisted her up the few times she skidded off her heels. “You’re almost being nice instead of naughty, Mr. Klausen,” she said.

  “That’s because someone is being nice to me. Sorry about the goosing thing at the mall. I get a little carried away sometimes.”

  “Apology almost accepted,” Annie said as they reached the tree.

  “Voilà.” Grady pointed at the display. “What do you think?”

  “Gorgeous!” Annie said. “Excellent job! Thank you. Has Lisette seen it yet?”

  “No,” Grady said. “She had to fetch Bootsy’s favorite scotch from the liquor pantry. What happened with Bad Santa?”

  “Who’s Bad Santa?” Kenny Klausen asked. “Hey—I remember that liquor pantry. Something naughty happened in there. If only I could remember…” He squinted and rubbed his chin.

  Annie glared at Grady and dragged her index finger across her lips in the universal symbol for ‘Zip it.’ “No one’s Bad Santa tonight. There’s only good Santa who wanted to help people and animals. A man who is loved by his family and a precious dog who looks exactly like this.” Annie pointed to Blitzen’s photo. “Does that dog look familiar?”

  Kenny’s eyes widened. “Why’s the candy cane stuck in my chest? Why can’t I drink a simple glass of the bubbly? Why can’t I have a cheese and tomato appetizer?”

  “Liam!” Grady hissed. “You’re missing it!” But Liam was halfway across the room checking out the animals available for adoption.

  Bootsy walked back toward the tree accompanied by Bruno the Elf, and her dogs Dasher and Blitzen. And that’s when Annie felt it: Coldness in her heart. Anger
in her gut. Determination in her brain. A craving for power in her fingers that clenched and unclenched—as if they had a mind of their own. But the strangest thing: she had an insatiable desire for sno-cones.

  Annie shook it off and pointed at Blitzen’s photo. “Does this dog look familiar?”

  “Of course he does,” Kenny said. “That was the mutt that was just pawing my leg. He sat on my lap during Bootsy Bauerfeld’s photo-op.”

  Annie took Kenny’s hand. “Read the inscription out loud.”

  Kenny leaned in and squinted. “In loving memory of BLITZEN BAUERFELD. We hope you’re chasing tennis balls in heaven.” He shrugged. “I don’t get it.”

  “Blitzen’s dead, Kenny. Sometimes when a being dies, they linger a bit before they pass over. Usually because they have unfinished business, or they’re very tied to another soul who is still on the human plane.”

  “I’m seeing a ghost dog? Does this have something to do with bad tidings and this candy cane sticking out of my chest? Oh look here comes that mean little elf, Bruno. He’s been jealous of me for years. Come on. The only Santa gig he’ll get will be at the It’s a Small World ride in Fantasy-Land.”

  “You simply have to try one of these Bad Santa Bakery cupcakes,” Bootsy said to Bruno. “They’re delicious.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Bruno reached up and took a cupcake from the lower tier.

  Lisette raced into the ballroom and screamed. “Santa Claus is dead! Someone call 911! I found him stabbed through the heart with a candy cane! He’s dead!” She swooned and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Furball volunteers and partygoers rushed to her side while people yanked out their cells.

  “Oh no!” Bootsy’s hand flew to her heart.