A few cries and moans emanated from the fans.
“I’d like to share a few things I know about Frank.” Annie wiped a tear from her eye. She cleared her throat. “Even when he was only ten years old, Frank was a sweet kid. Other boys his age were brats, trouble-magnets, shoving tadpoles down my shirt—”
She spotted Jamie Ryan, looking one hundred years tired, as he walked through the crowd toward the stage. He stopped and looked remorsefully at Annie.
“Um…” She broke his look. “But not Frank! He was honest and usually well behaved. He loved Oconomowoc and was proud of Wisconsin. When he grew older, Frank dedicated his time and money to his beloved charities. He didn’t want to earn a paycheck to simply hoard it. He wanted to help those who, for whatever reason, couldn’t help themselves. That’s why you and I are here today.”
“Here for what?” Stephanie thrust her mic closer to Annie’s face.
Annie glanced down at Grady, Julia, and the very buff, shirtless Mr. Wisconsin Dells, who were crouched behind the judges’ podium. Julia whispered into Mr. Dell’s left ear. Grady whispered into his right.
“Frank wanted Wisconsin’s Hot Guys Contest to be an example of how normal people—not millionaires or celebrities—but people like you and me could have fun while contributing to charities. I know that despite Frank’s death, he would not want this mission, his passion, to die too.”
“How do you know this?” Stephanie asked.
Annie paused. Dear God, if her mom saw this footage she’d hire members of the Sunday School Riders, the local Harley-Davidson club, to kidnap and ship her back to church summer camp. Just like junior year in high school when she caught her—
“Again. How do you know this?” Stephanie demanded as the cameras rolled.
Annie cleared her throat, reached down into her cleavage and extricated two paper items from the vintage bra she had borrowed/stolen from her mom. She pulled out the sweaty receipts, blew on them and fanned herself with them. Then punched those papers high in the air.
“Because I have proof that Frank Plank secretively paid for the swimsuits and tuxes for the contest’s top ten finalists.”
The audience gasped.
“The receipts from Lloyd’s Men’s Department Store prove that. According to the pageant itinerary, swimsuit competition was supposed to take place right about now. Instead we are mourning. But if you support Frank Plank’s wishes? If you back his dream to encourage normal people to give to charities? We will make this pageant not only survive—but thrive.”
A few people applauded.
But a few people weren’t enough. She needed a bigger reaction. It was never easy, Annie thought. Not for a babysitter. Not for a pageant judge. Not for an empathic cupcake baker who unfortunately could yak with ghosts and was therefore canoodled into finding their killers. “Pageant organizers have rescheduled the swimsuit competition for ten a.m. tomorrow,” Annie said.
Suzy Mae Delovely glared at Annie. “That’s a lie!”
Annie rolled her eyes. “You have different information?”
Judge Polo jumped onto the stage. “Yes, she does. The swimsuit competition will be held at eleven a.m. tomorrow morning.” He turned and winked at Annie.
She felt a little creeped out.
“It will be held next to the Lodge’s Olympic-sized pool,” Polo continued. “Premiere seating is offered on a first come basis.”
“Like whoa,” the sun burnt man said.
Annie nodded to Polo. “Agree.” She snapped her fingers at Julia and beamed at Grady. “In honor of Frank Plank, I am pleased to announce a special preview of the swimsuit competition. Please give it up for the smart, the handsome—Hubbard Summer. Mr. Wisconsin Dells!”
Pumped, shirtless and dripping wet, Hubbard leapt up the stairs onto the stage as Grady and Julia squirted him from below.
Annie applauded, but kept an eye on her two best friends. It appeared Julia aimed for Mr. Dells’ nether regions, while Grady was more of an all-around kind of shooter. Nice that Mr. Wisconsin Dells was a good sport. He smiled a lot and posed like he was being shot for a racy cover of Vanity Fair.
The audience oohed and awed and applauded enthusiastically.
“See you tomorrow. Thank you fans and supporters!” Annie waved to them and slipped the mic back into its holder.
Judge Polo made a beeline toward her. “Annie!”
She pretended she didn’t hear him, skipped down the steps, off the stage and jogged the few yards toward Julia and Grady.
Julia said. “I’m sorry about Frank—”
“Who would have thought you’d know the vic?” Grady pulled Annie close and whispered into her ear. “When can I meet him?”
“Later. Thanks for the help.”
“Anything for you, sweetums.” Julia yanked Annie in the opposite direction and practically swallowed her other ear. “I’m totally in love with Mr. Dells.”
“You’ve known him for less than seven hours,” Annie said. “Why don’t you re-connect with some of our old classmates from high school?”
“I came back for the Hot Guys. Not a high school reunion. Promise you’ll help me bag him.”
“Fine.” Annie spotted Polo Judge making his way down the steps and headed toward her. “Must run.”
Two hours later, Nancy and Annie stood inside the entrance to Oconomowoc High School’s cafeteria and checked out the scene. It was a food circus. Like an ancient Roman bacchanalia but without the nudity. Except for Herbert, the town’s octogenarian pervert, who wore his low rider jeans on his tiny behind which simply could not hold them up.
Annie shuddered at the sight. “Mom, I don’t think I can do this.”
“Close your eyes. Don’t look.”
Annie did.
“Follow my lead.” Nancy led Annie safely past Herbert.
The Plank family had requested privacy for several days in order to grieve and find their bearings. But Oconomowoc’s residents were itching to help them in some way. Annie’s always helpful Aunt Susan brainstormed that way.
She’d logged into Facebook on her smartphone and created the “Help Frank Plank’s Family” page. Since Aunt Susan volunteered at Oconomowoc’s high school her directions included dropping off food, helpful items, and other donations to the school’s cafeteria.
“I know this isn’t what you expected for a homecoming trip, Annie.” Nancy held tight to Annie’s arm and maneuvered her into the middle of the cafeteria. They walked down an aisle, past tables bearing practical staples that included batteries, flashlights, earplugs and tissues.
Then there were the tables brimming with food. There were homemade casseroles, spaghetti concoctions and gallons of pure filtrated alkaline water. There were Thai dishes, macaroni and cheese casseroles, Mexican enchiladas, mushroom-cheese lasagnas, homemade croissants. Stuey’s Donuts-R-Nuts had dropped off several baker’s dozen boxes. Pepe’s gifted a half dozen pizzas.
Donations to Frank’s favorite charities were posted on three enormous corkboards that had been drilled into a cafeteria wall.
Annie glanced around her. Where was Frank? He would love to see this outpouring of care and concern.
The large cafeteria was filled with sweet, loud, nervous people who wanted to help. The late afternoon sun shone through large industrial styled windows, but the air was still muggy. All the yummy food odors intermingled and wafted through the air.
Annie closed her eyes, inhaled and imagined she was in an exotic buffet in a scorching hot Kushiel’s fantasy novel by author Jacqueline Carey, or at super fine food court like the one at the trendy outdoor mall in Century City, California.
Nancy pinched Annie’s arm, breaking her reverie. “Do you remember that woman?” She pointed to an older woman with peach-tinted hair who placed a Pyrex container onto a table next to fifty other desserts.
Annie squinted. “Peaches Monaco?”
“Good eye,” Nancy said. “In 1990, Peaches’ cobbler won best dessert at the Wisconsin State Fair, beating
out Suzy DeLovely’s sweet fig bars. Peaches assumed she’d cemented her title of queen bee of Oconomowoc bakers. But Suzy, who always has to be right, believed the prize was ripped from her flour encrusted fingers and has not only shunned, but back-stabbed Peaches ever since.”
“Old grudges, Mom,” Annie said. “Really. What do they matter?”
“There’s nothing scarier or more vindictive than someone who holds tight to an old grudge. Would you help your Auntie and me wrap and transport everything to the Plank house?”
Frank walked up to Annie and shook his head. “I can’t deal with my family yet.”
“Sorry. I’ve got to get back to the lodge, Mom. Official pageant stuff,” Annie said.
“Got it.” Nancy walked away. Stopped. Turned and eyeballed Annie. “I could swear I have a dress just like the one you’re wearing.”
Annie flinched. “Doesn’t surprise me. I am your daughter after all.” She stepped forward, leaned down and kissed Nancy’s cheek. “Tell Aunt Susan she’s doing an amazing job.”
“She always does.” Nancy strolled off.
Annie glanced around the packed cafeteria and thought about old grudges. Who in the world would want to hold a grudge in this cornucopia of casseroles, desserts and dreams? “Frank, do you get a vibe? Do you think your killer’s lurking here?”
“Yes.” Frank pointed to Herbert who flashed the room as he leaned forward to sniff a pot roast. “Herbert the Pervert. Death by buttock-sicosis.”
“Seriously?” Annie asked.
“Seriously,” Frank said. “Don’t sample the cheese blintzes. Your colon will shut down for three days.” He touched her elbow and guided her out of the cafeteria. “Come on. We’ve got more important things to check out.”
Annie and Frank wandered through Oconomowoc High’s narrow hallways. The floors covered in worn linoleum scuffed by the thousands of kids who had matriculated here. The walls were lined with dull industrial grey-taupe lockers. Annie remembered this whole scene from twenty years ago when she went to school here.
“I don’t think this is the time for a stroll down memory lane,” Annie said.
“You’ve been gone too long. You need a refresher course on your history and your hometown. Clean the pipes, tune the piano and get up to speed. It will help you investigate my murder.” Frank pointed to a simple classroom wooden door with a skinny enforced glass window embedded at eye level. “Do you remember?”
She placed her hand on the door and closed her eyes. Excitement and giddiness flooded through her body like a steamy cup of hot chocolate laced with espresso. “Freshman year,” Annie said. “American Style and Beauty with Professor Tonya Blum. Tonya was like a fairy. Petite, fiery and inspired everyone in her class. Half the kids had a crush on her.”
“I was one of them,” Frank said.
“I wanted to grow up and be just like her.” Annie walked a few more feet down the hall and was drawn to another door. She stood still in front of it. A sudden chill sank into her body. She shook her hands and regarded Frank, curious. “Something or someone mean is behind this door.”
“Touch it,” Frank said. “Double dare you.”
She leaned her head against it. Shivered and felt queasy, uncomfortable. Like her skin was itching. She scratched her forearm.
“It’s just one of your psychic reactions, Annie,” Frank said.
“How do you know about that?” She glared at him.
“One. Because I’m dead but you can hear me. Two. When I was a kid and complained about a tummy ache—you clutched your stomach, shot me the stink-eye and asked how much junk food I’d downed in the last half hour. Then you rubbed my tummy until I felt better.”
“I did that?”
“You did that.”
“Sophomore year.” Annie’s eyesight grew blurry as she concentrated on the memories. “American History 201 with Professor Freezal. He always twirled his greasy moustache ’cause he was dying to be like Mark Twain. Gave spot quizzes on detaily crap that no high school kid, let alone a history scholar, would remember. Freezal caught me passing a note and sent me to detention.”
Frank inhaled sharply. “Not the note?”
“It was high school.” Annie shrugged. “There were millions of notes.”
“The one where Freezal was depicted as a cartoon weasel with a big oily moustache? He munched on students’ arms and legs while test papers marked with giant Ds and Fs piled up on the floor?”
Annie nodded. “I didn’t draw it, I just passed it.”
“Legend!” Frank fist-bumped Annie, but their clenched hands passed through each other’s.
Annie shivered and pulled her hand back against her body. “Sorry. I should know better.”
Frank pulled his hand back. Remorse wore on his face. “Add it to the list of things dead guys can’t do or have. No pizza. No fist bumps.”
“There will be fist-bumping and pizza in heaven, Frank. I’m relatively new to this ghost passing over thing, but I think we have to find your killer first.”
“Sorry. I’m stressed,” Frank said.
“Stress is supposed to end after death.”
“You’re talking to a dead guy. I’m telling you I’m stressed.”
“This probably sounds self-indulgent, but I really want my luggage. I need my pageant clothes.” Annie face palmed her forehead into her hand. “I’m stressed too, Frankie. When I’m stressed I bake, read a book, watch TV or I exercise. If I don’t do one of the above soon, I will explode.”
“There’s the pool back at the Lodge.”
“No one wants to see me swimming in my mom’s underwear,” Annie said.
“I think you’re wrong.”
Eleven
We Care
Annie arrived back at the lodge and made a beeline toward the front desk. Only to discover that her luggage still hadn’t arrived. She called Blackhoof’s twenty-four hour Customer We-Care-line from the hotel’s lobby phone. (No way she’d be using her roving minutes.)
For the first five minutes on hold she did jumping jacks. After the sedentary bus ride and cartons of junk food consumed to survive that trip, she desperately needed more cardio. She performed squats and deep knee lunges for the next ten minutes while she remained on hold. She segued into yoga poses, still holding the phone while she waited another fifteen minutes. She was in Downward Facing Worrier pose when a telephone rep named Pradeep answered the line and informed Annie that her luggage was last spotted in Bikersville, South Dakota.
She vaulted upright. “South Dakota?” she spat. “Do you not understand, Mr. Pradeep, that I need—”
“Yes, Miss,” Pradeep said. “There is notation to return luggage to Lake Lodge in Oc. Oc. Oco...”
“Oconomowoc.” Annie sighed. “When do you think—”
“Notation says most likely tomorrow, Miss. Thank you for choosing Blackhoof. Servicing your travel needs.”
Annie took a deep breath and sighed it out. “Thank you, Pradeep.”
“Why fly when you can hoof it with—”
“Bye-bye!” Annie hung up the phone. She walked toward her room and passed the indoor bar, The Duck Blind. She spotted a thirsty, somewhat anxious crowd chatting, drowning their sorrows and toasting Frank. She caught a glimpse of Julia hanging on Mr. Dells’ arm. Good for her. Hopefully she’d seal the deal herself and wouldn’t need Annie’s help.
She slid the key card into the door’s lock and entered her room. It was blessedly quiet, thank God, as today was becoming the longest day in her existence. She pulled off her mom’s muumuu in the bathroom and extricated herself from the vintage bra. She wrapped a large cushy towel around her naked body. Plucked the Country Fresh detergent sample from the little basket neatly tucked into the counter’s corner, poured it into the sink, added water and hand washed the muumuu.
She hung the dress up to dry outside on the balcony’s fence. Then showered quickly, slipped into her Oconomowoc Rocks pjs and collapsed on her cot next to the window.
Her mind
churned over possible suspects who wanted Frank dead. A business competitor? Possibly. But the timing was shaky. Another Hot Guy? Very likely. Motive: ambition. This meant Annie couldn’t rule out any of the contestants, especially the top ten finalists. A scorned lover? A random robbery? She drifted, exhausted from the day.
A loud knock-knock-knock on the door woke her. Annie bolted upright and stared at the clock. It read one thirty a.m.
“Open, please. Misplaced my key. We’re moving the party in here,” Julia said.
Annie shuffled to the door and peered through the peephole.
Julia’s distorted reflection smiled back at her like a circus funhouse figure. Seven Hot Guys and their entourages giggled and slurred as they swayed behind her.
“No, no. I’m a pageant judge. I need my sleep,” Annie said.
“It’s only a couple of minutes, max.” Julia placed her mouth next to the peephole and whispered, “You promised to help me score Mr. Dells.”
Frowning, Annie unlatched the door.
“I told you she’s a trooper.” Julia winked and stepped inside their room, the crowd following her, yapping like little dogs on her heels.
After that, half naked partiers made multiple trips to the ice machine. They did shots, cheered, yelled and bounced off Annie on her cot next to the window. When Mr. Butternut sidled up next to her with more than butter next to his nuts, Annie knew that she was done.
At two thirty a.m., Annie wore her white mini pjs, her Coach bag slung over her shoulder and pedaled down Lac LaBelle’s two-lane road on a vintage bicycle. “It’s only a couple of minutes, max,” she mimicked Julia. She should know better by now.
She coasted into her home’s driveway, pushed the bike into a hedge of bushes and finagled the key in the front door’s lock. Entered the house, snuck up the stairs and avoided the creaky fifth step. Slipped into her former bedroom, quietly shut the door and set the big pink alarm clock for a decent hour. She climbed into her twin bed, hugged Walla the koala to her heart, pulled up the covers and fell into a sleep as deep as the dead.
Annie blinked her eyes open. The sun streamed through her bedroom window. She squinted at her corkboard on the wall that was smothered in cheerleader photos, high school game schedules and other memorabilia. She wondered if Scott Puddleman was going to be at the big game tonight.
3 Cupcakes, Pies, and Hot Guys Page 8