“Absolutely!” Stephanie jumped up and down. “This will be, like, so much fun!”
Annie wanted to bond with Stephanie, so she managed a hop. When she heard a tiny but robust engine rev and a couple of pop-pop-pops.
In Venice, California, those metallic sounding pops could be auto backfire, gunfire or fireworks. Right now in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, they were gunfire. A dirt bike sped through the Blackhoof parking lot. Its driver, a smaller leather-clad figure wearing a helmet aimed a handgun at Annie and Stephanie.
Stephanie heard the gunfire and screamed. Annie tackled her. They landed on the pavement—Annie smack dab on top of Stephanie and sweating like a married politician sneaking out of a cheap motel room. How was it possible Stephanie still hadn’t broken a sweat? Was she a creature from another world that was secretion-less?
Pop-pop-pop! More gunshots rang out.
Annie caught a glimpse of the bike’s skinny wheels and heard the squeal of rubber on blacktop as the driver pulled a Youie and sped off. “You okay?” Annie asked as her heart raced.
“Frick!” Stephanie said. “I mean, dang. Except for the fact your knee might be in my kidney, I think so. Is Olaf okay? Tell me Olaf’s okay. He’s the only cameraman I have access to.”
Annie looked over her shoulder. Olaf had one knee on the ground and his camera aimed at the fleeing biker. “Hot damn!” he said. “This is what news should be.”
Instead of relaxing at the contest’s swank accommodations at The Lake Lodge on the shores of Lac LaBelle and sampling its many luxurious amenities, Annie spent her first morning and afternoon back in Oconomowoc at the city police station.
Neither Grady nor Julia had witnessed the shooting. They were briefly questioned, quickly released and cabbed it to the lodge. Julia was probably getting a mani/pedi and Grady writing a treatment for a screenplay about the driveby gunshot incident, even though he hadn’t seen it.
Annie sat on a plastic chair in a tiny sterile air-conditioned squad room waiting to be interviewed by a local police officer. She put her head on the metal table in front of her. She should have followed her instincts. Something warned her not to come back. There wasn’t even a dead body and she was already in a police station. She banged her head on the table several times.
The door to the interrogation room swung opened. “A smart girl once told me that head banging should be reserved for punk rockers who don’t care about losing brain cells,” a man said, “—because they’ve already lost theirs.”
Annie raised her head off the table. A tall, built, early thirties, dirty-blond man walked into the room. She blinked. Maybe the Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, PD had a time machine warp room, because the guy resembled a younger Brad Pitt.
“Annie Graceland. It’s been a couple of years, hasn’t it?” the man asked.
She squinted at him. He was handsome in that high cheek boned blue-eyed kind of way. And he looked familiar. “I have no idea, mister…?”
“Detective,” he said, pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table from her, sat down and smiled. “How are you?”
That wasn’t the first question she expected to be asked by an Oconomowoc detective. “You really want to know?”
“I do.”
“I’m dehydrated, haven’t slept in three days. I have a contusion on my knee from rescuing this Stephanie TV person.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “My hair might have worms. My luggage with all my clothes and important business stuff is missing and I’m seriously wondering if I’ve made a really bad decision coming back to Wisconsin on a holiday weekend. Why do you look so familiar?”
“Stephanie’s a hometown pain. We’ve been hoping and praying for years that she’ll head to bigger pastures.” The detective got up, walked to a mini fridge in the room’s corner and opened it. He snagged a bottle of water from the fridge and a blue bag from the freezer. He walked back and pressed the ice pack onto her knee. “This will decrease swelling and stop your new bruise from becoming a big one.”
She shuddered and felt something chilly, wet and slimy slither down her back. She shook her head. The Officer hadn’t placed an ice pack anywhere near her back. Just on her knee. “Thanks.” She was having an empathic reaction. Oh, frick.
“You’re overly tired and will probably sleep like the dead tonight after you spend a couple of hours with Nancy.”
How did he know about her mother, Nancy? Right. She was back home. Everyone knew everybody in smallish midwestern towns.
“Your hair could use a wash,” he said. “But I don’t see any worms wiggling onto your shoulders.”
She shuddered and involuntarily flinched. “That’s a good thing.”
The detective handed her a big bottle of electrolyte-enhanced Lac LaBelle Mineral Water. “Drink this.”
She chugged the water. Immediately felt a little better. “Thanks. I have to help host opening ceremonies for a contest tonight. No time to see my mom until after.”
“Got it,” he said. “In regards to you coming back here for July 4th—we’ll be arresting our obligatory roster of idiots. Drinking and driving, drinking and boating, drinking and drinking, illegal fireworks, a couple of car crashes, a few druggies, and of course the town flasher. What were you thinking coming back for a summer holiday?” The man leaned back in his chair and regarded her.
Annie took a swig of water and stared at him. “I was thinking I’d see my family. I wasn’t thinking I’d end up at the local P.D. when I haven’t even broken a single law. What’s your name, detective, and why do you look familiar?”
“My name’s Detective Jamie Ryan,” he said. “You babysat me when you were in high school and I was ten.”
Good God, it all rushed back and flooded her noggin’, filling up all the little wrinkles and crevices in her brain like a tsunami. Little Jamie Ryan with his skateboards, dogs, video games and addiction to Harry Potter books. Goofball Jamie Ryan, who used to stick tadpoles down her back and giggle so hard he’d lose his breath. He’d grown into Detective Jamie Ryan with the dangerous crystal blue eyes.
“Oh. Right. I babysat a lot of kids,” she said. “You grew up nice, Jamie. I mean you grew up to be a law-abiding, nice young man, Detective Jamie Ryan.”
“You grew up nice, too, Annie,” he said. “Sorry about the tadpole thing. I was a little obsessed with girls and frogs back then.”
Annie knew that statement described the majority of boys. She slugged back some more water. “I’m a judge at—”
“Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Guys Contest,” he said. “Technically I’m in favor of the contest. But honestly a little concerned it will objectify men.”
Annie burst out giggling. “You’re still hilarious.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Like every single beauty contest for women doesn’t objectify them?”
“Well… but… kind-of…it’s completely different.”
“Ha-ha! Hiding any frogs, buddy?” Annie laughed so hard she clutched her stomach. And then like any pageant judge, she pulled it together. “I’ve got to be at work by six p.m. What do you need to know?”
“Let’s start with the idiot shooter in the parking lot.”
There really wasn’t that much to tell him. A couple of gunshots that seemed to be aimed at Stephanie. The shooter was a person on a dirt bike who wore leather in ninety-nine degree weather and, therefore, must be completely deranged. Since Annie had never met Stephanie until today, she had no idea who would want to harm her.
Annie then mentioned her luggage was either stolen or still on the No.154 Blackhoof Bus headed towards Appleton, Wisconsin.
“Did you have a chance to fill out a missing luggage—”
“No,” she said. “That’s when I nearly got run over and the shooting started.”
“I’ll handle that for you,” Jamie said. “Make some calls.”
“Thank you.”
“You need a ride?” Jamie eyeballed her.
A memory popped into Annie�
��s head like it was yesterday. Jamie’s folks hired her to babysit and dog walk while they attended a Clean the Lakes event at the supper club. Sixteen-year-old Annie walked their German shepherd down their long blacktop driveway surrounded by thick woods.
Half way down the blacktop, ten-year-old Jamie burst out of the bushes on his skateboard dressed like a ninja warrior. He yelled, “Hai Ku!” and spooked Sasha the dog, who bolted toward the woods like she was possessed. Annie tried to hold onto her leash, but ended up falling onto her butt and dragged down the sloping pavement.
“Sasha, no!” she yelled over and over, finally letting go of the leash. The dog stopped its panicked flight, panted heavily and looked at her, confused. She padded back to Annie who lay face up, her legs half on the driveway and the rest of her in the leaves and moldy dirt. Sasha leaned in and licked her face.
Annie gained a nasty case of road burn on her toucas as well as her first exfoliating dog-wash facial. Jamie wheeled up to her on his skateboard, held out his chubby pre-pubescent hand and said, “Hey, lady. Need a ride?”
“No, thanks.” She spit out a few dog hairs. “I think I’ll wing it.”
Now Annie looked at Jamie’s hand. It was muscular. Had long fingers. A couple of scars. No wedding band. “No thanks,” she said. “I think I’ll wing it.”
It was late afternoon when Annie left the Police Department clutching her fourth bottle of mineral water, her Coach purse and her tote. She walked out the double doors into the parking lot and called Rafe on her cell. His voicemail answered and she felt a little sad. “Raphael. It’s Annie. I miss you. We’re officially in Wisconsin. Yay! A little drama. Fill you in later. I hope all is great in your world. Mwah!”
Annie craved a bath, a salt scrub and possibly a delousing. She spotted a vintage baby blue Cadillac convertible polished to an impossible shine turn into the police parking lot.
Her mom owned three cars. One was an ancient clunker. Another was an inexpensive newer model that got great gas mileage. But the vintage blue Caddie was Nancy’s favorite, which she only unveiled on special occasions.
But a strange woman with bright, shiny red, short spiked hair sporting enormous dark sunglasses and hot red lipstick was behind the wheel. Not her mom.
Annie’s mom was blonde, had always been blonde, even though now technically she should be silver. The Cadillac’s driver looked like her mom’s younger wild cousin, Gert. The one who ran off twenty years ago to Lithuania with the crazy artist dude.
“Annie Graceland!” The firecracker red-headed woman hollered. “I can’t believe I had to find out on the KNOC news that you landed in town.”
“Gert?” Annie asked. “How’s Lithuania and where’s Mom?”
“First things first.” The woman put the Cadillac in park. Turned off its engine and tossed Annie the car keys. “Put your suitcase in the trunk. Only one tiny bag?”
“I had a tote and one large suitcase.” Annie placed her tote into the trunk and slammed the car’s trunk. “Blackhoof lost my most important bag. All my beautiful pageant outfits were in it. Without them, people will think I’m an idiot. A moron. A loser.” She got in the passenger seat and handed the keys back to the glamorous older redhead who fired up the engine. “So, when’d you get back in town, Gert? And where’s mom?”
The woman cracked a smile and instead of backing up to exit, circled the Cadillac slowly around the parking lot and waved to several police officers in uniform. “Gert left that whack-a-doodle artist and moved with her younger boyfriend to a nudist colony in Costa Rica years ago. She opened a Mr. Softie Custard shop on the beach. Made a fortune. Thanks for the compliment. But I’m not Gert.”
Oh, my God, Annie thought and stared at the woman. The firecracker wasn’t Gert. It was her mom, Nancy, with radically new hair, something different about her face, but the same attitude. “Mom?” she asked. “Are you all right? Do you have a disease? Do we need to go to Mayo clinic? I swear we’ll figure it out together.”
Nancy waved her hand. “I’m fine.”
“What happened?” Annie asked.
Her mom laughed. “Seventy happened, darling.” She revved the engine and gunned it. Annie flew back into the cushy Caddie seat as they squealed out of the parking lot. “And seventy is the new fifty.”
Four
Time of our Lives
Annie’s mom pulled onto the two-lane street. The lake side had a wide grassy shoulder. The opposite side swept past houses, driveways, and relatively thin grassy shoulders that dipped down into leaf filled mossy ditches. “Like, wow,” Annie said. “You didn’t tell me you had some work done.”
“I haven’t told a soul except for my Wild Women’s Group. I wanted a little tiny uplifting so my face and my spirits matched. It’s called a ‘Time-of-Life’ lift. Minimal cutting. Local anesthesia. You can go back to work in three days!”
“You don’t work.”
“You can go back to Bible Study in three days!” Nancy tapped her finger on her cheek that was closest to Annie. “Daughter’s kiss goes right here.”
Annie smooched her mom’s freshly minted face. It was still her mom and it felt warm and wonderful. Like mini-marshmallows in hot chocolate. “Are you driving me to the Lake Lodge?”
A tiny frown squirmed its way onto Nancy’s face. “Yes, dear. Considering I haven’t seen you in a year, I’m more than happy to pick you up like a Tibetan Sherpa and schlep you to your destination.”
“The contest’s opening ceremonies are tonight.” Annie looked at her watch. “We’ll have a ton of downtime to catch up and hang out and—what time is it here?”
“I stopped keeping track of time a while ago.” Nancy hard turned the steering wheel to the right and whipped the Caddie onto the picturesque, tree-lined, two-lane road that circled Lac LaBelle. “Gloria, my Wild Women’s tribal leader, says when you count time all it does is make you depressed that so much has passed. We should simply pay attention to where the sun is in the sky.” Nancy eyeballed the sun. “I’d say it’s about five-ish.”
Wild Women? Tribal leader? Five-ish? Oh shit. Opening ceremonies for Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Guys Contest started at six p.m. Annie was exhausted. Once she realized they were taking the bus, she had planned on a nap as well as plenty of downtime to prepare before the opening ceremonies. Annie reached up and tilted the rearview mirror toward her and gazed into it. She looked like a creature who had just escaped the third realm of hell.
She had fresh pink zits, grimy hair and errant eyebrow hairs that were attempting to unite in the uni-brow look she sported in junior high. This would not do. She was a pageant judge. She was supposed to look coiffed and glamorous. Somewhat like Paula Abdul. Or Stephanie.
“Hurry, please. Pedal to the metal, Mom. Remember the multiple conversations we’ve had about how slow drivers can be as dangerous as fast ones?” Annie pulled out her cell phone and hit one number for speed dial.
“I was only driving slowly because I lost my license a couple of months ago.” Nancy punched the gas.
Annie’s head started throbbing and she felt the one visible vein on her forehead pulse. She placed her phone to her ear.
“Hot Guys Central. How can I be of service?” Julia purred on the line’s other end.
“I’ve been at the police station the entire day, my suitcase is stolen or missing. No bitchin’ clothes for the contest, no makeup, no fancy hair doo-dads. Mom picked me up and we’re headed for the lodge. I’ve got to look presentable and coiffed like a beauty pageant judge in approximately forty-five minutes. Tell me that you and Grady have had less than three drinks apiece and can save my ass?”
The Caddie’s engine revved. Her Mom swerved down the middle of the two-lane road that curved around the lake. Small non-suicidal forest animals dodged its wheels and dove for safety.
“Hold on,” Julia said. “Grady, put the strawberry daiquiris in the fridge.”
“But I just picked the berries from the Lodge’s garden,” he whined.
“They’l
l keep. Annie needs us to be kind-of sober.”
“Then why are we on a road trip to Wisconsin? I don’t know anyone who vacays in Wisconsin who stays kind-of sober.”
“Save the drama for Los Angeles,” Julia said. “God knows that town needs it like oxygen.”
Annie’s heart skipped a beat ’cause in that statement she knew Julia was re-connecting with her Midwestern roots.
“Julia?” Annie asked.
“We’re on it. Mission Pageant Judge. Heads up? Skip the lobby,” Julia said. “It’s packed with swooning women, men who aren’t frightened of who they really are, as well as those who are still in the closet. Park on the lake entrance. Between the wedding gazebo with the plastic white rose cascades and the Bait and Tackle shop with the enormous smiling trout. Take the back elevator to room 303. Do the secret knock.” She hung up.
“I don’t remember the secret knock!” Annie shouted into the phone as she and her mom in the Caddie blasted down Lac LaBelle Lane.
“I do,” Nancy said. “That’s the one Julia did on your bedroom window junior year in high school every time you were sneaking out to go to a party.”
“Oh, that secret knock,” Annie brain-strained for the memory. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, my only daughter.”
A little over an hour later, Annie teetered toward a conference table podium in the Lake Lodge’s packed ballroom. It was outfitted with a long white table skirt with red white and blue emblems celebrating the Contest. She knew the following: she flunked the secret knock three times until Julia threw open the door and yanked her inside.
Her friends stripped off Annie’s road clothes and pushed her into the shower. They ruthlessly scrubbed and exfoliated her from head to toe and even managed to shave her legs. Annie survived with just one bleeder—a nasty razor cut on her calf that would not clot.
She reached down and rubbed the drying blood over her leg in the hopes it would make her look tan, not like she needed to go to the ER.
Julia and Grady dried her off with multiple cushy three hundred-thread count lodge towels. They slapped sparkly self-tanning moisturizer on her entire body, plumped her lips, plucked her uni-brow, transforming it into two eyebrows, teased and sprayed her hair to enormous proportions, rimmed her eyes with kohl and made her drink two cups of coffee spiked with just a tad of Kahlua.
Pamela DuMond - Annie Graceland 03 - Cupcakes, Pies, and Hot Guys Page 3