The food on the poster looked like comfort food. Food you could incorporate into stews and soups. Pasta dishes, simple BBQ fare, even franks and beans. Good Lord, look at the size of that kielbasa, Annie thought, as she leaned in and placed her hand on the poster to get a better look.
She felt a sharp sudden pain in her chest. She gasped and hunched over for a second, dropping the flowers. Had she cinched the belt too tight around the muumuu and damaged an internal organ? Annie fumbled with the belt and let it out a notch. The sensation passed. She stood upright and shook her hands, grounding herself.
She spotted the judges’ booth in another tented area on a dock that jutted out onto Lac LaBelle. A huge banner plastered on the tent read JUDGES’ BOOTH. Suzy DeLovely yakked with the female reporter from I-CHIC. Mrs. McGillicuddy checked her watch, glared at the empty chair next to her and leaned in to scribble on a piece of paper.
The coiffed male judge was drowning in Polo attire, his back to her as he conversed with another man, also dressed designer. They looked smug and beyond boring.
Annie checked her watch. She had two minutes to make it to her chair before Mrs. McGillicuddy would grade her tardy. She broke into a trot, pushing politely past exhibitors, fans, Hot Guys, sponsors and advertisers when someone grabbed her elbow and spun her around. She came face to face with Stephanie, her microphone and Olaf with his camera.
“Roll camera. On three, two, one,” Stephanie said. “Here we are at Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Guys Contest with local girl Annie Graceland. She moved to star-studded Hollywood but has returned to be a judge.” Stephanie smiled into the camera and batted her eyes.
“Actually I live in Venice, California, a funky beach community that’s miles from Hollywood. But thank you, Stephanie,” Annie said. “Must run!”
“I follow TMZ. Julia Roberts, Viggo Mortenson, Frank Gehry, Dylan McDermott and other celebrities all lived in Venice. Share your thoughts about last night’s contest kick-off.”
“Um,” Annie said. She hated cameras. She thought for a moment and realized Stephanie was just chasing after her until she found a bigger more appealing fish. “Happy to share after the top ten announcement!”
Annie bolted and slid into her seat at the judges’ table with seconds to spare. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Stephanie frown as she sliced the air with her finger, motioning Olaf to stop filming.
“You were always tardy in high school.” Mrs. McGillicuddy shot her a look.
“I was not always tardy in high school.”
“I knew you’d say that.” Mrs. McGillicuddy pulled a stash of papers from her clipboard. “That’s why I pulled your records and made copies.” She held out a thick manila envelope to Annie. “When in doubt, check the paperwork.”
Annie huffed, took the envelope and shoved it into her Coach bag. Polo judge took his seat on the far side of the table. He smiled at Annie. Waved at her, friendly. He looked like an older, worn-torn Ryan Gosling. He used to be handsome but had crossed the line to suave and a little oily. She knew him. But from where?
The other fancy man grabbed the microphone, flipped a switch and tapped the mic’s head a couple of times. “Testing, testing,” he said. All eyes and cameras swiveled their attention onto him. “I’m Earl Dussair, your official contest announcer. Welcome back to Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Guys Contest! The winner of the brunch competition will receive a free weekend winter rental of two snowmobiles as well as a free weekend summer rental of two jet skis courtesy of Lac LaBelle’s House of ’Biling and Boating.”
The audience applauded enthusiastically.
Annie spotted Julia and Grady hanging next to Mr. Wisconsin Dells in his booth. Mr. Dells wore board shorts, was ripped, sun-kissed tan and standing next to a mini water slide that ended in a cushy, blown up, water-filled pool. Julia wore a tube top that prominently featured her girls as she leaned into Mr. Dells’ arm, squishing them against his moist bulging biceps. Grady sat on the slide and looked a little confused about what was supposed to happen next.
Inside Mr. Dells’ booth were an assortment of water toys: pistols, rifles, even water machine guns. It looked like Julia had met her match in the toy department. But both of Annie’s friends appeared happy and waved at her. Maybe this trip to Oconomowoc would turn out de-lovely, indeed.
“And the winner of the brunch competition is…”
The crowd hushed.
Earl paused for dramatic effect, ripped open an envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. “Mr. Appleton—George Schnitzius!”
The crowd applauded and wolf-whistled.
“Thank you, thank you.” George Schnitzius beamed at his fans and waved from his wheelchair.
Suzie grabbed the mic from Earl, practically tongued it and crooned, “Your pies are to die for, Mr. Appleton. Please contact me for potential employment opportunities after the contest is over.”
“Thank you, Ms. DeLovely!” Mr. Appleton saluted her.
Enough sucking up and kow-towing, Annie thought. Cut to the chase—announce the top ten so she could retire to her room and claim her luggage that had to be there at this point. Like really, how long could her luggage be lost?
She’d shake out her outfits, put them on the cedar wooden hangers in the closet. She’d take a long hot bath, maybe get a hot stone massage, do some contest stuff and find time to hang with her family.
Earl yanked the mic back from Suzie and handed it to Polo judge. Suzie frowned but allowed Polo to take center stage. Earl ripped open another envelope, pulled out a paper and handed it to Polo. “And now, the announcement you’ve all been waiting for! The top ten finalists in Wisconsin’s Hot Guy Contest are…” He paused.
A drum roll sounded. The audience stood on tiptoes, leaning with anticipation toward the stage.
Mr. Appleton’s Apple Pie
Ingredients:
Two 9” pie crusts
Eight medium to large Granny Smith apples
½ cup dark brown sugar, packed
¼ cup granulated sugar
One ¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
Juice of one lemon
Just under 1 tablespoon vanilla extract (Recommend the real stuff, not artificial.)
½ teaspoon salt
Slightly under 1/3 cup all-purpose flour
Three tablespoons (almost ½ stick) unsalted butter
Mr. Appleton’s Secret Concoction:
Four tablespoons granulated sugar
Almost ¾ cup all-purpose flour.
Two tablespoons unsalted butter
Almost ½ cup butterscotch chips
Egg Wash:
One egg
Almost two tablespoons water
Instructions:
Peel and slice apples ¼ inch thick. In a separate large bowl combine and mix the flour, brown sugar, granulated sugar, cinnamon, lemon juice, vanilla and salt. Place applies slices in this mixture and stir.
Melt the butter in a large sauté pan. Add apple-flour-sugar and stir until the apples are soft. Avoid burning. Remove from heat and cool.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Pre-bake the bottom piecrust for 10 minutes. (Don’t pre-bake the top crust.)
Combine ingredients in Mr. Appleton’s Secret Concoction. Mix thoroughly.
Whisk the egg wash in a small bowl.
Place cooled apple mixture in prebaked piecrust. Top with Secret Concoction. Place the reserved piecrust on top of pie. Crimp edges to seal the pie. (Don’t have too much top crust hanging down from pie edges as they will fall and burn off during baking.) Smooth egg wash onto top crust. Make four or five slashes in top crust to allow pie to vent.
Place pie in oven. Bake for 45 minutes. Check on it once in a while to make sure the top isn’t burning. Remove and let cool for 30 minutes before serving. Goes great with fresh vanilla ice cream.
(Note. For those who like it less sweet? Cut back on the sugar a little during preparations.)
Eight
Odd Ducks
“Mr. Sheboygan! Mr. Richland C
enter! Mr. Madison!” Polo exclaimed to thunderous applause. “Please report to the stage.”
Sheboygan, Richland, and Madison hollered and jumped up and down. They high-fived a couple of friends and bolted toward the podium.
Mrs. McGillicuddy grabbed Annie’s hand. “Stand up!” she hissed. “Why do you think they picked you to be a judge?”
“My charming personality?”
Mrs. McGillicuddy pinched Annie’s arm and she jumped to her feet.
“Ow!”
“You’ve always been a bit of an odd duck. A character. Like that Kara girl they dumped on American Idol.”
Annie frowned as Mrs. McGillicuddy dragged her towards the mic, just yards away. “I liked Kara.”
A mother duck with her ten fat ducklings waddled in formation in front of the judges’ booth, quacking loudly.
Annie glared at them. “Whatever.”
Polo handed the mic and the list of the finalists to Mrs. McGillicuddy. She futzed with her glasses and fumbled the piece of paper.
“Hot Guys! Hot Guys! Hot Guys!” The crowd clapped and took up the chant.
Her former teacher’s hands were shaking. Mrs. McGillicuddy just needed some time. But the crowd was getting out of control. Almost like that bloodthirsty mob in the Gladiator movie during one of the many Coliseum scenes. Annie always fast-forwarded through that bit with the poor tiger because she felt the big cat was totally mistreated and technically should have eaten the gladiator.
Mrs. McGillicuddy leaned toward the mic but it towered over her. Earl adjusted the height so it was a little lower. She leaned in again, her voice hushed and a little stern, “I hope all of you gathered here today are having a lovely time. I encourage you to study hard in school, support your local libraries and please practice safe sex.”
Several audience members booed. Which pissed Annie off. So she started a chant and clapped along with it. “Safe sex. Libraries yes! Safe sex. Libraries yes!”
Julia discretely fondled Mr. Wisconsin Dells’ arm. Grady was now in the shallow end of the blow-up pool and still looked confused. They rallied and took up Annie’s chant but got it a little wrong. “Safe sex in libraries, yes! Safe sex in libraries, yes!”
Unfortunately, that chant caught on.
Mrs. McGillicuddy squinted at the paper and found her bearings. “Ahem!”
Annie circled behind her, put her finger to her mouth and mimed Shhh! to all corners of the stage. The crowd quieted.
Mrs. McGillicuddy hunched into the mic, “Mr. Madison and Mr. Wisconsin Dells. Congratulations. Your mothers will be very proud. Report to the stage.”
Madison cracked a tiny smile, shook hands with some of his fans and walked toward the stage.
Mr. Dells whooped, picked up a water gun and shot at the people in his booth, who laughed and shot back at him. He jogged toward the stage pumping his fist.
The crowd loved it and hollered. The remaining Hot Guys regarded each other nervously. Mr. Viroqua smoothed his super shiny hair. Mr. Milwaukee pulled his shirt up and peered at his six-pack abs. Mr. Kenosha ran his tongue over his teeth compulsively. They knew the herd was being thinned.
Suzie DeLovely flexed her fingernail talons like a cat. She snatched the mic as well as the document from Mrs. McGillicuddy, who flinched, her eyes widening as she checked her hands, probably for blood.
Suzy perused the paper and her upper lip twisted a little. “Mister Appleton! Congratulations. Mister Milwaukee—Yes! And in a surprising twist—Mister Bloomer.”
Annie smiled and clapped. It was finally her turn to announce the last of the top ten finalists. She was nervous but knew she had to do this—it was all part of being a pageant judge.
If she could ace this, it would be a great step to getting her confidence back. Maybe one day she’d have enough chutzpah and dough—the green kind—to open her bakery business again. She took a deep breath and held out her hand so Suzy Mae DeLovely could pass her the paper that listed the names of the remaining two finalists.
But Suzie didn’t pass her the document. Odd. She was probably just so excited that she’d lost herself in the moment. So Annie swirled her hand around in front of Suzy’s face, sporty-like. To the casual observer it might have appeared like she was practicing Chi-Kung or drying her freshly polished finger nails.
But Suzy didn’t catch her prompt and clenched the paper. “The last two finalists are…” She peered at the document.
Mrs. McGillicuddy pinched Annie’s arm and she jumped.
“Don’t be tardy,” she hissed.
Annie glared at Suzy Mae. And realized she would not give up that paper without a little encouragement. Or a swift kick to her designer pantsuit-clad behind. “Ms. DeLovely. Time to pass the baton, please,” she said.
But Suzy ignored her. “Mr. Butternut. And…Mr. Oconomowoc!” she announced and attempted smiling. But her eyes were round as Cheerios and her twinkle wrinkles were frozen in her crepey face.
Annie imagined what Jimmy Hoffa would look like if they finally found him, most likely buried under a concrete parking garage next to a Costco or a mini-mall. Unlike Jimmy, who had an excuse for his frozen expression, Suzy had overdone the Botox.
The contest fans screamed their approval. Nine of the top ten Wisconsin Hot Guys approached the stage, high-fivin’ their friends, family, fans and each other. Julia and Grady jumped up and down like they were on springs as they cheered Mr. Wisconsin Dells.
But not for Annie. She was tickled for the pageant finalists, but also felt a little off. She had failed to stand up to yet another bully—Suzy Mae DeLovely. A shiver circled around the base of her lower back, worked its way up her spine and exploded into goosebumps all over her body.
She turned and caught Mr. Oconomowoc staring at her as he stood next to his booth, behind his company’s kielbasa poster. His gaze was endearing, sweet and a little sad.
Annie’s face flushed and she broke into a sweat. His look seared her soul, and a few tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away and wondered why she was so verklempt, so emotional. Her hand flew to her chest and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.
Annie thought she heard her mom’s voice cry out from the audience, “Is it the asthma? Do you need an inhaler?” But Annie couldn’t answer as she was gripped by chest pain and dropped to her knees on the judges’ stage, wheezing and clutching her chest. Oh, God, no. Not another empathic reaction.
A large strong male hand reached out to her. “Let me help,” Frank said.
Frank’s booth was yards away from the judges’ platform. How had he gotten to her so quickly?
“Okay.” She took his hand and like magic, he hoisted her upright.
“Breathe,” he said.
She did. “Thank you.” He looked a little blurry except for his exceptionally fine muscular physique, which couldn’t be missed in a deep fog, a standing-room-only David and Sean Cassidy Blast-from-the Past concert, or a packed crowd during a Meet Justin Bieber and touch his arm event.
“Call me Frank. You’re Annie Graceland. You used to babysit me. You were the best babysitter, ever.”
“Thank you, Frank.” Annie’s vision focused. “That’s sweet.” But there was something wrong. Thick red stains saturated Frank’s T-shirt over his chest while crimson drips trailed down onto his arms and legs. “Congrats on making the Top Ten in the Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Guys Contest! However—”
“I need to tell you something,” Frank said.
Officer Jamie Ryan, looking tired and edgy, strode up to the judges’ stage, vaulted up the two steps and grabbed the mic. “Quiet, please. I have bad news.”
But the fans were too wound up, screaming with excitement. Clapping like crazy people. They paid him no attention.
“Quiet. Please,” Jamie said in a stern voice.
They hushed and all eyes riveted on him.
“I regret to inform you that one of our Hot Guys finalists has been found dead. It appears to be a homicide.”
The ra
ucous revelers fell silent. A few people cried.
“I’m the last person who wants to put a damper on this contest, but the police need to question everyone here. The interviews should be conducted in a timely manner. Remain calm, stay where you are and bear with us while our officers get your names, numbers and information.”
“Oh, my God!” Suzy Mae DeLovely swooned and toppled sideways. Polo caught her before she crashed onto the ground.
“Who is it?” Mr. Appleton asked.
“Yeah—who is it?” Mr. Milwaukee balled up one hand into a fist and smashed it into his palm. “Who was killed?”
Annie looked at Frank and his stained T-shirt. “It’s you, isn’t it Frank? Someone killed you?” She gazed up into his beautiful brown eyes.
He blinked. “Yeah there. I’m only thirty years old and I’m a good guy. But someone killed me. And I’m still here on earth. I need to know who wanted me dead. And why.”
“Frankie,” Annie whispered, stunned. “I don’t know if I can help you.”
He took her hand and squeezed it. Then just stared at it. “You were there for me during all those years my parents were gone. When I watched The Exorcist and couldn’t sleep because I thought my head might rotate like a salad-spinner? You held my hand and told me stories about cupcakes and cookies and a guy named Luke Skywalker who was scared too, but he became a hero. You practically raised me.”
“Oh,” she said.
“I’m freaked out of my mind right now. I never wondered if I’d live a long life—just assumed that was normal and I would. But normal’s not happening.”
“But I’m not an experienced ghost talker. I’m not very organized when I investigate bad guys. I basically flounder around,” Annie said.
“Listen to me! I tried to talk to my mom. She just cries. I tried to talk to Jamie after he saw my body and examined the boathouse. He just grinds his teeth and swears under his breath. I think you’re the only person who can see me, hear me. I don’t care if you’re perfect. I trust you, Annie Graceland. If you can’t help me, who can?”
Pamela DuMond - Annie Graceland 03 - Cupcakes, Pies, and Hot Guys Page 6