Pamela DuMond - Annie Graceland 03 - Cupcakes, Pies, and Hot Guys

by Pamela DuMond

  He was so cute and always passed her funny notes in American history class taught by creepy Professor Freezal. She and Scott had tongue-kissed on several occasions and she hoped they might soon be an item. Like, officially, girlfriend-boyfriend. And it dawned on her—OMG! Scott Puddleman would probably ask her to be his date at Homecoming!

  The smell of fresh homemade pancakes wafted through the air. Her mom was in the kitchen, just downstairs, adding freshly picked blueberries to the steaming bubbling batter. Annie smiled. She was sixteen years old and her life was perfect!

  Then she got a glimpse of herself in the mirror and reality crashed her party. She wasn’t a sixteen-year-old cheerleader who had already gone to second base for ten seconds with Scott under the bleachers during a football game. The jerk not only didn’t become her boyfriend, but dumped her a week later for a trampie baton twirler. Asshat. Hey wait a minute—wasn’t that twirler Suzy Mae DeLovely? Whatever, she wasn’t about to carry an old grudge. Not here, not now.

  She needed to get back to the lodge in time for swimwear competition. Again, all she had to wear was her pjs. A sinking feeling descended into her bones as she realized her mission.

  Annie opened her bedroom door and peeked out—the hallway was clear. Her mom hummed in the kitchen below her, oblivious that she was in the house. If Nancy knew Annie was in the house at 1130 Maplewood Drive, there would be hell to pay.

  Nancy would sign her up for incessant interrogations, lectures and excruciating mom guilt trips about why Annie hadn’t moved home since she and her husband had broken up. Paper and e-pamphlets for divorce support groups, dating support groups and why divorced women should move back to their hometowns would magically appear in Annie’s purse, mailbox and e-mail accounts.

  The pancakes smelled killer. Annie hadn’t eaten a thing since the few slices of cold pizza yesterday. She was in jeopardy. Had to exercise extreme caution. She snuck down the hallway when her stomach rumbled like a garbage truck on pick up day and nearly blew her cover.

  All kitchen noises ground to a halt. She heard her mom walk toward the staircase.

  Get a grip, she admonished herself, and put a hand on her stomach. She tiptoed down the hallway and eased into her mom’s bedroom.

  Annie bicycled down the road that hugged Lac LaBelle. Even though it was only a little after ten a.m., the temperature had to be pushing the upper eighties. She was happy she’d borrowed her mom’s cute, short-sleeved, floral peasant top, but regretted choosing the lime green polyester elephant pants that kept getting caught in the bicycle’s spokes.

  Sweat dripped down her forehead from under her mom’s floppy straw hat. She wiped it from her eyes. The enormous slacks caught again. She tried to pedal with one foot and extricate her pant leg from the bike, but veered into traffic. She wobbled wildly, barely staying upright. A few horns blared. Cars swerved around her, their back drafts pitching dust, a few pebbles and a couple of fat juicy bugs into her face.

  A Whup-whup-whup of a police siren wailed behind her. Aw, frick. She glanced back and spotted the rotating police dome light on the top of a black and white SUV, emblazoned with OCONOMOWOC CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT.

  Annie put one foot on the ground, using the bike as a second leg, and hopped to the side of the rode. She frowned, perched on the muddy narrow embankment and peered down into a soggy leaf and frog-filled ditch.

  She balanced on one foot and leaned forward to free her pants leg from the bike. But the mud gave way, she slipped and tipped over. “Aw, crap…”

  When strong male arms circled her waist, broke her fall and hoisted her upright. “Drinking and biking, Ms.?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and identified her rescuer—Jamie. “Dude. I mean. officer.”

  “Detective,” he said.

  “Detective. It’s not even noon. Do I look like a person who drinks before noon?”

  “I’m not answering that. Besides, it’s the Fourth of July weekend. Trust me, we’ll be seeing everything,” Jamie said. “Allow me.” He knelt down. Pulled, stretched, and finessed Annie’s pant leg out of the bike.

  “Thank you.”

  “Welcome. Want to take a Breath-a-lyzer?”

  “Right after you do a cleansing wheat juice enema.”

  He nodded. “Just kidding.”

  “I wasn’t,” Annie said. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little stressed. Why do you want to heap more stress on the girl who is already over-stressed?”

  “Right.” He looked at his watch. “It’s ten thirty. Aren’t you supposed to be at the pageant?”

  “Bathing suit competition starts at eleven a.m.”

  “Judges are supposed to be there early for photo ops and TV interviews. And in case you forgot, per our agreement, scoping potential killers. I’ll give you a ride.”

  She hesitated and her eyes narrowed as she remembered the slick, slippery sensation of gooey amphibians sliding down her back.

  “No frogs this time. Promise.” Jamie hoisted the bike into the back of the SUV.

  “One of the things I love about Venice, California?” Annie leaned her face against the SUV’s air vent, her hair blowing past the brim of her mom’s hat. “When it’s eighty-five degrees outside, it’s really eighty-five degrees. Not one hundred and ten degrees when you factor in the ninety-nine percent humidity. Can we make this really cold?” She snapped her fingers at the SUV’s thermostat.

  Jamie flipped the dial and the vents immediately pumped out frigid air.

  Annie sighed. “Sweet! Thanks.” She caught Frank’s reflection in the rearview mirror as he sat in the back seat, not wearing a seatbelt. “Click it or ticket, buddy.”

  “Huh?” Jamie asked.

  “Oh.” Annie patted her seatbelt. “Sometimes I remind myself.”

  “Got it.” Frank fumbled for his seatbelt. Found it but couldn’t pull it over his shoulder, let alone make it lock. “Apparently another thing dead guys can’t do.”

  “Do you have any leads?” Annie asked.

  “Yesterday I interviewed Mr. Shine, a contest sponsor. Shine owns a local automobile custom cleaning company. He confessed that his former CPA, Mr. Sven Lindberg, increased his prices for the past two years without doing anything demonstrably different.”

  “Devious,” Annie said. “Does this information relate to the investigation?”

  “We interviewed Mr. Lindberg. He complained that Mr. Sheboygan attempted on multiple occasions to write off his hefty dating expenses by categorizing them as business entertainment on Quicken.”

  “Something I might do. I mean—if I was a popular guy and dated a lot,” Annie said. “But I’m not. And I don’t.” She wasn’t a guy, she’d never be popular, and she was only dating one guy—Raphael Campillio.

  “Mr. Sheboygan complained that Mr. Shine’s auto technicians nicked one of his expensive hubcaps during a detailing. Mr. Shine not only never offered a refund, but also didn’t credit a dime towards Sheboygan’s next auto service. So we’ve come full circle. And still we have nothing.”

  Annie found herself gazing at Jamie. When he was young, he was a cute kid. Now that he was grown up, his cuteness had worn off and he owned a different kind of look— handsome. He was thirty-two and he was a man’s man. Clean, groomed, definitely not metro. But based on the dark circles under his eyes, Jamie appeared about ten years older today than he had yesterday. “When’s the last time you slept?”

  “I got a couple hours before I got the call about Frank.”

  “You need some sleep,” Annie said. “Even seasoned cops need to sleep.”

  “Thanks, Annie Graceland, babysitter extraordinaire.” Jamie flashed his badge to the Hot Guys security guards at the barricade separating the lodge’s driveway from the parking lot behind the main building. The guards scurried and opened the barriers. Jamie drove past them to the rear parking lot just yards from the pool.

  “I’ll get some sleep as soon as you, my mole, deliver a few leads on this strange murder scene. I hope it’s just a
nother pissed-off hunter, jealous land-dispute issue or a scorned lover. But my gut tells me it’s not.” He hopped out of the SUV and opened her door. She stepped out.

  “By the way, the bullets that killed Frank appear to be from the same gun which someone used to shoot at Stephanie.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  He walked around to the back and pulled the bike out. “I didn’t see you tackle Stephanie in person, but Olaf gave us the video as evidence. I’ve watched it about a hundred times. You’re cute when you tackle people. I’d totally recruit you for my flag football team should you move back to town. I’ll return this to the front desk.”

  She nodded. “Thanks for the ride.”

  Frank materialized outside the SUV and eyed the crowd. “Thanks, Jamie.”

  “You’re welcome.” Jamie wheeled the bike next to her.

  “I love this town,” Frank said. “I love the people, the food, the enthusiasm and the camaraderie. I love it when it’s really hot. I love it when it’s so cold my fingers ache and turn blue. But it’s slipping away. Soon I’ll just be a memory. What am I left with after this, Annie?” He wiped his eyes, turned and walked into the crowd.

  “Frank?” Annie said. “Frankie!”

  “No. I’m Jamie.” He paused and cocked his head and peered at her. “You okay?”

  “No. I’m pissed off and I’m sad.”

  “Good. So am I. Now go find Frank Plank’s killer.” Jamie left with the bike.

  Nancy’s Blueberry Pancakes

  Ingredients:

  Two cups Bisquick®

  One cup milk OR ½ cup buttermilk and ½ cup milk

  Two eggs

  One tsp. vanilla extract

  1/3 cup granulated brown sugar

  ½ tsp. lemon rind

  Two cups fresh or frozen blueberries (thawed)

  Instructions:

  Pre-heat non-stick skittle to medium temperature. Mix all ingredients (except for the blueberries) together in a bowl with a wooden spoon until there are no lumps. Now add and stir in the blueberries.

  *Note that thicker batter makes a cakier pancake. Thinner batter makes a thinner pancake. If the batter seems too thick, add ¼ cup of milk or water.

  Pour scant ¼ cupfuls of batter onto the skittle. Allow the cake to bubble on the top. After this happens flip once.

  Best served warm with fresh syrup.

  Recipe courtesy of Charlotte and Zach’s Mom.

  Twelve

  Man-Kini

  Annie took a deep breath for courage, turned and faced the packed crowd surrounding the pool. Yes, she was still dressed in her mom’s clothes. Yes, she knew the only way she could pull off this look was by acting confident and secure. Yes, she realized down to the hem of her mom’s lime green elephant pants that she’d totally have to fake it. But no matter what she was wearing, whose vibes she picked up, there was really only one thing that mattered right now: Who wanted Frank Plank dead?

  She took off her hat, peeled her sweaty hair off her face and replaced the hat on a slightly jaunty angle. Perhaps now she appeared moist and tropical instead of feverish and contagious. She spotted Stephanie interviewing sponsors. Olaf looked bored as he filmed not only Stephanie, but panned the audience as well.

  Maybe he wasn’t simply bored. Maybe Olaf was angry? He was always behind the scenes, never in front. No one paid any attention to him. Was he jealous of Stephanie? Could he have hired the biker who shot at her? Would that get him attention? Or would he get more attention if he killed the hometown favorite?

  She watched the judges eye each other furtively when they thought no one was looking. Polo Judge chatted with some hot young thing wearing next to nothing on top of her dark tan. Was that jealousy on Suzy Mae’s face? Perhaps Suzy and Polo shared dark secrets. Maybe Frank Plank discovered their clandestine dealings that Suzy needed to hide. A secret juicy enough to kill for?

  Annie watched the top ten Hot Guys huddled together in an area cordoned off from the crowd. They preened, flexed, prayed, meditated and applied body moisturizing sunscreen on their nearly naked selves. Mr. Sheboygan stared at Mr. Milwaukee’s biceps and his eyes grew squinty. He started pumping his arms. Overly competitive, dude? Enough to make you kill? Not just another contestant, but Oconomowoc’s golden boy?

  There was an unfamiliar face in their midst—a new Hot Guy. Frank was out of the picture, so the runner-up made it into the contest. Was there anyway contestant number eleven could have discovered the vote the night before Frank’s demise? How tight was the pageant’s security? Who was tabulating the votes? She doubted PriceWaterhouseCooper was on the case.

  She gazed at the small judges’ stage erected next to the pool and strode toward it. Her polyester elephant pants alternately stuck to her clammy legs, and the next second ballooned around her ankles. Mrs. McGillicuddy sat hunched over on a folding chair, pulled up next to a long foldout table. She stared at her watch, then back at her magazine.

  Suzy Mae Delovely flexed and extended her taloned fingers as she huddled with Polo Judge, their heads practically touching as they conferred.

  The sun burnt man from the day before sat in the fourth row behind the Olympic-sized pool. “Hey, Annie Graceland! I’m back!”

  “You got here early.”

  He nodded. “Rolled in at dawn.”

  “Well, the early bird gets the…” She shut up, smiled and gave him a thumbs up. She shimmied up the two short stairs to the stage and plunked down in a fold out chair next to Mrs. McGillicuddy.

  “You’re five minutes early,” Mrs. McGillicuddy said.

  “Yes.” She stretched her lime green, slightly ripped pant leg out in front of her.

  Mrs. McGillicuddy sniffed. “Pageant clothes are supposed to be pristine. You are a judge. The audience holds you to a higher standard.”

  “I’d love to look my finest, let alone do a great job. But Blackhoof lost my luggage and I have no clothes. I’m here on a dime. I don’t have money to buy fancy new clothes.”

  Mrs. McGillicuddy hunched forward and marked a sheet of paper. “Noted,” she said. “I am sorry about Blackhoof. The pageant organizers needed to scrimp a little. I get a twenty-dollar gift certificate to the local bookstore for all the hours I spend on this contest.”

  Annie sighed. “Thanks.” Someone finally understood. It felt like a respite from the judging, her own as well as others.

  Suzy Mae pulled up a chair next to Mrs. McGillicuddy and sat her toothpick self down. She wore a crimson cotton, above-the-knee sundress with a cute matching shrug wrap. She struck a pose that showed off her bottle-tanned orange legs, flipped open a gorgeous red silk fan, smiled and fanned herself. “Annie.”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t think you’re taking this contest seriously. Your wardrobe is inappropriate for a pageant judge.”

  Again, Annie thought? “I traveled two thousand miles for almost forty-eight hours on a bus to get here. My luggage was last spotted in South Dakota. I’m mourning the death of a boy I loved. I could be working right now in L.A. and paying my rent and having hot sex—I mean, sweet kissing dates with my new boyfriend who misses me.”

  “I’m certain Mrs. McGillicuddy agrees with me.” Suzy smiled.

  Annie looked at Mrs. McGillicuddy.

  Suzy eyed Mrs. McGillicuddy.

  She ignored both of them, finally sighed and turned over her magazine. It was a copy of Vogue UK.

  “Annie’s wearing retro,” Mrs. McGillicuddy said. “I’ve subscribed to Vogue UK for more years than I can remember. Apparently, retro is back in style. It’s hip and cool and other buzzy words I’m not familiar with.”

  “Thank you.” Annie felt her jaw spasm like she’d just bitten into a rock-hard piece of candy. She inhaled sharply.

  “Fine.” Suzy ground her teeth so hard her jaw muscles popped. She stared off into the audience. “Lovely midwestern summer day.”

  “Peachy.” Mrs. McGillicuddy covered a smile.

  “Yeah there,” Annie said. Her jaw s
pasm was actually an empathic hit. It wasn’t technically her jaw spasm—it was Suzy Mae’s. But just ’cause something wasn’t hers didn’t mean she didn’t feel it. She jabbed her cheek with her knuckle and massaged the muscles.

  Polo Judge jogged up to the mic. Strange, Annie thought. He looked even tanner and his skin was shinier. How did his skin get shinier? Was it the heat? Had he deep-exfoliated? Taken a quick trip to his dermatologist for an emergency chemical peel?

  Polo’s leaned into the mic. “Welcome back to Wisconsin’s Hot Guys Contest!”

  Whoa! Something impossibly bright flashed, temporarily blinding her. She jumped and clamped her hand over her eyes. Early July 4th Fireworks? An alien invasion? She opened her eyes. It wasn’t ET—it was Polo’s teeth. They were four shades brighter than they were yesterday.

  “Thank you, fans who stepped up to the plate to continue Frank Plank’s history of charity. Mr. Bitterhausen is first-runner up and will be joining the top ten. Without further adieux, let the bathing suit competition commence!”

  The crowd surrounding the swimming pool roared as Mr. Sheboygan, Mr. Richland Center, Mr. Milwaukee, Mr. Madison and the remainder of the top ten guys burst out of a cordoned, heavily guarded tent and strutted around the pool.

  They waved to the audience. Mr. Appleton winked and flexed his pec muscles while he wheeled his chair. Mr. Milwaukee alternated squeezing both his wrists with his hands to show-off his bulging bicep muscles.

  Annie’s eyes bounced between the Hot Guys—the name of their respective towns embroidered in white on the bottom of their board shorts. With the exception of Mr. Bitterhausen. His town’s name was embroidered on his Speedo. Her eyes stopped bouncing. There wasn’t a lot of room on his teensy suit and his title wrapped from his hip across the lower part of his ripped abdominals and circled around to his very pleasant backside.

  A collective gasp rose from the audience as Mr. Bitterhausen passed by them and smiled.

  “This isn’t a Vegas show,” Suzy hissed. “Did Bitterhausen not get the memo? We specifically recommended tasteful bathing attire.”