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

by Pamela DuMond

  “Absolutely, Detective.” Annie saluted him. And here comes the real July 4th fireworks, she thought.

  “Yeah there.” Jamie hugged her tight for a moment, let her go and walked away.

  The officer hustled Lila into a squad car. She looked back at Annie distraught. “What should I do?”

  “Annie, you got this covered?” Frank asked.

  Annie nodded.

  “Good. I lost Lila once, because I waited too long. I’m not going to lose her again.” Frank jogged toward the squad car.

  “Where’s my Frankie?” Lila asked Annie.

  In seconds Annie spotted Frank sitting next to Lila, his muscular arm draped over her shoulders. “He’s with you, sweetie,” Annie said.

  Lila burst into tears as the police vehicle pulled away from the curb.

  Another car pulled into its place. An older man got out carrying a medium sized box. “Delivery for Annie Graceland,” he said.

  “That’s me.” Annie waved and the man strode toward her. What now, she wondered. Every time she received an unexpected delivery, it was never anything good.

  “Sign here,” the man said.

  She signed, ripped open the envelope on top of the box and pulled out a floral note card. She flipped it open and read,

  “Dear Annie: We’re still dealing with the shock of Frank’s passing. Your mom told me about your stolen luggage and your ongoing pageant outfit dilemmas. You were always one of Frank’s favorite people. I’m sure he would have wanted you to have one of his favorite things. I was hoping to give this to you last night at the Wild Women’s meeting. But I’m not feeling very wild yet and I just couldn’t attend. I’d be honored if you would accept this small token and wear it in Frank’s honor to the pageant. Best, Patsy Plank.”

  Annie’s hands shook as she opened the box.

  It was a packed crowd in Lake Lodge’s back lawn. The fans brought their friends and families. Forty-five Hot Guys hung out in the crowd, eager to see who would win the title. There were camera crews and paparazzi everywhere. What had started as a tiny local contest had turned into a Midwestern phenomenon bordering on a national sensation. The sun shone through patches of blue skies that were quickly being consumed by nasty gray and black storm clouds.

  The judges’ stage was once again situated on the wide dock that jutted out over Lac LaBelle. A smaller stand located on the opposite side of the dock was covered with a white linen tablecloth and decorated with red, white and blue ribbons. A canopy positioned above the stand shaded its contents.

  Two fat flower bouquets rested on the table next to a hefty silver trophy. Dozens of bakery boxes stamped with the logo from Cupcakes-A-Go-Go in Madison, Wisconsin, were stacked on the side of the stand. Apparently the Hot Guys Board had hired one of the best cupcake bakeries in Wisconsin to create the super clever and delicious treats to celebrate crowning their winner.

  Stephanie and WNOC cameras were positioned on one side of the stage. Melissa Black with her two cameras running, on the other. Annie spotted Jamie’s police SUV in the parking lot behind the barricades. She knew Lila was hidden in the back, of her own volition. She’d agreed to lay low to see how the investigation played out.

  The final five Hot Guys were huddled next to each other in a semicircle. Grady stood at the mic in front of them.

  Annie, Mrs. McGillicuddy, Scott Puddleman and Suzy Mae DeLovely sat at the judges’ table behind them on the dock. Scott and Suzy Mae were dressed styling, like they were attending a Photoshopped picnic for an outdoor catalogue. Mrs. McGillicuddy’s head jerked up and down repeatedly as she nodded in and out.

  Annie wore what Patsy Plank gave her: Frank Plank’s favorite Green Bay Packers Jersey. It was a man’s size large, long and draped over her pj bottoms. She’d rolled up the sleeves so she wouldn’t sweat to death. She’d borrowed her mom’s Jackie O sunglasses and proudly donned Frank’s cheese head hat. His mom Patsy had used a black Sharpie to rim the flat edges of his hat with, “In loving memory of Frank Plank.”

  Grady had already interviewed the guys about their charities and their personal stories about why they picked them. Now he moved onto the tricky question. The question every pageant contestant prepared for but feared.

  “Audience, please hold your applause until the end,” Grady said. “The question for the final five contestants is… If you could live in someone else’s shoes for a day, who would it be and why?” Grady extended the mic to Mr. Milwaukee.

  “Benjamin Franklin,” Mr. Milwaukee said.

  “Founding Father of the United States and acclaimed inventor. Why?” Grady asked.

  “Because he was so well rounded. And Mr. Franklin once said, ‘Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.’”

  Peels of laughter erupted from the audience.

  “Mr. Madison?” Grady held the mic toward him.

  “Martin Luther King, Jr. He was for civil rights for many minorities. I quote him, “the ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy”.”

  “Profound,” Grady commented. “Mr. Bitterhausen?”

  “The famous comedian, Groucho Marx,” Bitterhausen said. “I do believe he put my birth country on the map.”

  “Powerful. Mr. Dells?” Grady asked.

  “I’m happy with my own shoes. Nike cross trainers size 14 ½.” Mr. Dells leaned into the microphone. “Thank you,” he said.

  “Mr. Appleton?”

  Appleton paused and bowed his head. When he lifted it back up, he had a few tears in his eyes. “Any United States soldier who has served our country with pride, love and respect.”

  Grady bowed to the judges, then turned toward the audience. “Applause for the top five Hot Guys!”

  There was applauding, foot stamping, wolf whistles, screaming. Someone hoisted Mr. Richland Center up into the crowd, and they passed him around overhead like a beachball during a summer concert.

  “Voting is open for one hour. One hour to the minute, and then we pick the runner up and crown the winner!” Grady said.

  Annie marked her ballot, slipped it in the box next to the stage and ran down the stairs. She had to nail Frank’s killer. But first, she had to find her best friend, Julia. Because nailing a killer could wait for just a little bit. But talking to a dear friend with a dilemma shouldn’t be postponed for very long.

  Annie finagled her way through the sweaty, excited fans and reached the back door entrance to the lodge. A neatly lettered sign said, “Temporarily Closed. Please use the front entrance.” Most likely, hotel management did not want everybody attending the contest to have free access to their guests’ rooms. Smart on their part. She sighed. Smart but irritating.

  She navigated her way through the crowd and tried to avoid the plethora of camera crews. When someone grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. The blaring lights of a TV camera bored into her brain. She blinked and reflexively held up her hand to shade her eyes.

  “Annie Graceland, pageant judge. You’ve already voted. Care to share who you think will be the winner?” Melissa Black the reporter for I-CHIC asked.

  “Sorry, Ms. Black. Can’t divulge.”

  “And cut!” Melissa Black said. The blaring lights vanished. “I apologize for that. It’s my job. It’s ingrained. I go after the story like a Jack Russell terrier hunts down a rat. I wouldn’t even be here if we weren’t tipped ahead of time. Thank God, this is my last on-site gig.”

  “Okay,” Annie said and turned to leave. But something clicked. She turned back and faced Melissa. “Why is this your last gig?”

  Twenty-four

  Puzzle Pieces

  In the distance a lone lightning bolt dove from the sky and in a flash, hit the earth. Thunder boomed. Melissa’s eyes widened as she watched the crowd pass Mr. Richland Center around, overhead. “That guy looks like a human lightning rod.” She snapped her fingers at her cameraman and he started filming. “It’s my last gig in the f
ield because my promotion kicks in next week. I get to sit behind an anchor desk and try not to grow a muffin-top. The best part? I get to watch that one,” she pointed at Stephanie, “do the shenanigans for I-CHIC.”

  “I-CHIC hired Stephanie Storms?” Annie asked.

  “Word came down yesterday. She didn’t want it announced until after the contest.”

  “Got it.” Annie said. “Was this her first audition?”

  “Good God, no.” Melissa glanced around for other possible interviewees. But the place was sheer bedlam. “She’s applied multiple times over the past few years. But this last one caught and kept management’s attention.”

  “Why?” Annie asked.

  “Because Stephanie promised to message us the second anything unusual happened at the contest. Everyone at I-CHIC knew there’d be a whole lot of crazy at Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Guys contest. But none of us predicted murder.”

  “Oh,” Annie said.

  Melissa handed Annie her card. “It would be fun to do some judge commentary after the winner’s announced. But only if you want. My rat-chasing days are over. Hoo-rah!” She punched one fist in the air as she walked away.

  Annie took her card and looked at it. “Melissa? One more question?”

  Melissa turned and nodded.

  “I passed you in the parking lot a couple of days ago. Remember? Right before the brunch. Before Detective Jamie Ryan told the audience that Frank Plank had been killed. You’re based in Chicago, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I used to drive back and forth from Chicago to Oconomowoc when I was dating my can’t-be-soon-enough ex-husband. Barring killer traffic, or nasty weather, it’s about two and a half hours. Is that right?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “When exactly did Stephanie send you the news that a Hot Guy had been killed?”

  “Let me see.” She scrolled through her Blackberry. “We received a text from her at approximately four a.m.”

  “Thanks.” Annie shook her head as the pieces started clunking one by one into place.

  Annie found Julia at the front of the lodge. She was hiding behind her over-sized sunglasses and four pieces of luggage as she sat on a small bench under the semi-circular driveway’s overhang. “You all right?” Annie asked.

  “Meh,” Julia said.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m waiting for a cab to go to the airport,” Julia said.

  “You’re leaving?” Annie asked. “Before they crown the winner?”

  “I don’t need to know who the winner is. I already know who the loser is.”

  “What are you talking about?” Annie asked.

  “I fell for Dells too quickly. He’s a player. Shocker. I could stay here and be publicly humiliated, or I could leave. Go back to my life in L.A. Where, when a guy ends up being an asshole, I’m at least privately humiliated.”

  “Honey. It’s really difficult not to fall fast for someone who’s funny, smart, is over-the-moon handsome and knows how to sweet-talk.” Annie took Julia’s hand and squeezed it. “Do you want me to beat the crap out of him? I’d do that for you.”

  Julia shook her head. “Nah. Because then I’d have to stay here and bail you out of jail. I prefer bailing you out of here, with this.” She rifled through her purse, pulled out a wad of papers and handed them to Annie.

  Annie looked at the paper on top. “The pageant itinerary?”

  “No, you already have that. The super-fine thing underneath.”

  Annie pulled out an airline ticket. “Oh. Wow.”

  “From Milwaukee’s Mitchell Airport back to LAX,” Julia said. “I booked you a flight that departs tonight. After the pageant ends.”

  “Are you going soft on me?” Annie asked. “You’re the bad cop to my good cop. I rely on you to be my voice of reason.”

  “I’m still the voice,” Julia said. “This way, you don’t have to feel guilty about abandoning your pageant duties. I calculated that you’ll most likely nail Frank’s killer during the crowning of the contest’s winner. But I don’t think you should be nailing Jamie Ryan, thereafter. That’s why this ticket is booked for later today. There are huge additional fees if you change it to a different day. Fees you can’t afford.”

  “You’re still devious,” Annie said.

  “I’m practical.”

  The cab pulled onto the large circle driveway up to the entrance. The cabbie hopped out and asked, “Ms. Julia?”

  “Yes, sir.” Julia nodded.

  The driver opened the passenger door and hoisted Julia’s suitcases into the trunk.

  “By the way. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I would never ‘nail’ Jamie Ryan,” Annie said.

  “Funny. Your chin already did. I spotted the stubble burn from five yards away. You might want to talk to the rest of your body about learning how to resist a gorgeous, stubborn-as-shit man who’s determined to win you over,” Julia said.

  Annie winced and brushed her index finger across her chin, which felt a little rough.

  “Come home, Annie. Back to L.A. I can forget my mistake. Could you forgive yourself for the one you’re about to make?” Julia climbed into the backseat and slammed the door.

  The cabbie jumped in the front and drove off. The last Annie heard was, “Could we stop at the local Walgreen’s, please? Yes, I know the meter’s running. I’m running low on lip plumper. Do you not know how dehydrating airplanes can be?”

  Mrs. McGillicuddy hustled past Annie on her way to the lobby. “Can you believe hotel management locked their back doors? I have been to enough outdoor events to merit five Girl Scout Badges in hygiene. Years ago during a Pink Floyd concert, I found myself trapped in a Porto-potty. In all fairness, I must admit that I’d recently inhaled.”

  “I think everyone’s inhaled,” Annie said.

  “I hallucinated that I was in a time machine,” Mrs. McGillicuddy said. “Where was I traveling? Why was this time capsule so smelly? Was that little round cake in the plastic receptacle on the wall a navigation device? After I broke out of the Porto-potty, I vowed to never enter one of those contraptions, again.” Mrs. McGillicuddy put her hand to her chest, paused and caught her breath.

  “Completely understandable.” Annie raised her hand and waved it in front of Mrs. McGillicuddy. “I have a quick question?”

  Her former teacher nodded.

  Annie lowered her hand. “You told me that you were supposed to read your poem on TV at Suzy’s post opening ceremonies party. Why didn’t you?”

  “Because that reporter girl left early,” Mrs. McGillicuddy said. “She showed up, interviewed a couple of people But by the time it was my term, she’d left the party early. I was so disappointed. It was printed on real paper and everything.” She pointed to the pageant itinerary in Annie’s hand. “Look. Page two.

  “I’m sorry,” Annie said.

  “Me too. Hard to forget that kind of disappointment. I don’t understand why people now days don’t pay attention to the schedule. With the exception of poor Frank Plank’s demise, and the contest’s subsequent delays, everything pageant related is on it. Including my current bathroom break. I’ll see you back on stage, shortly.” Mrs. McGillicuddy walked inside the Lodge.

  Annie thought for a second, opened up the itinerary and read page two. Her hands started to shake. Mrs. McGillicuddy was right. When in doubt, read the itinerary. Because everything, including murder, was on the schedule.

  Annie had taken a few moments to deep-breathe as she fit more puzzle pieces together. Now she leaned against Jamie’s SUV and peered through the driver’s open window into the back seat. Lila sat still, like a beautiful statue. Frank caressed her arm. “You okay, Lila?” Annie asked.

  Lila shook her head. “It’s surreal,” she said. “You really think my mom could have something to do with Frank’s death?”

  “I wish I didn’t, honey. But, yes. I think your mom’s involved.’

  “The police said my dirt bike has the same t
ire casts as the one driven by the person who shot at Stephanie. I don’t understand. Mom’s always been bossy, but what would make her snap?” Lila asked.

  “Moms have a deep primal instinct to protect their children. They can get ferocious if they think someone’s messing with their baby,” Annie said. “Perhaps a mom’s off her meds. Or maybe a mom needs to be on meds. Add to that concoction someone who’s harboring an old, deep grudge? It’s no excuse, but I have it on good authority that a mom’s gotta do what a mom’s gotta do. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay,” Lila said.

  “Not quite okay yet,” Frank said. “But we’ll figure it out together.”

  Dear God, what was Annie going to do with Frank—he was completely whipped. In the meantime, Lila looked so lost, so thin. “Jamie. Did you feed her?” Annie asked.

  “No, I’m starving her,” he said. “Of course, I fed her. I took her to the I-Hop. Nothing else is open today.”

  Annie nodded and checked Jamie out. He also looked a little worse for the wear. “Did you eat anything, today?”

  “You’re not my baby-sitter, anymore,” Jamie said, a little testy.

  “I think we figured that one out, already,” Annie said. “The night Frank died. When did the 911 call come in?”

  “Frank and I were best friends. Patsy didn’t want the media alerted. She called my cell. There never was a 911 call.”

  Annie thought. “So, how did the media find out about Frank’s death?”

  “I told them at the Hot Guys brunch. You were there.”

  “I’ve got a credible lead that says the news was leaked beforehand,” Annie said.

  “Not by the Oconomowoc PD.” Jamie shook his head.

  “Then how did Stephanie Storms find out about Frank’s murder? Stephanie contacted I-CHIC at four a.m. the same night Frank was murdered. Hours before the brunch. Maybe someone at PD tipped her off?”

  “Everyone, especially the PD, loves to gossip. But we respected Frank and his family. No one shared any information with the press,” Jamie said. “Stephanie’s been trying to get hired by a bigger company for a while now.”

  “Mission accomplished,” Annie said. “I-CHIC hired her yesterday.”