Cupcakes,Lies and Dead Guys

by PamelaDuMond

  Grady watched her. “Before you go all John Wayne on me, you need to take your anti-inflammatory meds,” he said, hopped out of the passenger seat and handed her two pills and a bottle of water.

  “It’s just a sprain.” She downed the pills with a swig of water. “Nice Stetson. Clint.” She turned and with the aid of her crutch hopped down the dirt path next to the shrine’s metal fence, grimacing the entire time.

  “Your ankle’s a grade two sprain, which means if you screw it up and don’t stay off it, surgery’s a possibility.” He followed her. “You told me to wear a hat. You said we had to be semi-disguised.”

  “For a few dollars more, you could have sprung for chaps and a pony.”

  “For a few dollars more, you could call me Chap and I’d be your pony.”

  Her serious face collapsed into squidgy giggles. He laughed as well and caught up to her. “Do you want to lean on me?”

  “No thanks Bill Withers,” she said, waved him away and continued limping towards the fence. “I’m cool. I’m a cool chick who has it together. Yeah there.”

  Derrick presided over his funeral procession like Queen Elizabeth at high tea. He didn’t quite have the proper hand wave down, yet. But damn it, he was here. It was his ultimate party, his funeral after all. He watched and noted who showed up and who didn’t. He planned to make a list of anyone who left his services early. He noted his immediate entourage: Tawny, his wife with Madison, his metro-cized new manager. There was Concha, his maid and Barry, his old manager. Ginger, his trainer. God bless her, he looked good at the open-casket viewing several days ago, as well as in Star magazine. The skinny guy in his forties with the weird eyes was Lewis, one of his many lawyers. Dr. Stern - his dermatologist. And Franco. His young, twenty-something innocent face was squished into lines of mourning. Poor Franco, maybe the only man he ever...

  Did any of his crew look guilty? Like they killed him? Derrick didn’t know. He was still a little fragile, not quite on his game. He futzed with his spirit hair, smoothed it and smiled at a smattering of celebrities as well as their caretakers: agents, managers, publicists and stylists. Over in the corner he spotted Morgo. How the hell did he get in? Fat Bootsy came clunking down the cedar chip footpath. Jeez, if he were still alive, he’d be making $500 weekly from Bob Bauerfeld for Bootsy’s personal consultation. Booty’s 1980’s perm was so over. Perhaps Bob had grown tired of the $2,000 monthly checks he wrote to Derrick for two years and snapped…nah.

  Suddenly Derrick’s gaze was pulled like magnets to the chain-link fence that surrounded the shrine. He felt a presence. A force. A vibe. Someone, something intriguing, beguiling was out there. Even though he was the head marshal of this parade, he had to find out. He reluctantly threw both Oprah and Dr. Phil an air-kiss as they walked down the cedar path and jogged towards the fence.

  In his wake, Oprah slapped her face and looked at the palm of her hand like a bug bit her. Dr. Phil frowned and discretely scratched his butt.

  Annie attempted to peer through the ivy-covered chain-link fence and peeked into the shrine. She desperately hoped Mike was not attending Derrick’s funeral. If she spotted him, she would kill him, escape the scene of the crime, and then buy every bag of Kettle Chips at her local convenience store.

  At first glance, Annie saw nothing through the fence and that irritated her. Oh yes, she had put in her time and done her research. She knew the basic players and way more about Fuller than she really wanted to know. She jumped up and down on her crutch to get a better view. Caught a glimpse of a rare orchid indigenous to the Amazon on her first jump. Ow! She knew about the Amazon thing only because there was a large sign describing the orchid situated next to a larger sign, that insisted, “No Trespassing – Ever!” On her second jump, she spotted several monks with shaved heads wearing traditional full-length brown-orangey robes leading a processional of mourners. Yikes! That landing hurt more. Next jump, she thought she saw a monk carrying a platter with something the size of a baby food jar covered by a white silk scarf. Huh?

  She landed and a boatload of pain traveled up her ankle. She needed more info, but the jumping thing killed her.

  “It’s another fence, Annie,” Grady said.

  “I could climb this sucker with one hand tied behind my back,” she said. “I’m from Wisconsin, you know. Fences mean nothing.”

  “Fences exist to keep people out. We’ll visit another day,” he said, leaned back against the fence next to her.

  “Fences don’t keep people out, Grady. People keep people out. Stop being a downer. I need to see who’s at the funeral. I’m a suspect in this jerk’s murder, I might be getting divorced and my business is in the toilet. I need to see who wanted Derrick Fuller dead.”

  Grady rubbed the muscles around his jaw. “Just because I don’t share your fascination with Dr. Derrick Fuller doesn’t mean I’m a downer.”

  “Fine. Weenie.” Annie pulled a case from her purse and opened it. She took out and unfolded a small pair of binoculars painted in camouflage colors. She put them to her eyes and peered through the chain link fence. Aah. Much better view of the suspects…

  Annie watched as approximately one hundred mourners clustered in a picturesque spot next to the shrine’s pond. Swans and ducks swam past them in the background. There were tears and hugs, air-kisses and card swapping galore. The monks chanted, lit sage sticks and waved them around. She kept scanning. She wasn’t here to look for spiritual men or waterfowl. She was here to check out suspects, such as…

  Derrick’s widow, Tawny Fuller. The plastic Barbie swayed like a blown up palm tree in a small kidney shaped swimming pool in the wrong neighborhood in the Valley. Madison Morgan, Derrick’s new manager practically held her drunken, drugged behind up. Motive: Please. The pre-nup? Spousal irritation? The cheating? Or perhaps what was left after Derrick’s financial decline. Or was there really a decline???

  The manager, Madison Morgan. The very metro but still manly Madison seemed to switch alliances quickly. One day he was Derrick’s new manager. The next – a human crutch for Tawny Fuller. According to Annie’s sizeable research, Derrick was about to file for divorce from Tawny. Therefore, the overly solicitous Morgan could be involved in Derrick’s untimely demise. Motive: Money. Sex. Sex and money. Passion? Love? Doubtful.

  The housekeeper, Concha. The middle-aged, short Latina woman sobbed and clutched the arm of a fully robed Catholic priest. Motive: Anger? Never got a decent promotion?

  The former manager, Barry Cooperman. The hefty guy in the overly expensive suit and creatively combed-over hair had to be Barry. Motive: According to what Annie had ascertained, Derrick dumped Barry right before he was offed.

  Derrick’s lawyer, Lewis Scuchiani. Worked at a reputable firm but had been hired for his family connections. Thirties, painfully thin with bulgy eyes. Lewis’s mother was an east coast socialite who designed wrap dresses. His shirt had the same pattern that was on his Mom’s dresses. Unfortunately, on Lewis’s scrawny frame it made him look like a skinny, wet lap dog. Oh Mummy! Why do all the kids make fun of me? Fortunately for Lewis, his new fiancée and the boss’s daughter, Hailey Strunkle, a Goth twenty-something with jet black dyed hair and multiple piercings, didn’t care. She hung on Lewis’s arm like her sanity depended on it.

  Then there was Ginger. Hot trainer, late twenties. Ginger made Derrick complete his exercises and stretches before business, personal meetings or clandestine dates. Her reputation depended on the fitness of her celeb clients. Ginger scored several national as well as local fitness commercials and landed a few Shape magazine covers. She not only had a great ass, but great aspirations.

  In regards to the aspirations, yeah there, didn’t we all, thought Annie. She couldn’t help but swivel and try to check out her own behind in her sweats that felt just a little, okay honestly, really too tight. (Sweats to a funeral, one might ask? Yes, since all her appropriate funeral clothes had shrunk in the old dryer at the Frisk & Fold Laundromat in Venice. And the sweats she was wearing we
re still couture.) Was Ginger completely professional? Or another Derrick conquest? Motive: Jealousy. Greed. Crime of passion if she caught him pumping iron with someone else?

  Dr. Stern, Derrick’s dermatologist. His face was pink like a newborn baby’s butt from his most recent chemical peel. Motive: Insurance didn’t pay his bills? Derrick didn’t pay his bills? Did Dr. Stern’s chemical peels have more than basic chemicals in it?

  And then can you say easy maybe sleazy on the eyes, three times really fast - a twenty-something guy who was so stinking beautiful he gave new meaning to the word, cupcake. Hmm. Suspect was a sun-kissed, blonde surfer type, gorgeolicious, and looked familiar. Probably another actor wanna-be like Mike. Just younger and scads prettier. Annie didn’t have a handle on him. Yet.

  And then there were the…

  Celebrity Suspects: Too many to mention.

  Yeah there. This whole scene was like a circus; a puzzle and a really bad reality show all mushed together. Thankfully, with her family background, she was good to go with two out of the three.

  Grady stood behind Annie and watched as she peered through her camouflaged binocs. “I’m not a weenie. I’m practical. That’s the key to weathering life’s storms. You’re not being practical,” he said, sniffed the air and his nose crinkled. “I smell something tangy. Do they burn incense here?”

  “Absolutely. But you’re probably smelling the deer urine.”

  “Deer urine?” Grady looked disgusted, but to his credit, still asked.

  Annie peered intently through her binocs. She couldn’t wait to see who else tripped down that pretty path next to the pond. She was dying to see the casket. “Couple of years ago, Mike had an audition to play a hunter on some stupid TV show. He needed to rehearse. I was visiting my family in Wisconsin and just happened to borrow my brother Carson’s binocs. He used them primarily for deer hunting. The binocs are camouflaged so the deer don’t see them. Some hunters splash a little deer urine on themselves or their guns to better entice Bambi’s mother. Spy on the suckers, entice them with the urine thing and then blow them away. A couple of months later, throw a venison BBQ. BYOB. Quadruple multi-tasking. A Midwestern Martha Stewart-like wet dream.”

  “Yuck. Did Mike get the part?”

  “No. They said he looked too…nice. Like a guy who would only buy meat at an organic grocery store.”

  “Why didn’t you give back the binocs to Carson?”

  “’Cause he didn’t know that I swiped-I-mean-borrowed them. I’ll secretively return them next time I go back for a family holiday, death, birth or baptism. Wanna peek?”

  Grady looked a tad nauseous. “Let’s say I did even though I didn’t. Then I’ll write about it.”

  “Okay,” she said and honed in on the funeral gathering, through the binocs.

  Suddenly, something gray and cloudy obscured Annie’s view. That gray thing dove into her head and descended through her body. She shook slightly for a second and felt like she had a wicked hangover that penetrated her bones. But she hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol for days. Maybe she needed a new nicotine patch. She held her binocs with one hand, pinched that skin between her eyebrows with the other and tried to drive away the awful queasy feeling.

  Grady watched her and looked concerned. “Hey lady, it’s quit time. You need to lie back on a cushy sofa, elevate your ankle and chill.”

  She rubbed the nicotine patch on her arm. “I need a smoke.”

  Grady frowned. “No-no. It’s been over a week. You need… a margarita.”

  “Really. Who’s going to make me the margarita?” she asked and frowned from the pain in her head, gut and bones.

  “If you’re nice, maybe the best margarita maker in all of Los Angeles,” Grady said and pointed to himself.

  “Ooh. And you are - Manuel Testicales?”

  “That would make a great Latino porn name. I need to steal that name.”

  “I’ll give it to you. Everyone needs a great Latino porn name. Some day I’ll tell you mine.” Annie squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her head.

  Someone caught Grady’s eye. About one hundred yards down the road from them was a guy who also held binocs to his eyes as he tried to catch a glimpse into the shrine’s ceremonies.

  “Changed my mind, so I’ll borrow your binocs, ’kay?” Grady said. He leaned into Annie, snatched the binocs and stretched its cords, whip-lashing her neck.

  “No need for violence. Although I understand the deer urine thing really brings it out,” Annie said and rubbed her neck.

  Grady peered through her binocs, his head practically resting on her chest.

  Annie looked nauseous and jabbed her hand into her stomach.

  Grady looked nauseous when he realized the guy peering through the binocs was Mike Piccolino. Grady shivered. “We need to leave, now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m…. parched,” he lied. He couldn’t tell the truth ’cause he didn’t want Annie arrested after she drove her Cabrio repetitively over Mike’s head.

  Two inches directly across from Annie on the opposite side of the chain-link fence was the ghost of Dr. Derrick Fuller. He stared at her, mesmerized. It was she. His Empath. Oh thank you thank you Higher Super Dude Power for this very nice funeral present! Derrick tried to stroke his empath’s long auburn hair, but she frowned, pulled back and jabbed her hand back into her stomach. Most likely she was trying to ease her excited positive anticipatory feelings after sensing his soothing presence.

  “I think I’m going to puke, Grade,” Annie said. Her complexion was now pea green. “I’ve got a killer headache and don’t feel like myself. Something’s wrong.” She pulled away from the fence. “Maybe coming to the memorial service was too much. Or, I shouldn’t have taken drugs on an empty stomach.”

  “We’re going and I’m driving,” Grady said, grabbed her arm and dropped her binocs.

  “No!” Derrick screamed from the other side of the Shrine’s fence. “Don’t leave me! I need you. You can’t go!” He put his dead head in his dead hands and massaged his temples. “Tell your cute friend you must stay, do a little more research and think about it.”

  Annie frowned and rubbed her head. “I don’t know. Maybe we should stay. Or should we go? Let’s think about it. Research? I feel woozy,” she said.

  Grady realized Mike spotted them when he saw Mike, with a crazed look on his face, walking in their direction. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  Grady hustled her away from the fence, through the weeds and dirt, back towards her car. He shoved her into the passenger seat, tossed her crutch into the back, tucked her bad foot in gently and slammed the passenger door as Mike jogged towards them.

  “Hey!” Mike yelled as he closed the distance.

  Grady flipped him off as he bolted to the driver’s door and hopped in the car.

  Mike responded by flipping off Grady and kept running towards the Cabrio.

  “Keys! Where are the keys?” Grady looked around the dashboard and dug in the driver’s seat.

  Annie leaned back on the car seat and rubbed her head. “I’m sorry. What was I thinking? Crazy to stay.”

  “Keys!” Grady hollered.

  “In the ignition. Hello? This car is twelve years old. Steal it. I beg you.”

  Grady fired up the Cabrio’s engine. In the rearview mirror, he saw Mike running towards them – just yards away.

  “I don’t know what got into me,” Annie said. “You are a lovely man, Grady. We’ll figure out a way to tell your Baptist Iowan mother.”

  “Everything in due time,” Grady said, turned the radio on, volumed it up and skidded onto Sunset Avenue. He watched in the rearview as Mike picked a rock off the ground and threw it at the Cabrio. It bounced off the bumper. The blaring of the radio barely drowned out Mike’s hollers.

  “Did I hear something? You okay?” Annie raised her head for a heartbeat.

  “Everything’s fine. No worries. We’ll be drinking margaritas in twenty minutes. That’ll re-hydrate you. Manu
el Testicales is here to serve you.”

  Derrick watched his empath leave in that old disgusting car. He wasn’t strong enough to stop her. That irritated him. If he was alive, he could have convinced her to stop and do whatever he wanted. Hardly anyone could resist him when he was alive. He wasn’t going to have much fun being dead, if everybody and their mother-in-law could resist him. How could he seduce the empath into helping him? How would he find her again? Questions, damn it, really tough questions. It was enough to put a furrow in his brow. Oh God. Would the Bo-tox and Restylane be permanent now that he was dead? What if they lost their juice and he was left with wrinkles, frown lines and thick nasal-labial folds? He shuddered. It was too much for any self-respecting “100 Most Interesting People” in People Magazine 2007 to handle. Which is why he jogged back to his ceremony. He had to stop his mind from spinning, and besides, who could resist the pageantry?

  Funeral Fritters

  Description: Fresh apple slices dipped in a lightly sugared buttered and floured batter. Sautée gently. Place on cooling racks covered in paper towels before serving.

  Best Served With: Gloating. Obsessive spying. Persistence. Stolen binoculars. Deer urine.

  NINE

  Heavenlies

  Grady made margaritas while Annie listened to the new messages on her answering machine. The first three were from the three vendors who still carried her baked goods. They politely cancelled all their current as well as future orders. They also swore their decisions had nothing to do with the TMZ leaked rumors that it was a Piccolino’s Pastries cyanide-laced cupcake that had poisoned and killed Derrick Fuller. Annie would investigate those rumors tomorrow. Today was a wash.