by PamelaDuMond
Derrick’s head was practically on Annie’s chest as he stared at those pics. “I look pretty good in those. Does any specific photo stand out for a slip to The Star or TMZ?”
Annie sighed. “I’m not your publicist.”
“I know,” Sienna said, confused.
Such a bummer that Sienna had slept with Fuller. That, combined with her dad’s dilemma, probably made her a suspect. “These real?”
“No. Those were Photoshopped. I never slept with Derrick Fuller. Those pics pushed my dad completely over the edge,” Sienna said and blinked back tears. “I’m not thrilled about what I did. I’m getting over it; moving on.”
Now Derrick looked confused. “Does that mean I didn’t sleep with her? Oh God, I’m losing it. I’m going to have to do those mind games for seniors, to retard aging.”
“Too late. Hah!” Annie said.
Sienna looked embarrassed. “No judgment, please, about what I did to put money in my own bank account.”
“They love you, Sienna. Your parents love you.”
Sienna wiped away a few tears. “I don’t want my parents to struggle. My dad...”
“Being a parent means you struggle for your kid. Being part of family isn’t perfect and it’s not pretty. It’s black eyes and snotty noses. IRS audits, long workdays, struggling for a B in school, but making a C instead. It’s germs, chicken pox, stress and ADHD. You don’t want people to judge you? Don’t judge your dad. My best friend Julia is a L.A. Deputy Public Defender. I’ve known her for twenty-five years. She’s smart, a little cocky, but I trust her. I’m happy to hook her up with your dad. She’d go to the wall for him.”
Sienna smiled and bear hugged Annie. “That’d be awesome!”
When an overly tanned man interrupted them. He was in his forties, handsome with coiffed George Clooney-like salt and pepper hair. He wore casual tan slacks that were perfectly creased. “Hello, ladies,” he said and flashed a police badge. “My name is Detective Kyle Pardue. Sienna Saffron, I’m a big fan, would love an autograph and need to ask you a few questions.”
Peanut Butter Fluffers
Description: Hand made ice cream sandwiches with sprinkles of crunchy peanut butter and mini-marshmallows.
Appropriate Occasions: Lying your way onto a porn set. Discovering a new profession is just not for you.
Best Served With: Minty breath spray. Floss. Instant hand sanitizer in a handy gallon size.
SIXTEEN
Porno Pies
Derrick appraised Detective Kyle Pardue and frowned. “Ew. He’s a cop with nothing to offer but gooey old Playboys stuck together and a stack of Kenny G CDs. We leave, now,” Derrick said to Annie.
Annie edged away from Sienna. “Yo, girl. I’ll check out these documents and give you a shout.” She pointed to the manila envelope.
Sienna waved at her and mouthed, “Yes.”
Annie turned to bolt. Pardue stared at her, interested. “Miss? You look familiar,” he said. “Have we met?”
“Walk. Walk. Walk,” Derrick said and slapped Annie repetitively on her butt, like she was a naughty puppy.
She jumped. “Don’t think so, Officer,” she said, but kept on walking.
“No. You’re the baker,” Kyle said. “The separated baker in Dr. Derrick Fuller’s homicide case. Stop right there. I’ve got a couple of questions for you, too. Did you kill Dr. Derrick Fuller?”
She stopped. “For God’s sakes, no I didn’t kill that prick, and I’m enormously tired of being asked that question.” she said, turned and glared at Kyle.
Derrick put his hands on his waist. “Now is the time for you to grow up and stop calling me a prick. I have done so much for you. I am the wind beneath your wings.”
“So, what are you doing here?” Kyle asked.
“Um. Field trip,” Annie said. “You never know where great recipe ideas spring from.”
“And, you’re working on?” Kyle asked and regarded her skeptically.
“Oh. That. Top secret assignment for, you know, the big cheese. The big apple. The big kahuna. Yeah there,” she said. WTF, she had no idea how to get out of this one.
“No, no Missy Baker. I’m Kyle Pardue and I’m an LAPD detective. You need to tell me why you’re here and conspiring with Sienna Saffron. Now.”
“We are not conspiring,” Sienna said and pouted.
“Porno pies,” Derrick said.
“I’m working on porno pies,” Annie said. “Not just your average…” Where to go with this one?
“Porno pies?” Kyle asked, beyond curious.
“Apple pie,” Derrick prompted.
“Not just your average apple pie,” Annie said. “Porno pies are a more exotic delicious confection, laced with creamy melted butterscotch filling that tops a sizzling brown sugar, vanilla laced apple pie filling. Obviously, Sienna Saffron’s talented body of work inspired my recipe.”
“That’s right,” Sienna said and ran her tongue over her upper lip. “We’re co-llab-or-ating.”
Annie glared at Kyle, steely-eyed.
Kyle almost drooled as he stared at both of them. “I need you to hand me that envelope,” he said to Annie.
She frowned, but she handed the envelope with Sienna’s 8 X 10 photos to Kyle.
In the near distance, they heard Cowboy yell, ‘Yee-haw! That’s home on the range!”
Annie walked into her apartment hours later. She was exhausted. Sienna, God bless her, had snuck her copies of her Dad’s photos when Detective Kyle confiscated the originals. Meanwhile, Kyle Pardue had asked her every question imaginable, including her shoe size. What, did the police have footprints from the killer? More likely Detective Pervy Due had a foot fetish. She flicked the light switch on. Nothing illuminated, nothing turned on. Her place was dark except for a glow from her battery-operated night light in the bathroom. Lovely. Maybe this was a good thing. She wouldn’t be able to see her eye circles that were now half the size of the national debt. Had Derrick figured out how to manipulate electricity? More likely the darkness was because she hadn’t paid her electric bill. She owed last month on the old apartment, a deposit on the new one and a first month now. Damn, she couldn’t catch a break if a friggin’ car ran over her and stalled on top of her heart.
She broke into what she thought was another peri-menopausal sweat, unhooked and pulled off her bra from underneath her tee and threw it on the couch. Teddy meowed plaintively from the kitchen. She walked towards him. “Sorry sweetie. Dinner’s late tonight,” she said.
A hand reached out and grabbed her arm. She screamed.
The figure hissed. “Shhh. It’s me,” he said and leaned Annie back against her kitchen cabinets. “We have to talk. Now.”
She looked up, saw and felt Mike leaning against her. For a moment, he felt warm, comforting and normal. Then he felt the opposite. She pushed him away.
“I thought you’d bolt, so I tripped your fuse box. The photos were Photoshopped. I swear. We’re separated for stupid reasons. We wanted to have a child together, Annie. What are you doing?” Mike reached out and caressed her hair.
She pulled away, again. “I can’t believe you messed with my fuse box. That’s just plain wrong,” she said. She actually wanted to say, “I can’t believe you slept with someone else, betrayed our marriage and broke my heart, you stinkin’ jerk. ’Cause that’s just plain wrong.”
But Mike only heard the words said out loud, not the unspoken ones that rammed around in her head like bumper cars. He leaned into her again. “Let’s get back together, Annie. We can do fertility or adopt. We’ll find a way to have our baby. Let’s take some time and figure stuff out. Go to therapy.”
She felt confused. Her heart raced, her stomach gurgled and her forehead tingled. She wanted him. She didn’t want him. Dammit. The uncertainty was driving her, crazy. “I don’t know, Mike. Huh?” she said. Once again – the stupid words. Where were the smart words? Drinking cervezas frias, snorkeling, and getting lucky at a Club Thesaurus?
“Don’t l
et us end, Annie. Not with a rumor and not with lies. Please.”
She was strung out on nerves and too much life change. Husband cheating on the down low. Now, he denied that. How dare he? Men. Her hormones raged.
She had filed for separation and moved her home in one day. Her business was in the toilet. She discovered who possibly cheated with her husband – Derrick Fuller. Then dickwad died. After that, he not only haunted her, but also basically moved in with her. And, oh lovely, she became a murder suspect in his untimely demise. She faced frightening early hours and long days doing manual labor. Experienced shitty coffee, rotten sleep and no smokes. Got up close and barely escaped getting overly friendly with Cowboy’s penis.
She forced herself to hold it together for one long moment. With what, she had no idea. She was in the negative reserves with her energy, her psych issues and her life. But what if those nasty photos were indeed doctored? What if she changed her entire life and her dreams because of a big fat lie?
She couldn’t look Mike in the eyes, but managed to spit out. “I can’t, not now. You have to go. I’m looking for… I’ll figure out who… I’ll figure it all out.”
“Who, what?” Mike asked. “Who? What?”
Derrick’s eyes welled up. He put his thumbs and forefingers together in a heart shape. “I heart you,” he said.
Annie ignored Derrick. She stood next to her front door and pointed to it. “Leave, Mike. I’ll call you when I figure it out.”
Mike leaned in, caught her off guard and kissed her on her lips. “You and I are not, over.”
Annie remembered her Valentine’s Gift - the 8 X 10 glossies. Sienna said her sex photos with Derrick were faked. Were Mike’s faked, as well? She pulled back, confused, angry; didn’t know what emotion ruled the moment. “Go,” she said. “Just go.”
Mike walked out the front door, turned and stared at her. “We will work this out.”
She slammed the door shut, bolted it and sat back on the floor, legs crossed. Rocked back and forth with her head in her hands.
Derrick stood over her and looked at her through new eyes. “Do you want to talk?”
“Yes,” she said and continued rocking. “I want to know if you slept with my husband, Mike.”
Derrick sat next to Annie on her living room floor and rocked back and forth as well. “If you asked me that question three weeks ago when I was alive, I’d have told you to talk to my attorney. When you conjured me at the Shrine, I would have said that information was, play and pay. You play my game, find out who killed me, then I tell you if I slept with your husband.”
“What about now?” Annie asked. She sat tall, still, her spine long, her eyes closed. “I’m asking you, right now, if you slept with my husband?”
Derrick swallowed. “Right now, in all honesty, I don’t know. I simply don’t remember.”
Annie took her hands on either side of her head, rotated her neck and cracked it. “Yeah there, at least that felt great. You don’t remember if you slept with my husband?”
He shook his head. “There were so many. I was busy, exhausted. I suffered from terrible amnesia and took sleeping pills. Frequently.”
Annie got up, walked into her kitchen and out her back door.
Derrick’s hands shook. Had he lost her? Would she leave him? He followed her. “Where are you going?”
“Right now, the fuse box. Tomorrow, 25,000 more cookies.”
It was daytime inside the detective’s room at the West Los Angeles Police Department. The tables were lined with files and documents, some older PCs, open Chinese takeout containers, chopsticks, a gigantic sized bottle of Tums, a tin of Altoids, crumpled power bar wrappers, empty water bottles and half-emptied cardboard cups of tea and coffee.
Rafe had carved out a niche on a table in front of him, spread out Annie’s photos, and examined them, along with statements from persons of interest. He scribbled notes on a legal pad.
Detective Kyle Pardue paraded into the room and waved a manila envelope over his head. “I’ve got porn evidence. Statements and 8 X 10 glossies of Sienna Saffron in all her glory. Some with Derrick Fuller when the stiff had seen better days. Hah hah. Stiff. Get it? Hah! I crack myself up. Others are of Ms. Saffron, getting… creative.”
Kyle grabbed an energy bar from a basket on top of the fridge and ripped open the wrapper. He walked over and took a seat next to Rafe, and tossed the envelope onto the table next to him. “Funny thing,” he said and scarfed down the bar. “I went to the set of Bollywood Two last night.”
“Outstanding detective work. Your mother must be very proud,” Rafe said. He opened the envelope Kyle had thrown to him, and took out a slew of 8 X 10 photo glossies. Flipped through them, and tried his best to keep a poker face.
Kyle leaned over his shoulder. “Cool, huh, Rafe? I interviewed some nice people on that porn set. I took statements, scored a couple of phone numbers and got a few free DVDs. If you want to borrow How I Boned Your Mother, just ask me, bro.”
“I’m not your bro, but thanks. I get my porn the old fashioned way, off the Internet.”
“You’re such a boy scout. Speaking of, I met your girl scout equivalent last night, the baker person of interest in Fuller’s murder. Annie Graceland. She was on the porn set, is separated from her husband and looks like she needs some action.”
Rafe coughed. He grabbed Sienna’s photos and placed them above the Mike-Derrick photos on the table. It was like filling in a puzzle.
“Funny thing. Annie Rose and Sienna Saffron seemed very close. Like pals, buds. Or partners in crime? Two smart sexy chicks that both wanted Dr. Derrick Fuller dead. What do you think about that theory, Rafe?” Kyle asked.
“Perhaps they had motive, but where would they have hooked up to plot his murder? Iwantderrickdead.com?” Rafe replied.
Kyle’s cell rang and he picked up. “Thanks, Chloe for returning my call. How well do you know Tawny Fuller?” he asked. “Oh, you’re her manicurist. You know her, professionally,” Kyle said and checked out his nails.
Rafe knew they were immaculate. “I’m sorry, Chloe, I didn’t mean to imply... During your multiple mani-pedis you and Tawny shared intimate girl talk. Right. You’re her closest friend,” Kyle’s voice dropped. “Tawny’s husband was tragically murdered and I bet she needs to get a lot off her chest right now,” he said. “I’d love a professional manicure. Two this afternoon is perfect.” Kyle jotted down her address. “Are you single, Chloe? Ah, getting divorced. My sincerest condolences.” He hung up the phone, pulled out his wallet, opened it and pulled out two Trojans.
Rafe shook his head. “You’re a pig.”
“Thanks, Rafe. But I prefer to think I’m gifted.” Kyle smiled. “Gotta go. A hang-nail emergency,” he said and walked off.
Captain Wallace poured himself a cup of coffee and watched Kyle leave. “What about the baker girl, Rafe? Realistic suspect?”
“I don’t know, Cap. It looks like her estranged husband was having relations with Fuller.”
Captain Wallace walked over, peered at the pictures. “I’d say the baker had motive. If I got those photos, I’d be more than angry.”
“But, the baker’s husband denies it,” Rafe said and frowned. “Told me someone’s messing with him and his wife. That they’re going through an average marital rough patch. I’ve spent some time with Annie Rose and she seems more like the meddling kind, not the murdering type.”
Captain Wallace rested his firm hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “She meddling with you, Raphael?”
“No, sir,” he replied. But he felt his face flush.
“Uh-huh,” Captain Wallace said and walked off.
At Feinberg’s Famous Deli’s Back Back Kitchen, Annie looked at the time clock. 3 p.m. She wiped some flour off her face, grabbed her timecard and stuck it in the time clock. It clicked. She returned the timecard to the metal holder on the wall.
Zach sauntered into the Back Back Kitchen. “Need more cinnamon oatmeal cookies. So, you busy…”
&n
bsp; “I’ve got to pick up my car at the shop before it closes. But, thanks,” Annie said.
“Okay,” he turned, hoisted a couple of trays of cookies from the countertop and walked off into the back kitchen.
Derrick leaned against the fridge. “Congrats on your impressive cookie numbers and enticing young Count Chokula.”
Annie glared at him. “Thanks.”
“I checked today’s obits. Three minor celebs, all former clients of mine, have passed on. But not one has communicated with me. I believe that means they already passed to the After-Life. Why would they transition so quickly, and I’m still here? I’m frustrated, Cupcake.”
Annie sighed, exhausted. “Fine. Tawny’s phone number?”
Derrick rambled it off. She picked up the phone and made the call. Tawny’s voicemail answered. “Hi there! Don’t be a stranger!” Sounded like Tawny was recuperating. “You’ve reached Tawny Derrick Fuller. I’m incredibly excitedly busy with my new reality show, Discovering Tawny – big kisses to TLC channel – and can’t be reached right now. So contact my manager, the fantabulous Madison Morgan at 310/555-PIMP. Leave your message at the beep.” Loud saccharine giggles. “Oops, I almost forgot, today’s special word? Boobies!”
“Beep!”
Annie left her message, “Hello, Mrs. Fuller. This is Dawn Fitch from Truly Trashy Lingerie and Specialty Items. Your order has come in. Please give us a call to confirm when you’ll be picking up, as we can’t be storing a customized order that large, if you know what I mean, for very long. We just don’t have the room. 310-555/8181. Thank you!” Annie hung up, went to the kitchen sink and scrubbed her hands.
It was late afternoon. Detective Kyle Pardue stood outside Annie’s apartment. He opened his wallet, pulled out a credit card, flipped it over and revealed a mirror. Checked his reflection, slipped the mirror back in his wallet and knocked on Annie’s door. “Hello, Annie.” There was no answer. He knocked again. “Ms. Graceland. It’s Detective Kyle Pardue. I met you the other night on the Bollywood Two set. I have a few more questions.” He leaned into the door, listened, but heard nothing. Pulled a business card from his wallet, stuck it in the crack of her door and walked off.