Cupcakes,Lies and Dead Guys

by PamelaDuMond

  Porno Pies

  Description: Not just your average apple pie. A more exotic delicious confection, laced with creamy melted butterscotch filling that tops a sizzling brown sugar, vanilla laced pre-sautéed apple pie filling sandwiched in a top and bottom baked to perfection crust.

  Appropriate Occasions: Sneaking away from an uncomfortable situation. Being caught, in the act of sneaking away from an uncomfortable situation. Being caught with what appears as possibly incriminating evidence while sneaking away from an uncomfortable situation.

  Best Served With: Sleazy detectives. Persistent nubile suitors. A really great mani-pedi.

  SEVENTEEN

  Power Puffs

  It was nighttime in Annie’s place. Derrick sat on the floor and watched Annie sleep on her couch. Her hair was everywhere, her eyes fluttered back and forth in REM sleep and she snored a little on each exhale. Teddy the cat reclined on her head and stared slit-eyed at Derrick. He obviously considered himself her bodyguard. The clock hit 4:30. The alarm rang.

  Annie shuddered. Teddy leaped off her head. She groaned, pushed herself off the couch and stumbled towards her bathroom.

  “Every day a happy day! I promise,” Derrick said.

  The back of her hand appeared in the opening of the bathroom door with her middle finger stuck straight up.

  It was quitting time at Feinberg’s Famous Deli’s back back kitchen. Annie winced when she lifted the time card up and inserted it into the slot. She’d punched out over 40,000 cookies today and her arms were killing her. But, no rest, yet. She had another Derrick clue to track down.

  Annie wore basic exercise attire, was in a deep knee lunge and not all that happy about it. She frowned and held that lunge for longer than humanly possible (three seconds) on a wide tree lined grassy median. It separated the two halves of the six lane San Vicente Boulevard in Santa Monica which ran all the way through Brentwood, California. Runners, joggers and walkers passed by her on this grassy strip that lay between the speeding cars that dodged aggressive bicyclists.

  Ginger, Derrick’s former trainer, frowned as she evaluated Annie’s lunge. Ginger was in impeccable shape and had almost no body fat. That’s why she scored all the Shape, Fit, Women’s Workout World, Perfect Thighs and Buns and Amazing Abs magazine covers. Annie hated Ginger on principal alone and wondered how much more of this exercise stuff she could take.

  “Okay, Annie. You were a friend of Derrick’s. So I know you’re motivated,” Ginger said.

  Derrick leaned back against a tree, feet crossed and watched the two women. “See? Even Gingy picked up the vibe that we’re friends.”

  “Ginger, I lied when I made the appointment with you,” Annie said. “Derrick and I were never friends. I’m investigating his death for… health reasons. I got the unfortunate, ‘I got this disease thingy and I have to tell you,’ phone-call, if you know what I mean. Traced it back to Derrick Fuller. Honestly, I’m about as motivated as an amoeba.”

  “Your lunge shows that,” Ginger said. “It’s weak. Your forward leg is caving in which could create future knee problems. And your back leg is un-engaged.”

  “Huh,” Annie said and looked at her legs. The front one was shaking. “Caving in,” and “un-engaged,” pretty much described both her mental status as well as her entire life right now.

  “Deep repetitive leg lunges will create firm buttocks and thighs that will attract everyone’s attention,” Ginger said. “Switch legs.”

  Ginger was obviously into torture. Was she a murderer as well? Annie wondered. “Ginger, do you think Derrick attracted the wrong person’s attention?” She asked and lunged with her other leg in front.

  “Hold it. Count of five. One…” Ginger instructed. “Obviously Derrick pissed someone off. Four. Five.”

  Annie shook out her leg and rubbed her thigh. “There was a rumor that Derrick had other trainers besides you. Got a jealous streak, Ginger?”

  “Only when it concerns Heidi Klum. Side three,” Ginger said. “Left leg.”

  Annie lunged and her leg muscles quivered. “I think I have tetanus. Do you think it’s contagious?” she asked.

  “I think you need to work out more,” Ginger said. “Hold the lunge. One. Derrick was good with form, but had some trouble with balance in his personal life.”

  She held the lunge - her left knee wobbling back and forth over her left ankle. Yeah there, Annie could do this excessive exercise stuff. Not.

  Ginger reached out and gently guided Annie’s bent knee. “It’s crucial that you keep your knee perfectly aligned over you ankle.”

  That’s when Annie felt it. Her mouth felt thick. Her mouth felt sticky. And, her taste buds did the happy dance. She hoped this was a good thing.

  “I’m thorry? You thaid?” Annie asked.

  Ginger looked at her oddly. “Don’t do a deep lunge without proper knee/ankle alignment.”

  “Yeth, I unerthand.” Annie mentally whipped through her remaining active brain cells to identify the cause of her new lisp.

  Ginger regarded her concerned and whipped her hand off Annie’s knee. “Stop exercising, immediately. Are you dizzy? Tingly? History of stroke in your family?”

  “No throke!” Annie said. What was it? Her taste buds popped up, like three geeky high school students in the front row waving their hands high in the air. They had the answer. They said, “Peanut Butter Mouth.”

  “Do you prether Thiffy or Peter Pan? Thooth or crunthy?” Annie asked.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ginger huffed.

  “Oh, yeth you do. You’re theriously addicted to peanuth butther. Even now ath we work out, all you think abouth is peanuth butther. I underthand. Ith Kettle potato chipth for me.”

  “So, Derrick told you my secret,” Ginger said. “That means you’re one of Derrick’s Darlings.”

  “I have never been a Darling!” Annie said.

  “Fine. There was never only one, as far as I know of, in Derrick’s life. He promised me a hot career and some great modeling gigs. He came through. I miss the skinny little runt.”

  “I don’t,” Annie said.

  “Ginger always told me I was lean and mean.” Derrick pouted.

  “Who do you think killed Derrick? And why?” Annie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ginger said. “Someone who was jealous of Derrick. His lifestyle. Who he hung out with.”

  Annie grimaced and shook out her left leg.

  “Will today’s session be $200 in cash or check?” Ginger asked.

  There went the money for a third of her electric bill.

  Annie wobbled towards the time card slot in Feinberg’s Famous Deli’s Back Back Kitchen. Her legs quivered. She placed her hands behind her thighs and helped them walk forward. She could barely lift her arms up to put the timecard in the slot.

  “Hurry up,” Derrick said. “If you’re late, his assistant will cancel your appointment and you won’t get in for another three months. They’re brutal over there, I’m warning you. This might be your toughest interview yet.”

  Great, she thought as she waddled off. What could be worse? Would they make her eat worms? Cover her in honey and drop her hog-tied onto an anthill? Recall caffeine? Force her to go vegan?

  Annie stood on the sidewalk under the white, twenty-story medical complex. The large sign out front of the two tall rectangular buildings read, “St. Cecelia’s Hospital Medical Offices.” Lovely. She was back at the scene of the original crime. The joyful Valentine’s Day when she was poked, prodded in her privates and stabbed in the heart when she received photos of her husband cheating with the most irritating man in the world. What a difference a few minutes could make.

  A guy walked past Annie. He yapped on his blue tooth while he sucked on a cigarette, the smoke curled towards heaven. She stared at him, closed her eyes and sniffed. The cigarette was American, not a light, not menthol and would taste so friggin’ good right now that she actually considered biting the guy. She dug through her purse for
a patch. No patch. God damn it, no patch! Now would be the perfect time for one last smoke. Just one last teeny-tiny smoke and she’d say goodbye to this old lover, forever. For good. Really, she meant it this time.

  Derrick watched Annie eyeing the smoking man. “No!” He hollered and stepped between her and the man.

  Annie strode through Derrick, walked up to the man and tapped him on his shoulder. He turned, looked at her, curious, and blew smoke in her face. She inhaled and smiled. “Excuse me, Sir,” she said. “Can I bum a smoke?”

  He nodded at her. “Yeah, probably straight to DVD,” he said, dug though his pocket, pulled out a pack of smokes, smacked the bottom and a cig popped out.

  Annie’s hand trembled as she pulled the cig out of the pack. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Welcome,” the man said and walked off.

  Annie held the cig to her nose. Smelled it. Stuck it in her mouth. Dug through her purse and realized she had nothing to light it. “Damn!” she said.

  “No!” Derrick exclaimed. “You’ve gone weeks without a smoke. You are not going back. I promise – you will quit smoking.”

  “You’re dead,” Annie said.

  “So will you be soon, if you keep smoking,” Derrick countered.

  “You’re dead and you never smoked.”

  “Oh please,” Derrick said and smiled, smug. “‘Smoking isn’t the accurate word. I sizzled.”

  “If you want to promise me something, it’s got to be better than giving up smokes.” Annie stuck the cig in her purse.

  “I’m sorry, Cupcake, but I can’t accompany you up there,” Derrick said and pointed to St. Cecelia’s medical towers. “I’ve got terrible anxiety about doctors’ visits. But I’ll wait for you here. And no sneaking a cancer stick behind my back.”

  “Fine,” Annie said and walked into the lobby of St. Cecelia’s Medical Complex, alone.

  Derrick was wrong-o bong-o about this suspect interview, thought Annie. Everyone at the front desk couldn’t have been nicer. This upscale Westside Los Angeles doctor’s waiting room had better magazines – up to date People, Vanity Fair and a couple of Derrick’s I Promise books. During the forty-five minutes between signing in and the receptionist calling Annie’s name, she skimmed Derrick Fuller’s first I Promise book.

  Now she sat in a small room with a window that overlooked the Pacific Ocean while she waited for Dr. Stern, Derrick’s former dermatologist. She reclined in a cushy chair dressed in a soft gown. God, these gowns were so much nicer than those scratchy paper one-ply towel things they used down the hall at the evil Oby-Gyne office.

  The first chapter in Derrick’s second book briefly mentioned his fight with testicular cancer when he was around thirty years old. Weird. She never knew Derrick had cancer. Didn’t realize he’d lost part of his privates in the battle. Maybe that explained his excessive sexual proclivities and need to look perfect. He had surgery, radiation, underwent chemo and survived the whole ordeal.

  Dr. Stern walked in the door. He looked a little like Groucho Marx, smiled at Annie and introduced himself. “Very nice to meet you, Ms. Graceland. My name is Dr. Stern. I heard you were referred by our dearly departed friend, Dr. Derrick Fuller.” He shook her hand.

  “Yes,” Annie said. “Let’s put our cards on the table, Doctor Stern. I was never a Darling. Were you?”

  “No,” Stern laughed. “I paid Derrick a lot of bucks to help me build my practice. He encouraged me to put my money on a little pony called Bo-tox. The rest is history. Business is booming and no one in Los Angeles has eye wrinkles or those squint lines, also called, ‘the elevens,’ between their eyebrows. That is, besides you.”

  “Oh,” Annie said and frowned.

  “Ah!” Dr. Stern said. “That’s the facial expression that creates the elevens. You must train yourself to never frown. Or, get Bo-tox. We can do that right now, no problem.” He turned and pulled open a drawer filled with syringes.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in one Dr. Stern’s many mirrors, widened her eyes and kept a straight face. She looked like a zombie.

  “I assumed that’s the reason for your appointment today,” Dr. Stern said, turned around and headed towards her forehead with a syringe.

  Uh-oh. She’d forgotten that part. “Thanks, but no thanks on the Bo-tox,” Annie said. But, why was she at a dermatologist’s office besides asking the usual question: Did Dr. Stern kill, or have a clue as to who else might have killed, Derrick Fuller. She blinked. “Actually, I’m here because…”

  “Don’t tell me, I already spotted it. Oh, the things we do in our youth,” Dr. Stern replied. He grabbed her forearm, turned it over and looked at her small, no-bigger-than-a-nickel heart-shaped prison tattoo. “You got this in juvie, right?”

  Annie looked shocked. Did she look like the type that would break the law? Bending was a completely different issue. “No, that’s…”

  “Not a problem,” Dr. Stern said. “We can laser that puppy off. Funny. Just last week I removed the same tattoo from another patient, also referred by Dr. Fuller. Maybe you were in juvie together.”

  Annie pulled her arm away from Dr. Stern. “Did you kill Dr. Derrick Fuller, or do you know who did?” She asked.

  “Oh, my. Is that what landed you in juvie? An accidental homicide. Well, you’re older now, and hopefully a productive member of society,” Dr. Stern said. “The tattoo removal will burn a little. It might take a couple of treatments. It’s a cosmetic procedure and your insurance won’t cover it.” There was a knock on the door.

  Another white-coated man stepped into the room, closed the door with his back towards them.

  “You can arrange for payment with my assistants, up front.” Dr. Stern said.

  “Um,” Annie said. She liked her fake prison tat.

  “Meet my new intern, Dr. Putter. He’ll be performing the procedure on you today. Take her blood pressure first, Dr. Putter.”

  An attractive young woman perched on a bench next to the entrance to St. Cecelia’s Hospital and Medical Offices and read a book. Derrick reclined, rested his head on her lap and tried to relax. He had no idea why this young woman kept squirming and twitching. That’s when he heard Annie’s screams emanating above him from St. Cecelia’s Medical Offices.

  Annie sat on the sand on Venice Beach close to the water and watched the waves crash.

  Derrick hovered next to her.

  “Have a seat,” she said, patted the sand next to her and looked at her tattoo.

  “No, I don’t want sand up my tushie,” Derrick said. “Trust me, it’s enormously uncomfortable. I’ll sit on your purse.”

  “My purse is a Coach. Sit on my purse and you won’t see the end of today, let alone the After-Life,” she said, pulled a couple of tissues out of her purse and handed them to Derrick.

  He put them under his blue behind and sat down next to her on the sand.

  “Dr. Stern’s not your killer. Why didn’t you tell me about your cancer?”

  “Why did it take you so long to read one of my books?”

  Annie sighed. “You know my story, Derrick.”

  “And maybe now, you know part of mine,” Derrick said. They looked away from each other.

  “I wanted marriage, and a family and my own business. Call me selfish, crazy, but I wanted it all.”

  “I wanted it all, too. I didn’t ask for the cancer.”

  “I didn’t ask for early peri-menopause, and a cheating husband.”

  “Possibly cheating husband,” Derrick said. “I’ve come to appreciate your… efforts on my behalf. I’d like to offer you something personal. Something that could reward you for your hard work.”

  “I just need a new life. And maybe some hope. Hope would be really nice.”

  “I’ve got several tubes of hope at St. Cecelia’s Sperm Bank. You can have a tube, if they haven’t already been destroyed.”

  “What are you talking about?” Annie said, turned and stared at him.

  Power Puffs

  Descri
ption: Home made granola bars with oats and dried berry bits sprinkled with a tad of cinnamon and protein powder.

  Appropriate Occasions: After interviewing suspects. Too much exercise. Returning to the scene of the crime. White coat terror syndrome.

  Best Served With: Generous portions of less than perfect thighs and buns.

  EIGHTEEN

  Baby Blues

  “You want a baby,” Derrick said, and faced the setting sun. “I’ve got frozen sperm I’m willing to give you. However, after the lawyers read my new will, my seed will be destroyed within forty-eight hours.”

  Annie looked shocked. “That’s nice of you to offer, Derrick. Thoughtful. But maybe Tawny wants to have a baby with your manly popsicles?”

  “I don’t think Tawny’s the mothering type. Ages ago, I promised a vial of my gold medal swimmers to someone else. But, I do believe, there’s plenty to go around. Until my new will is read, my offer stands,” Derrick said and draped his arm around her shoulders.

  “I’m single, I’m broke. My life isn’t stable. I’m a mess,” Annie said. “Right now is not the best time for me to be thinking babies.”

  “I think you’re lovely,” Derrick said.

  She sighed. She and Derrick watched the sun set. Not quite friends, but not complete enemies.

  It was late afternoon, and Annie was back at the Shrine. Daylight Savings time change had come and gone, and the days stayed lighter later. Today was an official holiday for somebody dead who used to be important. Therefore, in the name of peace and love, the Shrine was open a little longer than normal. Annie walked in the front gate and chugged down the path that surrounded the Shrine’s pond. She wore camouflage patterned board shorts, a Concrete Blonde t-shirt, and her hair was tucked under a ball cap. She sported big sunglasses and a backpack.