by PamelaDuMond
“I’d know that, how?”
Kyle frowned and pulled out a pocketknife from his pocket. He held it to the cat toy, ready to gut it and search for drugs.
Teddy raced across the room, power leaped, grabbed the toy and bumped Kyle’s hand. He landed on the floor and bolted with the toy in his mouth. “Shit!” Kyle screamed and dropped his knife.
Annie watched Teddy wriggle under the sofa. Saw Kyle reach for his gun. She vaulted from her kitchen, dove and landed on the floor in front of the sofa.
Kyle drew his gun and aimed it at Teddy. Unfortunately, through Annie’s chest.
Rafe’s eyes widened. “Kyle. Put the gun down.”
“Crazy insane fleabag,” Kyle said. “I probably have tetanus or rabies or worms. God, I hate animals.”
“Put the gun down. Let me look at your hand,” Rafe said. “You know I’m an EMT. Paramedic training.”
“No, I’ll shoot that giant fuzzball. They can test it for diseases when it’s autopsied at the lab.”
“No!” Annie hollered. Kyle held his gun on Annie, who held her hand under the couch preventing Teddy from fleeing and getting shot.
Her next-door neighbor knocked on the wall again. “Lady, for the love of God. First the Madonna tribute. Turn down the Law & Order episode, please?”
“Just let me see your hand, buddy,” Rafe said.
Detective Kyle Pardue held out his trembling left hand.
Rafe held and examined it. Palm up. Palm down. Fingers spread. He performed range of motion on all the joints. Everything moved normally. “Upon inspection, I see no bite or claw marks, no punctures or blood. All your joints appear to have full range of motion. Close call, Detective. Put a little ice on that hand tonight in case you strained something. You’re good to go.”
Kyle slowly lowered his gun.
Annie grabbed Teddy by the scruff of his neck, dragged him out from under the couch and ran off with him in her arms. “Theodore, how many times have we had this discussion? Don’t play with creepy strangers,” she said, threw him into the bathroom and slammed the door. “I’ll get the butter cookies, guys. I mean, Detectives. Then you can fill me in on why you’re really here.”
Detective Kyle Pardue paused at Annie’s front door carrying a goodie bag filled with butter cookies, a few brownies and some porn DVDs that Cyndi Saffron had given Julia, who left them behind in her hasty departure.
“So nice to see you again, Detective Pardue. My apologies for the cat drama.”
Kyle mumbled something and munched a butter cookie. He turned back and looked at Rafe, who sat on Annie’s couch. “I expect a full update tomorrow,” Kyle said.
“Yeah. And I want a complete synopsis of those DVDs.”
Kyle turned and left.
Annie released Teddy from his bathroom prison. He wandered into the living room, tail twitching.
Rafe chuckled. “I can’t believe you threw yourself on the floor in front of your couch to protect your cat.”
“Teddy’s sweet and makes me laugh every day. Laughter is healing. Sorry. But I have to take a quick shower before I discover toads on my body parts. I was in some fairly deep shit I mean water today.”
“I’ll start a fire outside,” he said.
Annie wore fresh sweats, and toweled off her hair next to the fire pit. She cracked open a Corona and took a long sip.
“Sorry about Detective Pardue,” Rafe said.
“He’s creepy.”
“That’s a universal opinion. I think you already know the connection between Franco Fennedy and Dr. Fuller. Now’s the time to tell me.”
Derrick looked at Annie. “I don’t know. Rafe seems like a good cop,” Derrick said. “But maybe we should wait until we talk to Lewis, my attorney. Your call. Don’t forget, the cops still think you’re a suspect in my demise.”
“My call,” Annie said.
Rafe looked confused. “No, not your call. Besides, after tonight’s near gunshot incident, I could make the LAPD look really stupid and beat it out of you.”
She giggled. Probably from too much adrenaline after saving her cat from Detective Pervy-Dude. “No way. You’d have to deal with the subsequent investigation.”
“My pleasure,” Rafe said, as a corner of his mouth turned up.
He didn’t realize he was sexy, Annie thought. “Wishful thinking,” she said.
“Maybe on your part,” he said and took her hand. “Your secrets are making you tired. Why don’t you just tell me?”
Her hand sizzled under his touch. Damn this man had great hands and a strong grip. She looked up at him. She was on the edge; almost ready to spill her secrets; Derrick, Franco, how often she waxed her eyebrows, whatever.
It seemed completely natural that Rafe pulled her to him with his strong hand, put his other hand on the back of her head, dragged his fingers firmly but slowly through her hair, and kissed her insistently on her lips. She resisted at first, damn Mike and his possibly incriminating cheating photos, but her mouth yielded to Rafe’s persistent invitation to let go, unwind, and simply, be. He trailed his fingers down her neck, slipped underneath her sweatshirt, tugged on the fabric of her little yoga top, and…
Oh God, it had been so long.
She opened her eyes and looked into Rafe’s. She still gripped his hand. Gripped it so tight that his hand was white.
Oh shit, she imagined everything but the handshake. Or was it another empathic hit. She pulled away from him, and shook her hands to feel grounded, not all ethereal, not empathic, just normal. Please God, she just wanted to feel normal.
Rafe smiled at her.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Annie said.
“Doubtful. But, I will discover all your secrets. Why don’t you just be honest with me?” he asked and took her hand again.
Jeez he was so flippin’ hot. And she was so flippin’ undecided if she was married, or not. “Give me forty-eight hours,” she said and pulled her hand away. It felt like it was smack on top of a Weber grill fired up for a July 4th BBQ.
“Give me something now and I’ll float you forty-eight,” he countered.
She thought and sighed. What the hell. If Rafe incorrectly nailed her for Fuller’s murder, he’d most likely visit her in prison. “Okay. Knock yourself out, Detective.”
“I’m knocking.”
“Franco Fennedy is Dr. Derrick Fuller’s biological son.”
Rafe’s eyes widened. “No shit. That would provide some motives.”
“Yeah there.”
“Call me if you need to share more secrets. You’ve got your forty-eight. After that, you’re mine,” Rafe said.
Paint peeled off the walls of a tiny bathroom. A dingy metal medicine cabinet with tinges of rust hung above the sink. The caulking around a frosty glassed in shower sported cracks and black moldy patches. The shower’s sliding glass doors were opened about six inches and revealed a tub growing soap scum. The sink’s turquoise Formica countertop featured indisputable signs of its 1970s origin - little faded gold starbursts. A syringe filled with a thick injectable liquid lay on the countertop.
The Observer pulled down basic cotton underwear and exposed a small amount of flesh in the buttock area. Reached for the syringe with a medically gloved hand. Flipped the rubber top from the needle, twisted and plunged the vial’s needle into the butt cheek. The hand that held the needle shook ever so slightly in its hygienic glove. But the Observer knew it had to be done. Everything up to this moment had to be done.
Baby Blues
Description: Fresh organic Michigan blueberries covered with a dollop of homemade sweet whipped cream.
Appropriate Occasions: Getting dirty.
Best Served With: Practical decisions. The joys of parenting.
NINETEEN
Stoneycliff Cheesy Cakes
Annie looked around the inside of the back of an older limo. Julia, Grady and herself sat on ancient leather seats with cracks that resembled earthquake faults ready to give. They pooled their spare cha
nge jars and hired the discount limo service to chauffer them to Lewis Schuchiani’s promotion party at the law offices of Strunckle, Carbunkle and Goldstein. Because after all, Annie and Grady were European royalty.
The chauffer drove them down Wilshire Boulevard Corridor. They passed fancy high-rises, mid-rises, and trendy hotels that made up this neck of L.A. that segued into Beverly Hills.
Annie adjusted her wig. It was a chic coiffed bob that had approximately twenty-five pieces of tape and paperclips hidden under the thick natural silver Asian hair on top. Her facial and neck skin was pulled and taped high up onto her head under her wig. The tape created a nipped/tucked appearance on Annie’s face and neck. The paper clips that connected her taped skin ensured the whole ensemble didn’t crash down during a dramatic emotional moment, like an argument, or if the Chicago Cubs won the World Series. Her eyebrows arched in a perpetually surprised look, but not from Bo-tox. The paperclips were a natural and immediately reversible solution. Her skin was luminous in a half a jar of foundation spatula-ed on, kind of way. Her eyelids slanted upwards towards her now elfin-shaped ears.
“I feel that there’s a paperclip seriously close to my impaling my brain’s Broca’s area…” Annie pointed to her head. “Which has to do with the speech center,” she said and shoved a finger under her wig.
Julia slapped Annie’s hand away. “Stop fidgeting. I’m an artiste. I require room to do my best work,” she said and dabbed more Kabuki white foundation to Annie’s face. Julia was dressed in a simple black pants suit. It made her look sexy and official like the female equivalent of Clint Eastwood when he acted the role of a secret service agent, or Kevin Costner when he played The Bodyguard for poor, stalked Whitney Houston.
Annie correctly surmised that Julia was still pissed that Grady got to play Duke Stoneycliff, a bigger and juicier role, while Julia got cast as the royal couple’s bodyguard. Julia’s enthusiasm did shoot up when she insisted she dress the part and, (shocker), had to shop on the 3rd Street Promenade for a new outfit. (Please, how many black pantsuits already sat in Julia’s closet? She just wanted more play dates with Terence, the security guard at Bob’s Bookstore.)
Annie blinked and tugged on her fake, fat mascara-encrusted eyelashes that obscured her vision by about ninety percent. “Congrats on banging the hot guard, again. Still jealous Grady gets to be the duke?”
Julia slapped her hand away, again. “Oh thanks. I’ve been nailing him for weeks now. Besides I could never look like a man. Therefore, Grady had to be the duke,” she said and leaned into Annie wielding blood red lipstick. “You are my work in progress. I got an award in high school for this, you know.”
“I know. It was called a D in Geometry.”
“Poof your lips,” Julia said. Annie poofed and Julia applied the red stain to her lips. “Besides, everybody gets at least one D in Geometry.”
“Tha was da turd tam u tuk it.”
“I feel a presence,” Grady said and checked out his fake silver goatee with a small hand held mirror. The Elmer’s glue under his fake goatee seemed to be dry. His wig was also Asian silver, but he didn’t need the tape or the paperclips because older men were allowed to have some wrinkles. Julia had drawn shadows on his face with makeup and created some liver spots to make him look older. “I’m a little queasy,’ Grady said. “Is Derrick here?”
“No. Ees al eddy air. U ate una alad for unch. No ukin, pees. Ony av enuv money fo ip,” Annie squirmed away from Julia and her makeup kit. “Enough!”
Julia grabbed the mirror from Grady. “Hey!” he said.
“Check it out,” Julia said and held up the hand-mirror to Annie’s face.
Annie looked in the mirror. She looked like an upper-class doyenne, thirty plus years older than she actually was, who had some work done. And work when it was very expensive - but not all that natural looking. But right now, Annie was an exotic, albeit caught-in-a-wind-tunnel, senior doppelganger. “Wow! Good job on that D.”
Julia preened. “Brigadoon, junior year. A pity you couldn’t be there. Were you at choir practice or the New Testament study group?”
“The New Testaments had the best weed in all of southern Wisconsin,” Annie said.
“Julia’s jealous,” Grady said. “It’s her pattern. Probably childhood emotional trauma. Maybe toilet training took too long.”
Julia punched him on his arm.
“Ow!” Grady exclaimed. “Can I have my mirror back?”
Annie handed it to him as the limo pulled into the driveway in front of the high-rise glass building that housed the law offices of Strunckle, Carbunkle and Goldstein.
They exited the limo and hobbled with age appropriate arthritic knees, stiff backs and necks towards the shiny reflective high-rise. Annie wore a vintage pastel Chanel knock-off suit and a little box hat with netting on top of her wig. Julia trotted energetically behind them, ready to fend off the paparazzi or rabid fans. There were none to be found. They hadn’t enough money to hire fake fans.
Annie took in the small law conference room. It featured a sleek wood table with twelve modern chairs. Adjacent to the wall was a buffet table filled with upscale snacks, bottles of champagne, and a “Congratulations Lewis!” decorated flat sheet cake. Most of the twenty people in the crowd gathered to celebrate Lewis Schuchiani’s promotion to Junior Partner were co-workers. His fiancée, Hailey Strunkle, was dressed cool with some Italian boots, a mini skirt and Tibetan prayer beads around her neck and wrists as fashion accessories. Hailey was the boss’s daughter, a smart girl, educated at Bennington. She greeted everyone by name as they entered the room, and commented on something positive about each guest. Hailey was nuts about Lewis Schuchiani and, for her, today’s event was as important as the preparations for Princess Di’s nuptials.
When the Duke and Duchess Stoneycliff entered the conference room, Hailey greeted them with a flawless “I’m meeting royals” curtsey. She even acknowledged their bodyguard by nodding at her. Perfect manners for a perfect wife to be. Some day, her man, Lewis, would be a partner in the firm.
“An honor to meet you, Duke and Duchess Stoneycliff. I’ve heard so much about you,” she said, even though her Google search had taken her to many “Stoneycliff Farms” sites. None of them featured royalty, or were all that informative, but you can’t always trust the Internet.
Grady turned and stared at the buffet table. “My innards are jumping wildly with anticipation at yonder table. Cheerio,” he said as he wandered towards the buffet, closely followed by Julia.
Hailey’s eyes widened. Annie took her hand and felt Hailey’s fear of the dreaded social faux pax. “Dear Hailey, you’re almost family!” Annie said. She couldn’t move her eyebrows and the makeup melted into her eyes. She blinked and whispered, “Ignore the Duke’s dreadful manners. His tummy’s not right. It rumbles at odd times and I have to explain the gurgles and the quiet emanations of a gaseous nature. Despite popular opinion, dear Hailey, it’s not easy being a royal.”
Annie put her hand to her face and attempted a look of sorrow, in order to push back paper clips that sneaked down her forehead from beneath her wig. “I’ve had nightmares that the duke’s become lactose intolerant. Cheer me up. Where’s my dear Lewis, the man of the hour?”
Hailey looked around the room. “Lewis’s mom, Roberta, arrived out of the blue. She said she had a showing for her new line and couldn’t make it, but, change of schedule and here she is. I think they’re catching up. Probably in his office, 2204.”
Annie looked over at the buffet table. The duke and their bodyguard threw back the champagne and appetizers as they chatted up Strunkle employees.
A handsome young lawyer in a conservative suit eyed the duke, and slipped him his card. Interesting.
“Darling Hailey, my blood sugar’s plummeting. Let’s partake of some snackies,” Annie said.
“Absolutely,” Hailey said. They walked towards the food table and Annie picked up several mini-quiches, put them on her paper plate and bit into one.
/> She watched Grady blush under and around his fake facial hair. “Thank you, fine sir. But I don’t currently need representation.”
The handsome lawyer leaned into Grady and whispered, “Yeah, but you might want to share a beer and some Mexican food when you take off that ridiculous disguise. Are you an actor or a writer?”
“Oh,” Annie said. Very nice that Grady was getting some action. He tended to be a hermit when he worked on a writing project. Bummer that she’d have to deal with Lewis’s mother. Roberta Lilly Schuchiani was a fashion designer famous for her funky prints on her clothing and accessories, as well as her take-no-bullshit attitude. But Annie wasn’t here for her sanity (completely gone), and her facelift wouldn’t last much longer. (She estimated an hour, tops.) She patted her purse. “I have a giftie for dear Lewis and it won’t keep forever,” she said to Hailey.
Annie/Duchess Myra Stoneycliff stuck her platinum head into Lewis Schuchiani’s office. She saw a perfunctory desk, a file cabinet, a bookcase, and a framed law degree from a more than decent university on the wall. But no Lewis and no Lewis’s fashionista mother, Roberta.
Annie took a seat in his office chair. Swiveled back and forth and surveyed the room. His desk was neat and tidy and featured pictures of Roberta, Hailey, and a man who resembled Lewis, who she assumed was his dad. A four-tiered metal file cabinet stood in a corner. She flipped through some files on his desk and found a white 8 X 10 envelope addressed to Lewis, no return address.
Oh, shit. She picked up the envelope, opened it, and pulled out its contents: an 8 X 10 glossy showed Roberta, about thirty years younger, making out with, shocker, Derrick Fuller. A second photo showed Derrick making out with a guy who looked suspiciously like Lewis’s dad. Huh.
Derrick stood next to the file cabinet and tapped his foot. “Did you check the file cabinet for my will?”
“Where have you been?” Annie asked. She walked two feet to the file cabinet and opened the second drawer.