Cupcakes, Diaries, and Rotten Inquiries: A Romantic, Comedic Annie Graceland Mystery, #6

by Pamela DuMond

  “What? What?” Annie asked. “You look like you just saw Jesus!”

  For probably the first time in her life—Julia was speechless. Her lips quivered, but no sounds came out.

  I gazed in the direction she was staring, blinked, and pinched myself. “I think she’s talking about a—who—not a what,” I said. “Devin Dylan’s headed in our direction. I do believe he might be the handsomest man in the world.”

  Annie whip-turned, spotted Devin, gasped, started hacking, and covered her mouth.

  It was like watching a scene in a movie where a lone, mysterious figure strides in slow motion through a mirage, while sexy-time music plays in the background. I suddenly craved buttered popcorn. Devin was a blindingly handsome, late-thirties-something man, who appeared like he hailed from mixed British and Eastern Indian descent. He had black hair with a few silver streaks in the temples, waved his large, tan hand at us, and worked a killer, sexy smile.

  “Oh jeez. How in the hell are we going to interview the sexiest murder suspect in the world with you smelling like…” Annie snapped her fingers. “Julia—take off your shoes.”

  “No.” She stood up very tall, sucked in her stomach, and thrust out her boobs.

  “Take them off, now!” Annie crouched down and slapped Julia’s ankles.

  She winced but wouldn’t budge. “No! They complete my outfit. They make me look taller, skinnier, and bustier.”

  “You always look busty,” Annie said. “Do you want to meet the handsomest man alive wearing a shoe that smells like dog poo?”

  “Dammit! You just confirmed my fears.” She sighed. “Yes, actually, I do. Because that guy’s too pretty for his own good.” She jabbed her index finger discretely in his direction. “That guy gets everything and everybody he wants. But, I’m not a pushover, and I’m not going to play those games.”

  I applauded. “Your BFF just grew a backbone. Feel free to follow her lead.”

  “We’re not here for your dating life, Julia.” Annie hissed. “We’re here to interview Devin about Mack’s murder.”

  “Newsflash. Everything we do, everywhere we go, isn’t just about you and all your dead people, Annie. It’s also about my dating life,” Julia said. “And if the handsomest man in the world wants to sell me a Cadillac, or anything else for that matter, he’s going to have to work for it—poo and all. Now, hurry it up, and get off the pavement while I get this interrogation party started.”

  Annie rose and turned just in time to see Devin Dylan make his final approach. He smiled, gazed at Julia with his dark chocolate, thick-lashed eyes, and bowed his gorgeous head. “It is my sincere pleasure to meet you, Miss Devereaux,” he said with a yummy British accent. “My name is Devin Dylan. But please, call me Devin.”

  “Lovely to meet you, Devin… I must apologize—I had a slight misstep on the way over here. We stopped at the Santa Monica dog park because I am so homesick for my beloved animals. I seem to have stepped in something…” She crinkled her cute nose, and fanned her face.

  “Ah, yes,” Devin said. “There’s that old saying…”

  “Help a girl out?” She held out her hand and he took it. She gazed up into his dark eyes with her baby blue ones.

  He gripped her forearm and steadied her, as she slowly removed her shoes with her other hand. She managed to flash him a surprising amount of thigh as well as some major cleavage before she tossed her pumps to the ground. I admit, even I craned my head to watch her contortions—it was practically a PG-13 rated striptease.

  Devin breathed a little heavy, but held his ground.

  “There.” She lowered her heels to the pavement. “Much better. Annie? Would you be so kind to dispose of these for me, please?”

  But Annie just stared at them, frozen, until I elbowed her and she jumped.

  “Yes, Miss Devereaux.” She gingerly picked up Julia’s shoes, strode across the parking lot, and pitched them into a trashcan.

  “I’m here to look at all your beautiful used cars, Mr. Dylan, but now I find myself unexpectedly—shoeless. It doesn’t seem like the right time to shop for an automobile, does it?” Julia removed her hand from his. “Perhaps we should return another day. I’m so sorry we wasted your precious time. Annie, would you pull the car around?”

  “But—” Annie said.

  “Just nod, go with this, and run along,” I said. “Julia is playing him like Liberace on a finely-tuned grand piano— very pretty, manly piano. I’ll admit I’m slightly jealous.”

  Annie turned and trotted away.

  Devin peered down at Julia’s size seven and 1/2, perfectly formed, bare feet with the red polish and the flowers on her toenails. “Hmm. Makes a man want to buy you a pair of shoes to protect your lovely feet. And attempt to find you a car that’s as pretty as you—but we both know that’s not possible.”

  “Oh, my.” Julia’s hand flew to her heart. “You’re so sweet. But, I fear, we must be on our way.”

  Devin said. “Don’t be on your way. Trust me, Ms. Devereaux. I’ll show you the best vehicles and help you pick a winner. I’ll find the right car at the right price. I am, after all, an award-winning WEPOC salesman.”

  Julia gazed up at him and arched an eyebrow. “WEPOC? Isn’t that the acronym for the Western States Previously Owned Car site?”

  He nodded his head. “Technically it’s Previously Owned Vehicles’ Convention—but no one could say WEPOVC. A bunch of us in several focus groups tried, but it was a tongue twister. Funny you should know about that.”

  “I read something recently about a poor gentleman who was found dead following the WEPOC convention. What was his name again? Tom? Billy? Jack?”

  “Mack McManus,” Devin said. “I can’t believe anyone would hurt Mack ‘The Man’ McManus. What a gentleman, a regular bloke. We shared a couple of pints the last night of the convention.”

  “That’s not all we shared.” Mack mimed a few pelvic thrusts.

  Devin pointed to a blue convertible halfway down a long, gleaming row of automobiles. “See that beauty? It’s is a 2007 Mazda Miata convertible, two-wheel drive, black leather interior, with only fifty-two thousand gently-driven miles. It’s in mint condition and only thirteen thousand dollars. That car would get you around town in splendid form. And think of the fun you’d have driving it home after your visit here to L.A. How long do you plan to stay in L.A., Ms. Devereaux?”

  “Just a week or so,” she said.

  “Perhaps I could persuade you to stay a bit longer,” he said.

  “Tell me about that red convertible,” Julia pointed. “The one next to the blue car.”

  “My favorite automobile on the lot. A 2007 Mercedes 5LK280 two-wheel drive…”

  “I love red convertibles,” Mack said. “I’ve had a thing for them ever since I was a kid.”

  “It’s an automatic, with leather seats, front seat heaters, cruise control, and only 43,000 sweetly driven miles,” Devin said. “It’s prestigious, sporty, and delicately priced at $20,559.00. I’d love to see you in that car. Why don’t we check it out?”

  “I can’t. I have no shoes. And this parking lot’s a little…”

  He stared at her, fire stirring in his beautiful eyes—then leaned in, and scooped her up in his arms. Their faces were inches apart as Devin carried Julia toward the convertible.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and blinked. “Oh, my.”

  Annie pulled up in her POS, rolled down the window, and put the car in park. “What are you doing?”

  “He’s taking me to check out that pretty car,” Julia glanced back at her and mimed squeezing his shoulder. “He works out!” she mouthed.

  “Devin’s turning on the charm,” Mack said. “He’s going hard for the sale.”

  “That’s not the only thing hard around here,” I said. “But I can only speak for myself.”

  “Ick!” Annie turned off the ignition, hopped out of her car, and followed them.

  “Hello—does anyone remember this guy is a suspect in my
murder?” Mack trudged next to Annie and I sauntered behind them.

  “Mr. Dylan,” Annie said. “I have friends in special places who shared rumors that you were with Mack McManus following the WEPOC banquet. That you and a bunch of salesmen partied at Repeat the Beat Gentleman’s Club located close to where Mack’s body was found.

  “Yes, it was all very innocent. Just a congenial boys’ night out.” Devin lowered Julia to the ground, opened the car door, smiled and gestured to the driver’s seat. “Have a seat, Ms. Devereaux.”

  “Oh thank you.” She batted her eyes at him, hiked up her skirt and shimmied into the car, flashing a little too much thigh, and achieved her desired result: he was mesmerized.

  “So you’re stating, Mr. Dylan,” Annie said, “that you and Mack parted ways after your celebration at the strip club. You’re declaring that you did not witness his death?”

  “Yes,” he said. “That’s true.”

  “I think, perhaps, that it’s not true,” Annie said. “I think you were overflowing with envy that Mack McManus was voted WEPOC’s #2 Salesman of the year—not you. In a fit of jealous rage, you got into your car, turned on the engine, and made a rash decision to race toward Mack. Perhaps you didn’t even plan on killing him. Perhaps you just planned on clipping him and showing him who was really in charge.”

  “Yeah!” Mack said. “He showed Mack!”

  “Why is your chauffeur interrogating me?” Devin asked Julia.

  She shrugged. “I’m from the South, sugar. It’s not really our way.” She glared at Annie. “Annie Graceland. Why are you interrogating this fine man?”

  “Because, you cannot buy a car from a potential murderer, Ms. Devereaux,” Annie said. “I will not allow it. Do you, Devin, have an alibi for the time period that Mack McManus was so callously run over?”

  He coughed, and the skin around his ears blushed red. “Yes. But I prefer not to disclose that type of personal information to you.”

  “Well said, Mr. Dylan,” Annie’s boyfriend, the delectable cop, Detective Raphael Campillio walked up to us and flashed his badge. “You can disclose it to me, Detective Raphael Campillio of the LAPD. Not these—”

  “Potential customers!” Annie said.

  “Potential customers who need to re-visit Marina Cadillac on a different day.” He frowned at Annie.

  She frowned back. “Yes, Officer. But we are so close to… cementing our deal.”

  “You are so close to getting in trouble,” he said.

  “I am so close to being mad at you.” Annie stomped back to her car.

  “I am so close to wondering what’s up with you and all the murder victims,” Raphael called after her.

  She stopped in her tracks and faced him. “Aha! So you’re confirming Mack was murdered?”

  “Yes, he was murdered.”

  Julia plucked her cell phone from her purse. “Annie! It’s the assistant at Lifetime calling. She’s confirming our meeting in just an hour. We have to go!”

  Dev handed Julia his card. “I don’t really know why you are all close to each other. But I don’t care. Call me,” he said. “And please, do it soon.”

  And that, Dear Diary, is how this whole mess played out.

  Unfortunately, I’m fairly certain that there will be more to follow.

  Sincerely,

  Dr. Derrick Fuller, Ph.D.

  Chapter 21

  The Naughty

  Annie

  Dear Diary,

  The sinfully handsome, as well as slightly irritating, Detective Raphael Campillio, sat on my couch and sipped a cup of dark coffee that I had just brewed for him. “Whoa, this is strong,” he said.

  “I like my coffee the way I like my men.” I handed him a slice of pumpkin chocolate chip cake. I borrowed the recipe from Cheryl Cavitt Carlson. The cake was delish and somewhat irresistible—as my scale confirmed this morning.

  “Naked?” He asked and winked at me even though, unfortunately, he was fully clothed.

  “Strong.” I sputtered. “Eat your cake.”

  “How many strong men do you have in your life?” He peered up at me and raised one eyebrow.

  Dead ones or alive ones?

  I placed my hands on top of my hips. “I only have one,” I said. “You.”

  “Good.” He bit into the dessert. “Very good. Just like this pumpkin cake. Tell me why you keep showing up at crime scenes?”

  “The Marina Del Rey Cadillac Dealership is not a crime scene, unless you have just divulged classified, police department information.” I stalked back into my kitchen.

  “No, I haven’t. You know exactly what I mean. Too many coincidences, Annie.”

  I swiveled and whipped my hands in the air in the universal symbol for, ‘I’m innocent.’ “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Julia and I were simply killing time browsing for cars before we hit DSW Shoes to check out their sale.”

  “You knew Mack McManus in college. You dated him,” Rafe said between bites.

  Aw crap. Here we go. “Yes, I did. Allow me to give you the full, unadulterated scoop, so you don’t have to torture and pry it out of…”

  Hey wait a second…

  It had been way too long since we spent meaningful private time together and he was the one who brought up the “naked” comment. I was stressing. I was totally overdue in the between-the-sheets department... “Maybe I’ve been a bad, bad girl, Raphael.” I smiled coquettishly at him, tossed my long ponytail over my shoulder, and gently bit the tip of my index finger for a second. “I’ve still got those silken, cupcake print restraints somewhere…”

  He sighed and stared up at me. “Tempting, Annie. Do you realize we’ve been dating for six months now?”

  “Really? I had no idea.” I had a zillion ideas. They involved frosting, my really hot boyfriend, those restraints… and, wait a minute—that ‘six month’ thing was coming up again…

  “I met you during Derrick Fuller’s murder investigation—you were a minor suspect. In a strange way—you kind of solved that case.”

  I waved one hand at him. “You’re just flattering me. You’re so sweet and polite.”

  “I am not sweet and polite,” he said.

  “Yes, you are—otherwise I wouldn’t be dating you while I’m divorcing the Prince of Darkness.”

  “How’s that coming along, by the way—any closer to finalizing?”

  I sighed. “Mike’s attorney just sent me a letter stating he wants half of my bakery business. I responded by saying I no longer have a bakery business. And he’s more than welcome to half of nothing.”

  Raphael sighed. “I’m sorry. I just wish for you, for me, for the both of us that this whole divorce nightmare was over.”

  “Tell me about it.” I liked Raphael Campillio. I really, really liked him, and I think I loved him, scratch that—because I would not be the first to say those words.

  “But let’s not get distracted, shall we?” He asked.

  “Impossible. I’m always distracted by you.” I walked back to him, straddled his legs, wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned in close—our lips just inches apart. “Enough with the questions. I know you want to kiss me. Humor me and do it already.”

  “Of course I want to kiss you,” he said, but did not kiss me. “The next vic was that female clerk who was strangled at Snotsky’s Department Store. Eyewitnesses described a woman named Annie, matching your description, who had been in the store that day. Apparently, she got into an altercation with the perpetrator, that resulted in his being detained by an angry crowd, and led to his arrest for the clerk’s murder.”

  I yanked my arms from his neck. “Could have been a thousand women. I’m incredibly average looking,” I said. “Besides, how many women are named Annie or Frannie? Do you even know how many people go to those sales? Can I get you more cake? I’m famished!” I wiggled off him, snagged the remote from the side table, aimed it at the TV and clicked the “On” button. “There’s a Law and Order marathon on TNT. I know how
much you love that show.”

  “You love that show,” he said. “No, I don’t need cake—I’m on a roll.”

  “Hah-hah! You’re pretty funny! It’s time to feed my cat. Theodore!” I flipped on the electric can opener that whirred loudly and opened up a tin. “It’s wet cat food time!”

  Teddy appeared from God knows where, like a chubby rabbit out of a hat, and raced into the kitchen, meowing incessantly.

  “Looks like he made it through the lily poisoning just fine,” Raphael shouted over the cat and the TV.

  “Thanks to you. Oh look. Have you seen this ep, yet? It’s the one where—”

  “The next murder vic was that young fellow you used to babysit in Wisconsin. You went home for that stupid Hot Guys’ contest. That’s the time you kissed another man.”

  “It was not ‘stupid’, and I cop to one kiss,” I shouted. “And let’s not forget that occurred immediately after your former, on and off again girlfriend, told me over the phone that you and she had gotten back together.”

  “But we didn’t.” He grabbed the remote and powered down the volume.

  “She also told me that your mother calls her, ‘daughter.’ I heard your family’s Fourth of July party in the background. I wasn’t there. She was,” I said. “It stung. I thought this debacle was resolved. That it was history. That you’re over it.”

  “I thought it was, too. I guess I’m not and I’m not sure you are either. Now, Mack McManus, your former college boyfriend is murdered, here, in L.A.” Raphael ran his fingers through his jet-black hair. “Anything else I need to know before everyone down at the station starts ribbing me?”

  “Oh, my God! Do you really think I want your peers to ridicule you because you’re dating me? I feel terrible!”

  Double crap, Diary! Was the imagined I love you talk turning into the, I’m breaking up with you talk?

  “Don’t!” Raphael said. “You don’t know these people. They’re ruthless with the gossip, the innuendos, and the jabs. It’s like sport. Just tell me everything I need to know about Mack McManus.”