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, 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 toward 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. 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 procession of mourners. Yikes! That landing hurt more. Next jump 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,” 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 leaned back against the fence next to her.
“Fences don’t keep people out. 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 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. 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.
Concha. The middle-aged housekeeper. The 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 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 wrap dresses. 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? All her appropriate funeral clothes had shrunk in the old dryer at the Frisk & Fold Laundromat in Venice. And the sweats she was wearing were 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? Hmm.
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? There was 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.
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.
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 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?”
“’Because he didn’t know that I swiped 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 and cloudy 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 the 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 quitting 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 a margarita?” She 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 pointed to himself.
“Ooh. And who are you? Manuel Testicales?”
“That would make a great Latino porn name. I need to steal it.”
“I’ll give it to you. Everyone needs a great Latino porn name. Some day I’ll tell you mine.” Annie squeezed her eyes 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, I’ll borrow your binocs, ’kay?” 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 rubbed her neck.
Grady peered through the binocs, his head practically resting on her chest.
Annie felt nauseous and jabbed her hand into her stomach.
Grady felt 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 because 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 Power for this very nice funeral present! Derrick tried to stroke his empath’s long auburn hair. 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,” 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 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.”
Grady spotted 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 toward her car. He shoved her into the passenger seat, tossed her crutch in the back, tucked her bad foot in gently and slammed the door as Mike jogged toward 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 toward 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 toward 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 Iowan Baptist mother.”
“Everything in due time.” Grady 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 rehydrate you. Manuel Testicales is here to serve you.”
Derrick watched his empath leave in that 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. Dammit. Really tough questions. It was enough to put a furrow in his brow. Oh God. Would the Botox 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. Besides, who could resist the pageantry?
Funeral Fritters
Description: Fresh apple slices dipped in a lightly sugared, buttered and floured batter. Sautéed 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.
Grady listened in and looked at Annie, who was a step up from Chernobyl gray, as she leaned on her kitchen counter. He held up his middle finger and pointed it at the phone. “Screw them!” He said and handed her a margarita. “Enjoy.”
“Screw them!” Annie flipped her middle finger at the phone. Took a sip. “Yum. Very nice, Manuel. Can I get the recipe?”
“No, but you can keep me in your tool chest. Got any other job opportunities?”
“None, whatsoever,” she replied and took another sip. Two. Three. Acted like she was cool. But her hand that held the drink shook slightly.
Grady tried not to look concerned. “How are your finances?”
“Absolute shit,” she said, handed him her drink, hobbled toward her couch, lay down and put her foot up on pillows.
He re-filled her margarita glass and handed it back to her. “You going to hit Mike up for alimony?”
“Do you know how much debt Mike incurred for acting classes, head shots, therapy and facials? There is no money for alimony. There are on
ly ginormous credit card bills.”
“Oh,” Grady said. “Have another slug, I mean sip, of your margarita. What about your inheritance?”
“I tapped it to move out here and invest in our careers. And my latest move cost a fortune.”
“Oh well,” Grady grimaced. “Buena suerte,” he said and toasted Annie.
“I’d like some good luck, thank you.” She toasted back.
The last three answering machine messages were from family members.
Message #1: Annie’s Aunt Susan, her mom’s sister, insisted that Mike and Los Angeles were part of a satanic cult and that Annie must move back to Wisconsin, immediately. Aunt Susan placed the squirrel and other rodent traps and was certain that within a week, Annie could live in her attic bungalow without being nibbled.
Message #2: Her brother Carson talked low and quiet into the answering machine. “Sis. Debacle #1. We can crush him. Let me know when.” Uh-oh. Annie knew this meant Carson had called his Wisconsin Homies and they had already stock piled their favorite guns and ammo. Midwestern ice and snowstorms be damned. Carson and his Wisomies would brave the elements, pile into a tricked out truck and head to sunny L.A. to take out her wandering husband.
Message #3 was from her Mom. “Annie Rose Graceland, this is your mother. I realize you didn’t know your father Joe, but I want to remind you that your dad loved you dearly.”
Grady walked over and handed Annie another frosty margarita. “Nancy on the sauce?”
“No. Just us.” Annie took the drink.
“Your father, Joe Graceland was funny and handsome and a little in your face. We were very young, but we fell crazy in love. My family thought I could do better and his parents knew he could. And yet… here you both are, our beautiful daughter Annie and handsome son Carson. I want you to know. I truly regret I couldn’t get my act together to date, and re-marry and you know, find you and your brother a decent step-dad.
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