1 Cupcakes, Lies, and Dead Guys

by Pamela DuMond

  “That’s right,” Sienna said and ran her tongue over her upper lip. “We’re col-lab-o-ra-ting.”

  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 all 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 toward him. “Sorry sweetie. Dinner’s late tonight.”

  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 let 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 the 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. She 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. She 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? Twenty-five thousand 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 vitamin 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 stateme
nts, 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?”

  Kyle’s cell rang and he picked up. “Thanks for returning my call, Chloe. How well do you know Tawny Fuller?” he asked. “Oh, you’re her manicurist. You know her professionally.” Kyle 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 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 tough 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, Rafael?”

  “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. Three 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…”

  “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. He 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.

  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, while sneaking away from an uncomfortable situation. Being caught with 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 reclined on her head and stared slit-eyed at Derrick. He obviously considered himself her bodyguard. The clock hit 4:30 a.m. The alarm rang.

  Annie shuddered. Teddy leaped off her head. She groaned, pushed herself off the couch and stumbled toward 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 one hundred thousand 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 have this disease thingy and I have to tell you’ phone-call, if you know what I mean. I 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 unengaged.”

  “Huh,” Annie said and looked at her legs. The front one was shaking. “Caving in,” and “unengaged” 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. 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.