Pamela DuMond - Annie Graceland 04 - Cupcakes, Paws, and Bad Santa Claus

by Pamela DuMond

  A few tiny tears leaked from the corner of Julia’s eyes and she shook her head, no.

  Annie glared at Blondie and stepped on the scale. Oh crap, she wished she hadn’t perfected those delectable, blueberry cream cheese cupcakes over the past couple of weeks. She couldn’t help herself and glanced down at the wavering stick. It wobbled precariously on the last number allowed in her height category. She hopped off the scale. “Hah! I demand you deduct the extra twenty dollars.”

  “Technically I only have to take off ten—”

  “We were practically sexually assaulted by your Santa. You profiled us, which could result in a class-less action suit—”

  “Class-action suit,” Julia said.

  “And then, Twizzle, you insulted my very best friend in the entire world. While I can put up with a few inappropriate sexual come-ons and indelicate type-casting? I will never, do you hear me say—never—put up with someone who deliberately hurts my BFF.”

  “Fine, pay us the eighty-six which includes tax and we’ll call it a day.” Blondie said.

  Julia’s hand shook as she slid her credit card through the machine. Annie reached for it and squeezed it. “We will not let mean people get away with their meanness, Julia. I love you pumpkin. What’s an extra five pounds? For God’s sake, men love curvy, smart women. Witness the Kardashian debacle.”

  An elf handed them their envelope filled with photos as well as two twelve-inch long candy canes. The promotional greeting, “WESTSIDE MALL—We’ve got it all!” was embedded into the colorful stripes that wrapped around the candies.

  “Ho-Ho-Ho! Happy holidays!” We invite you to tip the elves. We don’t make a lot around here, you know.”

  Annie sighed, dug in her purse for her wallet, pulled out a couple of bucks and handed it to him.

  “Squee! I’m eternally grateful,” the elf said. “I’ll spend this on a sno-cone and picture you with every bite.”

  Annie glared at him and pointed to his nametag. “Look Bruno the Elf. I am done with you ass—’

  Julia pinched Annie’s lips shut. “No one told us we had to tip the elves.”

  “And there in lies the problem. No one ever respects the elves.” Bruno stomped away.

  Annie pulled Julia’s hand off her lips. “Seriously? Could this shopping trip get any worse? I’m going to complain to mall management. I am going to rip them a new one. I’m going to threaten—Ow! Ouch! What are you doing?”

  Annie winced as Julia clamped onto Annie’s ear, hustled her away from bad Santa’s booth and hissed, “You are not going to say anything to mall management. I don’t want to hear one complaint exit your mouth.”

  “But—” Annie squeaked.

  “No buts,” Julia said. “I love this mall. I love this mall more than I love my great-aunt Thelma, more than I love fried chicken—and yes, I know I’m pushing it—but I love Westside Mall even more than I love Chris Hemsworth, the actor with the best shoulders I’ve seen in my entire life. I do not want to get kicked out or blacklisted from this shopping mecca simply because you’re in a foul mood.”

  “You’re blaming the Bad Santa debacle on me?” Annie asked. “Fine. I’ll stay quiet. Can we go home now?”

  “Yes! Happy your holiday doldrums have rubbed off on me?” When suddenly Julia’s attention was drawn to—“Hold on. Wait a second. Holy mother—look!”

  3

  Candy Canes

  Julia pointed to a storefront’s glassed in display. “Truly Trashy Lingerie is having a sale on holiday-themed teddies, bustiers and garter belts. Their Candy Cane line of intimates is naughty, edible and now gluten-free. I need to hurry up before all the good stuff is gone!” She dragged Annie toward the store.

  Annie ground her teeth. She couldn’t help it. She used to love Christmas, but now she hated this holiday hub-bub. Why were Halloween decorations plastering store shelves the day after Labor Day? Why were Christmas items up for sale on November first? Where was the joy? Where was the wonder that she remembered during Christmas season when she was a kid back in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin? When she went caroling with all the other children and wrapped her Mom’s Christmas presents, including her own.

  And that’s when she spotted it. A long conference table filled with pet carriers, stacks of brochures, a large tip jar filled with coins and a few dollar bills. Two older women sat next to the table and held kittens on their laps as they cleaned out the squirming felines’ ears with gauze pads.

  One woman talked to a mom whose son was sprawled on the floor next to them, screaming and kicking his feet. “Don’t adopt a pet simply for your children,” the woman said. “Do adopt a pet for yourself. While your kids can learn valuable lessons by taking care of an animal, a pet still needs an adult’s attention and supervision.”

  Annie smiled. The table was occupied by Sweet Paws Animal Rescue, the charity where she’d adopted Theodore von Pumpernickel, her beloved cat. She took the first deep breath since she’d set foot in this mall. Her forehead relaxed, her jaw unclenched. She felt somewhat human. “Go buy whatever, Julia. I’m headed over to Sweet Paws Animal Rescue table.”

  “That’s more dangerous than Santa with his breath mints. Those volunteers are like hypnotists. They’ll talk you into donating money you don’t have and fostering five kittens that translates into you’ll be adopting five cats. And then you’ll be the Cat-Lady and become the brunt of all the Cat-Lady jokes as you grow older.”

  Annie smiled. “Ta-ta!” She kissed her on her cheek, grabbed her waist, spun her around and pushed her toward Truly Trashy Lingerie. “Time is of the essence. God-speed! Gluten-free, edible panty-sets won’t last forever. We live in L.A., you know.”

  “Be careful!” Julia careened toward the risqué attired mannequins.

  Annie walked toward the Sweet Paws table. At last, she thought. At last, I can hang with people who love animals. Normal people. Folks who are kind and loving and giving and won’t goose me, or judge me for superficial things. I’m home, she thought. I’m finally home.

  “Fannie Graceland. That name sounds familiar.” The Sweet Paws volunteer lady with the skinny, stenciled in eyebrows typed on her laptop. “I updated your contact information and current address.”

  “My name’s Annie.”

  “Right. Initial here and confirm that you signed up to donate three hundred cupcakes for our Furball Charity Gala this Saturday at the Bauerfeld Foundation House in Santa Monica on the beach. No chocolate cupcakes—dogs are allergic to chocolate. And there will be dogs in attendance. Should any crumbs fall on the floor—it could be deadly.”

  “Yes, I know about the chocolate-deadly thing for dogs.” Annie said. “Regarding the three hundred cupcake donation? I clearly stated I’d donate three cupcake recipes as well as three dollars. I’m a little stretched right now: financially, time and well, frankly, stress-wise. I don’t think I can pull off a job that big on my own. Why don’t I just put the money in your donation jug, write you a testimonial about how much I love my cat, how fabulous you all are, donate the three recipes and call it a day?”

  The volunteer blinked. “You don’t like animals?”

  “Of course I like animals,” Annie said. “I love animals.”

  “You adopted an animal from our organization who changed your life for the better, yes?”

  “Yes,” Annie said.

  “You don’t have any room in your heart to help us? Like those inn-keepers in Bethlehem who turned away Mary and Joseph?” The woman arched one eyebrow.

  Annie sighed. “How about twenty bucks, twenty non-chocolate cupcakes, and I’ll volunteer two hours at your Furball fundraiser?”

  “Perfect.” The woman typed. “Annie Graceland. Donation: One hundred dollars, two hundred cupcakes which you’ll fashion into a festive cupcake Christmas tree and eight hours volunteering at the Furball.”

  Annie blinked as her shoulders rose toward her ears. “Fine,” she said. “Uncle. I give up. Anything else you need?”

  “We’ll think of some
thing, darling. We always do. My name’s Lisette Capulet.” She extended her hand toward Annie. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  “Yes,” Annie shook Lisette’s hand. “Couldn’t be more thrilled.”

  Annie pulled tray after tray of homemade, gingerbread cupcakes out of the oven and placed them on cooling racks in her tiny kitchen. Her friend Laura Devries, from Cupcakes-A-Go-Go in Madison, Wisconsin, had sent her the awesome holiday recipe. Truthfully, Christmas cupcakes didn’t get any better than this.

  Instead of paying several crucial bills that were enormously past due she’d spent a fortune on cupcake ingredients. So what if the electric company turned off her power? She had a flashlight and could totally maneuver in the dark. Who cared if The Gas Company cut her service? She’d taken a few cold showers before. Okay, only twice and that was at a camp in Michigan for delinquent Lutheran teenagers.

  Everything was dealable as long as she baked, decorated and delivered the two hundred delectable cupcakes she’d promised to Sweet Paws Furball, the charity where she met, bonded with and adopted her cat. Because Annie had a thing about promises: she didn’t like to renege on them.

  Her screenwriter friend, Grady, lounged on the couch just a few yards away in her living room that multi-tasked as her foyer, bedroom and office. Yes, her Venice California studio was tiny, kind-of in the hood, but still pricey. That’s the way housing rolled in L.A.

  Grady hummed along to Christmas carols, wearing earbuds plugged into his iPhone. His new reading glasses slid down his nose as he examined Annie’s latest batch of divorce documents sent by Mike’s attorney. Grady was mid-thirties and cute in a geeky-kind-of way. He was Midwestern, honest, sweet and if he’d been straight, Annie and he probably would have been dating. But he wasn’t and she was fine with that.

  Grady flipped through the document and pulled out one ear bud. “Larry Little, Esquire of Little, Little and Steinfeld, P.C. seems to be on a bit of a power-trip as evidenced by his purple-prose demanding Mike retain co-ownership of Theodore, your gigantic cat.”

  “It was a very dark and extremely stormy night,” Annie said.

  Grady cracked a smile, replaced the ear bud and kept reading.

  Theodore bolted from the kitchen into the living room and headed for the couch, his tail twitching high in the air.

  Annie fanned her over-heated face, peeled her ‘I Heart Cupcakes’ apron off her chest, dropped her chin and blew little puffs of air down her shirt. When suddenly her chest felt icy instead of sweaty and all the little hairs on her arms stood up like they were soldiers at attention.

  A chill swept from the roots of her hair and descended through her body to her toes. She shivered and squeezed her eyes shut. She only felt this frosty cold in the middle of minus forty wind chill during a Wisconsin winter, or sometimes when there was a ghost in the room. And she shuddered—because she knew—she was in Southern California.

  Annie had several run-ins with ghosts since her major life debacle seven months ago when the narcissistic, self-help author Derrick Fuller, the man who ruined her marriage, was murdered. Even worse—someone killed Derrick with one of Annie’s signature cupcakes. She became a suspect in his demise, lost her bakery business and her marriage tanked. Even worse? When Derrick didn’t pass to the Afterlife, he haunted her, nagging her incessantly to track down his real murderer, who then threatened Annie’s life. Real joy ride that debacle was.

  Or maybe it wasn’t a ghost? Maybe Los Angeles was just undergoing its yearly cold snap. Like—the temperature had dropped into the fifties or something. Annie had lived here for four years now and she’d lost her tolerance for cold weather. Maybe if she were really lucky there would be no ghosts: she was simply a cold-weather wuss. She said a silent prayer, crossed her fingers and fluttered her eyes open.

  Peppermint Candy Cane Cookies

  Prep time: 20 minutes

  Baking time: 8 minutes

  Makes: Approximately 4 dozen cookies

  INGREDIENTS:

  Cookies:

  1 cup butter

  ½ cup sugar

  1 egg, beaten

  1 tsp vanilla

  2 ½ cups sifted flour

  ½ tsp salt

  1 cup rolled oats

  1/3 peppermint crushed candies

  Frosting:

  4 cups powdered sugar

  4 to 8 tablespoons light cream

  Dash of salt

  1 tsp peppermint extract

  Natural Red Extract:

  Combine ¼ tsp red beet powder with 1 tsp cold water. Mix the powder and cold water. More beet powder makes the mixture redder. Less will make it pinker. Use a little cheesecloth to strain the red beet mixture. Gently squeeze out the red liquid into a different cup. Add to frosting to color it red naturally – no icky preservatives.

  DIRECTIONS:

  Cookies:

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cream the butter and add sugar to it. Blend in egg and vanilla. Add flour and salt to mixture. Stir. Add oats and candy. Stir. Chill for a bit in fridge.

  Roll out about 1/8 inch on board lightly dusted with a mixture of powdered sugar and flour. (You can use a festive-shaped holiday cookie cutter.) Place on lightly greased cookie sheets. Bake 8 to 10 minutes. Cool on racks.

  Frosting:

  Mix sugar and cream so it is not too thin, but not too thick to spread on the cookies. Add salt and extract. Add natural food coloring. Stir. Apply gently to cooled cookies.

  4

  Ridiculously Cute

  The metro-sexual, handsome, blue ghost of the former, über popular, self-help author Dr. Derrick Fuller, stood directly in front of her. His chin practically rested on her chest as he blew air down her shirt.

  “My knee is located directly under your groin Derrick,” Annie said. “Stop blowing your ghost breath down my cleavage or I will inflict damage on your manly parts that will make even a dead guy cringe.

  Derrick held one hand up in the air and stepped a few feet back from her. “Cut a guy a break. I was feeling the Christmas spirit, pictured you slaving away in your hovel and decided to pop in and give you a pep talk. That’s when I spotted you all sweaty and performed my good deed.”

  “Breathing heavily on my boobs does not qualify you for sainthood.”

  “Perhaps I prevented a heat stroke. Medical intervention totally counts as a good deed.”

  “Perhaps you simply wanted to stare at my boobs, up close and personal.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Derrick sighed. “You’re becoming so wise my little flower.”

  “I’m not your little flower.”

  “All right. Cupcake.”

  Annie sighed. Derrick was still naked except for his silver, Pucci thong. The same thong he had died in earlier that year, and when he didn’t pass to the Afterlife, haunted Annie to find his killer. Because who better to assist him than someone who was kind-of psychic.

  Annie had tried multiple approaches to get Derrick to pass over. She found his killer and solved his murder. He didn’t pass. She encouraged him to do good deeds. Perhaps he hadn’t done enough or that simply wasn’t the ticket because he was still here. Popping up at annoying moments. Materializing whenever he felt like it. But not today. “I don’t have time for your dilemma du jour, Derrick.” Annie fake-coughed into her hand and glanced at Grady who was still absorbed in her paperwork. “Leave.”

  “I’m here because I care about you. You’re working your ample behind off because some bossy, do-gooder woman talked you into doing something you really don’t want to do. As an acclaimed self-help author, with a doctorate degree—”

  “That you bought off an Internet site,” she said.

  “I deduce that you continue to succumb to others’ requests and demands because you didn’t receive enough validation from your parents when you were a child.” Derrick placed his hand on her shoulder.

  Annie’s face twitched and she tossed a gob of frosting at him, but it flew through his immaculate hair and landed on her kitc
hen floor. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Otherwise,” Derrick removed his hand, “you’d tell these folks who always talk you into doing things you don’t want to do to stuff it.”

  “Stuff it, Derrick. I don’t know what you want. I don’t care. I solved your murder months ago. You’re supposed to have passed to the Afterlife, but no. You’re here staring at my cleavage. Since when have you taken the time out of your day to give me a pep talk? You don’t care about me. All you care about is you. Whatever you want? Whatever you’re here for? My answer is no.”

  Derrick blinked and put his hand over his heart. “Someone’s not feeling the holiday spirit. Mrs. Grinch.” He started fading away. “Off to spread more cheer,” he said and vanished in tiny, blue pinpricks of light.

  Grady pulled his earbuds out. “I don’t blame you for telling Mike and his divorce attorney no. Why in the hell does Mike suddenly want to co-own Teddy? Correct me if I’m wrong, but did he even notice him when you were actually married?”

  “He noticed him that time he wiped out on a kitty urp on our former apartment’s granite kitchen floor,” Annie said. “I had to hide Teddy in various closets and our laundry room for a week. I felt like we were in Nazi Germany.”

  “Maybe Mike is buying time because he wants to get back with you.”

  “Maybe Mike can bite me for all the good that will do him.” Annie mixed frosting ingredients in a large ceramic bowl.