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

by Pamela DuMond

  When Theodore, all sixteen pounds of his long-haired feline self, vaulted across the living room and pounced on Grady’s lap.

  “Hunh!” Grady catapulted to sitting and the papers went flying.

  Theodore’s ears swiveled back, but he held his ground, monitored Grady with his huge, saucer-like, crystal blue eyes and started treading his stomach.

  “Hey, ginormous kitty. That feels weird. Stop it. Shoo.”

  Theodore narrowed his eyes but kept treading.

  “Mike doesn’t want to get back with me. He wants to get back at me. It wasn’t my fault he got fired from his Family Values spokesmodel gig when they uncovered his weird YouTube videos.”

  “You mean—those YouTube videos. The ones where he was—”

  “Yup,” Annie said.

  “How’d Family Values find out about them?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care.”

  “You didn’t…” Grady said.

  “Please. Why bother?” Annie said. “Underneath his nice-guy demeanor, Mike’s just a mean-spirited man. He assumed and decided to punish me.”

  “Sorry,” Grady said. “Um—why won’t your cat leave me alone?”

  “Teddy likes a challenge.” Annie measured, poured and mixed more frosting ingredients in the bowl. “He’s determined to make everyone love him.”

  “In a strange kind of way, this feels almost pleasant….”

  “That stomach massage he’s doing is a great colon cleanse technique,” Annie said. “You’ll be saying goodbye to stuff tomorrow that’s been sticking around inside you for decades.”

  “My mother’s holiday fruitcake.” Theodore plunked down on Grady’s chest, stared into his eyes and purred. “He’s never done this with me before.”

  “I know.” Annie stirred the frosting, stopped, and pulled another tray of cupcakes from the oven. “Theodore’s devious. He waits until there’s some kind of emergency—like Mike trying to steal him—and then ups the ante by being ridiculously cute. Now he knows you’ll be on his side and try to help him.”

  “Of course I’ll help him. I mean you. In any way I can.”

  Annie pointed her spatula at Grady who was smiling like a fool at Teddy. “See? That’s how a cat or a dog sucks you into caring about them. They do adorable things and suddenly you can’t live without them. Then some well-intentioned animal rescue person guilts you into making two hundred cupcakes from scratch and volunteering for the Sweet Paws Holiday Furball.”

  Grady scratched Theodore’s chin, chest and then gave him a full back massage.

  “Might I ask one tiny favor on his behalf?”

  “Only one,” Grady said.

  “Help me transport these cupcakes to the Bauerfeld Center for the Furball? I don’t expect you to stay. I just need a reliable person with strong arms to help me with the delivery thingie.”

  “I’ve got a date with my boyfriend, tonight. Liam and I are celebrating our seven and ½ month anniversary. What about your hot boyfriend, the detective?”

  “The Detective is busy detecting tonight,” Annie said. “Bring Liam? He can help shlep cupcakes, too.”

  “I like him, Annie. He’s a good guy,” Grady said.

  “I like him, too, Grade. He seems sweet and relatively normal. Just ask him one question before you get serious.”

  “Okay. Maybe. If it’s not too embarrassing.”

  “If you ever decide to get married and then you adopted a cat…”

  “Oh.” Grady sighed.

  “If you split up would he try and steal your cat from you?”

  “Oh.” Grady frowned. “I highly doubt Liam would be that much of a jerk.”

  “I never thought Mike would be that much of a jerk either.”

  “I’ll help you shlep the cupcakes,” Grady said. “I’ll ask Liam if he’ll help. No pressure, but I’m falling in love with Theodore. You might have to share him with me.”

  “Talk to Mike and his lawyer, Larry Little. We’ll work out a schedule,” Annie said.

  5

  A Christmas Goose

  Annie and Grady held tall stacks of wide, flat bakery boxes filled with gingerbread cupcakes as they stood at the entrance to the Bauerfeld Foundation’s petite ballroom. The floors were mahogany, the lighting fixtures elegant but simple. Sliding glass doors looked out on a deck outfitted with fire pits, heat lamps and modern patio furniture. The Pacific Ocean surf crashed in the near background as a glorious sunset descended to where the land met the water.

  The ballroom was decked with garlands and wreathes and fake candles to avoid fires should tipsy guests or restless paws knock them over. Several small bars manned by uniformed bartenders were set up throughout the room. Sweet Paws volunteers wore nametags and matching red and green T-shirts as they placed items on tables lining one wall for the silent auction, as well as animal carriers filled with kittens, cats, puppies and dogs against another wall. Christmas music played from invisible speakers.

  “Where’s the Furball dragon lady?” Grady asked. “Sorry I can’t stay longer, but I don’t want to be late for my date. Liam told me to tell you sorry he couldn’t help us—someone got sick and he’s covering the rest of their shift.”

  “No worries,” Annie said.

  “Fannie!” a woman hollered from across the room.

  Annie’s head swiveled. “Lisette!”

  “Fannie, at last! I was starting to worry. You brought the cupcakes just in time!” Lisette clacked across the wooden floor in her low-heeled, green, sparkly pumps wearing a conservative, red suit. She leaned in and air kissed Annie on both cheeks.

  “You do remember my name’s Annie, right?”

  “Of course, darling. Lisette eyed Grady up and down. “You haven’t introduced me to your handsome …boyfriend?”

  “Not my boyfriend. Lisette, this is Grady.”

  “So thoughtful of you to help your friend. A thoughtful man who has a full head of hair and is in very good shape. Hmm. A girl could only hope that you’re single, right?”

  Grady gulped like a discombobulated guppy that flopped out of his fishbowl.

  “My very cute friend is gay, in a committed, happy relationship and not available,” Annie said.

  “Oh well. The holidays will bring other cheers. Annie—the Christmas tree cupcake stand is in the center of the room,” she pointed to a tall round table, “so everyone can see it. You’re running a little late. Our guests will be arriving imminently. Chop-chop!”

  When a guy in a Santa outfit stumbled past Annie, veered around Grady and Lisette, squinted at a bar across the room and careened toward it. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas! Santa needs a little cheer before everyone sits on his lap. Because Santa’s tricky hip isn’t feeling all that stable tonight.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Annie hacked as she glared at Kenny Klausen.

  He held a drink in his hand. He downed it as he lumbered past a few elves and a photographer on his way to the Santa throne tucked appropriately next to the towering fireplace in the corner of the ballroom.

  “The same disgusting slug of a man who groped my friend and me at the mall is the Furball’s Santa?”

  “Our regular Santa came down with the flu,” Lisette said. I’m sure Mr. Klausen is more than qualified. He’s a member of PSA you know.”

  “Blech,” Annie said. “We’re delivering the two hundred cupcakes I promised for your Furball and you can consider our deal done.”

  “But you said that you’d fashion them into a cupcake tree.” Lisette pouted. “You promised.”

  “I bought the ingredients, I made the cupcakes. I slaved over a hot stove. I sweated for hours perfecting the frosting and the cute little menorah and Christmas tree decorations on their tops. We delivered them. I included the secret recipes for your silent auction. In the name of Theodore von Pumpernickel, the best cat in the entire world, I’ve done my share and I’m leaving.”

  “But what about the starving, homeless kittens?” Lisette frowned, arched one dramati
c eyebrow and pointed at the animal carriers.

  “Oh my God,” Grady’s eyes widened. “Are the starving, homeless kittens here tonight?”

  Annie thought about Theodore. “A former starving Sweet Paws orphan now weighs sixteen pounds and is probably sitting on my couch glued to a Hallmark Christmas movie. He loves the heartfelt moments and the shiny ornaments.”

  “We have to help the kittens, Annie,” Grady said.

  “You’re falling hook, line and sinker, dude. This is how they reel you in.”

  “I’ll stay and help—if you stay and help?”

  “You promised.” Lisette stomped her glittery shoe on the mahogany floor.

  Annie placed one hand on her jaw and the other on her head and cracked her neck. “Yeah there,” she said. “That feels better. I’ll stay if you promise me I don’t have to be within one hundred feet of that disgusting man.” She tilted her head in Bad Santa’s direction.

  When Kenny spotted Annie. “Yo sweet cheeks! You missed Bad Santa’s tender touch and came back for more. Where’s your friend with the bodacious boo—”

  “Shut up, asshat. She’s not here. Unlike me, she has a life.”

  “We don’t encourage swearing at the Furball,” Lisette said.

  “I can give you a life,” Kenny said. “I can give you more than a life. I can give you—”

  “Ahem,” Lisette said. “You need to take your rightful place on the holiday throne, Mr. Klausen. Greet our guests and their beloved pets. Pursue your private life in your private time.”

  “Do you see what I mean?” Annie said. “That man’s a pig. How can you expect me to work in the same room with him?”

  “Oh Annie,” Lisette said. “Do you know how many times we rescue animals who are disheveled, diseased and covered in filth? We clean them, feed them, stitch them back together and try to heal their wounds. Then we attempt to find them loving homes. That’s the spirit of animal rescue.”

  “That’s the spirit of the holidays,” Grady said.

  “How come everyone guilts you with the ‘holiday spirit’ thing?” Annie asked.

  “Maybe Kenny Klausen is a jerk,” Lisette said. “Or maybe Kenny Klausen needs a little bit of rescuing as well?”

  Kenny lumbered to the throne and sat back with a plunk. He sighed, smiled, stared at Annie and then waggled his tongue at her.

  “I am telling you right now. No matter what happens for the rest of my life, even if it involves world peace, one of my favorite hopes, might I add—under any circumstances—I will not rescue that guy,” Annie said. “Someone else can have a Christmas goose. I’ve already experienced mine.”

  Bootsy Bauerfeld with her brunette, helmet hairdo, wearing a fancy St. John’s suit, accompanied by two small, white, scruffy dogs that pranced next to her ambled toward Santa’s throne. She was probably in her late fifties, but her eyes were as wide and innocent as a child on Christmas morning. “Mr. Dasher and I would love to have our picture taken with you.”

  Kenny Klausen eyed Bootsy. “I don’t know about the dog. How about just you—the mutt can lie next to your feet or something.”

  “Crap,” Lisette said. “That’s the Mrs. Bauerfeld. She owns this place. Excuse me.”

  Lisette raced to Bootsy’s side, leaned over and scooped up Mr. Dasher. “Might I remind you, Santa, you’re no longer at the North Pole. You’re at the Sweet Paws Furball—the most festive, happy occasion of the year. Bootsy Bauerfeld and Mr. Dasher, here,” she petted the dog on his head as he squirmed and gnawed on her hand, “are the reason we’re here at the Bauerfeld House in beautiful Santa Monica, California. Bootsy and Bob Bauerfeld are hosting this amazing animal rescue fund-raiser at the Bauerfeld House on the beach.”

  “Ah,” Kenny Klausen nodded his head. “Why, yes, Bootsy. I have one knee for you and one for that gorgeous dog of yours, Mr. Dasher.” Kenny squirmed in his Santa chair. “His shots are up to date, yes? He’s had his flea meds?”

  “Or course,” Bootsy lowered herself onto Kenny’s right leg. Mr. Dasher looked up at Bootsy, then Kenny and growled in a soprano.

  “Is he a nipper, Bootsy?” Kenny asked.

  “Nothing that alcohol, a little arnica and a band-aid can’t handle.”

  “I like scotch,” Kenny said.

  “Mr. Dasher’s just a puppy, and you know, the babies get excited,” Bootsy said. “My first dog, my beloved Blitzen, passed about nine months ago. He was sixteen, very regal, wise and a bit of a character. My husband Bob and I adored him. One of the reasons we built Bauerfeld House was to give charities like Sweet Paws, as well as other deserving communities and people, a place to raise money. A place to call home.”

  Kenny and Bootsy tipped a little to the right and appeared like they might fall over. Lisette rushed behind Kenny and pushed both hands with all her might on the opposite side of his throne. “Time for Mr. Dasher to hop aboard Santa’s other leg. Come on boy.” Lisette whistled.

  Kenny swiveled his head and eyed Lisette. “Is that an invitation?”

  “No. Shut up. I mean be quiet, Santa.” Lisette leaned toward him and hissed in his ear. “So help me God if you screw up tonight, I will kill you.” She pulled something small and brown from her pocket and held it up in the air above Mr. Dasher’s head. “Treat?” She tossed it onto Kenny’s lap and both dogs jumped up and sat on his leg.

  Kenny scrunched his eyes shut and tensed his shoulders. Camera lights flashed. “Oh thank you, Santa!” Bootsy said and walked away, the dogs following on her heels.

  “He’s just a puppy, Mr. Claus,” Lisette said. “That’s why we hired you right? To take pictures of the animal lovers and their pets with Santa tonight. Remember?”

  “I fear it’s going to be a long night,” Kenny said.

  “Nothing wrong with a long night as long as it’s a profitable night,” Lisette said. “Animals get adopted, money is earned for their health-care. And we pay you, Santa, a king’s ransom for being so warm, kind and friendly when you help us.”

  “Lisette, my pet!” A thin, designer attired woman exclaimed from across the ballroom.

  Lisette swiveled and spotted the doyenne clutching her chihuahua and waving from the opposite side of the space that was rapidly filling with party guests. “Lauren, my love! So excited you could make it. You brought Fifi! Come, come! Sit on Santa’s lap and take your picture!” She waved her over. “I do believe there’s a silent auction fashion basket from Snotsky’s of Santa Monica with your name written on it.”

  Annie poked Grady in his arm and pointed to Lisette. “You see? They don’t need us.” They watched as Lisette and Lauren swapped air kisses. “Lisette is savvy and Sweet Paws is in for a very profitable night of fund-raising. We don’t have to be here. They’ll be fine without us.”

  “But what if I want to be here?” Grady asked.

  Annie shook her head. “Huh?”

  6

  Backstabbing Friends

  “What happened to your anniversary date with Liam?” Annie asked.

  Grady gazed around at the festive room and the tables that were rapidly being filled with pet carriers and cages filled with dogs and cats, kittens and puppies. The silent auction packages were decorated with little bags of dog and cat treats accompanied by their item descriptions. A third wall held tables filled with platters of snackies. Uniformed waiters walked through the room with trays of hors d’oeurves and cocktails. “I think Liam would like it here. I’m texting him.” He pulled his cell from his pocket and keyed in a message.

  Annie shrugged. “You can stay here with Liam and party on. But I’m out of here.”

  “You sure? Looks like fun!”

  “I’ve had just about as much fun as I can stomach for tonight. Thanks for helping me and happy holidays.” Annie leaned in and bear-hugged Grady.

  “Oh Fannie. I must admit I stole one of your cupcakes and tried it. It’s like the best gingerbread cupcake ever.”

  “Crap,” Annie whispered into Grady’s ear. “Can I make a run for i
t?”

  “She’s hovering,” he whispered. “Unless you’re an Olympic sprinter, I kind of doubt it. Whatever she’s asking—just tell her no.” He released her.

  Annie looked up at Lisette. “My name’s Annie.”

  “Right.” Lisette arched her talented brow. “Do you remember when you offered to help our beloved charity in any way possible?”

  Annie sighed. “No.”

  “Thank God I recorded it,” Lisette held out her iPhone and hit play.

  Annie heard her voice recording loud and clear. “Fine. Uncle. I give up. Anything else you need?” She face palmed her hand into her forehead then pulled it together and stared steely-eyed at Lisette. “Okay. You got me. As long as it doesn’t involve helping pervert Santa. Just let me do it and get out of here, I beg you.”

  “Our Mrs. Claus cancelled somewhat last minute because of the flu. Could you find it in your heart to put on a Mrs. Claus outfit and play her for only like an hour, max? While you set up the cupcake Christmas tree?”

  “No,” Annie said. “The tree’s table is too close to bad Santa. I won’t tolerate that man.”

  Lisette leaned in, squeezed Annie’s arm and whispered. “I read that your bakery business took a big hit when you became a suspect in Dr. Derrick Fuller’s murder. Even though you were exonerated, more than half a year later, you’re still working at a deli.”

  “You Googled me?”

  “Of course I Googled you. Doesn’t everyone Google people they’re contemplating working with?”

  Annie harrumphed. “The pay is decent at Mort Feinberg’s Famous Deli and I get free bagels.”

  “Consider for a moment that all the people here tonight at the Furball have money to donate. Similar to the Medicis in Italy during the Renaissance period, they pride themselves on discovering talented artists they can support. When they see your gorgeous cupcake tree and taste those amazing gingerbread cupcakes, they’ll practically be tripping over themselves and backstabbing their friends to finance your bakery business first. Would you like to have your own bakery business again, Annie?”