The Annie Graceland Cupcakes Cozy Mystery Box Set #2: Books 5 - 7

by Pamela DuMond

I grabbed onto the auto’s roof, stopped in my tracks, and teetered. “This is not turning into the fun adventure you promised.” I swiveled, hopped a few more steps, and flung open her back door. “I can’t believe I’m not even allowed to sit in the passenger seat.”

  “Hang on, Mack’s moving. We can’t be showing up at Marina Cadillac with you in the back and me in the front, unless I’m like your driver, or…” Annie said. “What? That’s not a bad idea? Devin’s not going to buy… Okay—fine—we’ll try it your way. You’re the used car salesman, after all. Fine! Previously Owned Vehicle Salesman. You can explain your idea during our drive over there. Ack!” She squirmed, wriggled around, and spazzed out for a few seconds.

  “Oh, my God!” I exclaimed. “Are you having a seizure?”

  “I’m fine!” She grimaced. “No tickling! We agreed. Julia—just get in the back. Stop it, Mack!” She screamed at her passenger seat.

  I settled into the back and strapped on my seat belt. “Let’s do it. Give me a couple of sanitary wipes and fair warning before we get there so I can I refresh my lipstick.”

  Annie tossed a few wipes over her shoulder. I caught them and scrubbed the bottom of my shoe. I wasn’t sure how this ‘suspect investigation’ would turn out. She flipped on the radio to the Golden Oldies station. “Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car” by Billy Ocean played. Billy Ocean could get into Annie’s car and take my place here anytime he wanted. I wasn’t sure if we’d find any good information, let alone survive another stealth tickle attack by Mack as we drove on the very busy, six-lane Lincoln Avenue from Venice Beach, California toward the Marina. But I was here, just like I promised.

  Suddenly, Annie gasped, hit the brakes, and white-knuckled the steering wheel as my head whiplashed.

  “Stop screaming like a five-year-old having a meltdown!” She said.

  “I’m not! Stop driving like your first day in Driver’s Ed!”

  “I don’t mean you, Julia.” She stomped her foot back on the gas as the tires screeched and we flew forward. “Mack. What do you mean the guy from the Village People is sprawled out in the back seat?” Her face pinched as she squinted in the rearview mirror. “Oh, crap!” She punched on the radio.

  Strangely enough, “YMCA” by The Village People blared.

  “You tell me right now that I am not sitting next to Derrick Fuller,” I shouted over the disco music and cowered in the corner.

  “Toughen up, sister. And by the way, Mack,” Annie said. “The thong scares me too.”

  How’s a girl supposed to find a date in all of this craziness, Diary?

  Kisses,

  Julia

  Official Music Video for "YMCA" by The Village People

  Chapter 20

  Smells like Sugar

  DR. DERRICK

  Dearest Diary,

  I’m almost ashamed to communicate all the shenanigans that transpired that afternoon Annie decided to investigate Devin Dylan at Marina Cadillac Pre-Owned Cars Division. But, I’ve already committed to this tragic comedy, and I do not go back on my word. Okay, yes, there was that one time… make that five…fine… let’s cut to the chase and agree to not talk about words and numbers, as they are very unimportant compared to intentions and actions.

  I materialized on the scene outside Annie’s hovel where I witnessed her slightly slutty BFF Julia step in dog excrement, observed what transpired with Mack, and realized this was my opportunity to help them investigate his murder. (Which also might help me score points in my endeavors to pass to the Afterlife.)

  To his credit, Mack had already concocted a ruse that if well played, might actually work to uncover information from the suspect—Devin Dylan. In the deception, Julia Devereaux was now a privileged, wealthy, Southern belle, in town to shop the movie rights to her inspirational story about how she rescued the animals during Hurricane Whatever.

  To their credit, they didn’t pull this out of thin air. Annie Googled Julia’s name and learned that nearly two decades ago, a woman named Juliet Everdeaux had actually performed this heroic task. They simply ‘borrowed’ her story and ignored the fact that Juliet Everdeaux was now one hundred and two.

  Back to the ruse… Ms. Devereaux had ‘hired’ Annie to be her chauffeur, but was appalled when she arrived to pick her up at The Grand Beverly Hotel driving a clunker. It was too close to the holidays to rent a car, so Julia preferred to see what classy pre-owned vehicle she could snag for a decent price—hence the trip to Marina Cadillac POV division. Annie had called to ensure Devin was working that day, and gave the receptionist a ‘heads-up’ that he would be dealing with a VIP.

  Now we stood outside on the lot, surrounded by shiny cars of all makes and models, waiting for our suspect to arrive. I could almost smell the ocean air through the exhaust fumes emanating from the crowded, disgusting thoroughfare, otherwise known as Lincoln Avenue. My nose crinkled when I caught a whiff of something else…

  “I scrubbed and scrubbed the bottom of my shoe, but I’m worried I still smell like poo,” Julia said.

  Annie and Mack sniffed the air.

  “No, honey,” Annie said. “You smell like sugar.”

  “If sugar smelled like a sanitary wipe with a hint of poo,” Mack said. “You need to tell your femme fatale, Julia, exactly that. She needs to bring her “A” game with Devin. The strippers at Repeat the Beat were all over him like ants on honey. Like he was the college quarterback who’d just won the big game. Remember that, Annie? Mack used to be that guy.” He sniffled and then started crying.

  Just a little—just enough to make Annie, the overly emotional wuss that she was feel sorry for him. “Aw, Mack. She took his hand and squeezed it.

  “What if Devin killed Mack because he was jealous?”

  “That’s why we’re here,” she said. “Count yourself lucky that my friends and I are the next thing to being professional crime-solvers. Besides, you had a good run, Mack. Everyone will remember your glory days.”

  “Now is not the time to reminisce,” I said. “You need to concentrate on the bigger picture—investigating Mr. Dylan and solving Mack’s murder. Stroll down memory lane later.”

  “Do you not have a single ounce of sensitivity, Derrick?” Annie asked as tears rolled down Mack’s face. “It’s okay, Mack. We’ll figure it out. We always did before. We’ll do it again. Just no romance involved this time—it can complicate things.”

  He nodded. “Mack thinks you’ll change your mind.”

  “I’m not changing my mind,” Annie said.

  “You’ve changed your mind plenty of times in the past.”

  “That’s not going to happen this time.”

  “We’ll see. Heads up, Annie—apparently Devin’s more exotic than Mack. I suspect he has his pick of the litter.”

  Annie dropped his hand and frowned. “Unless you’re talking about puppies or kittens, I really don’t see how that matters right—”

  “Holy mother of God.” Julia inhaled sharply as her mouth formed a perfect O-shape, she froze like a statue and stared: her eyes wide and transfixed.

  “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!”