Dev handed Julia his card. “I don’t really know why you are all close to each other. But I don’t care. Call me,” he said. “And please, do it soon.”
And that, Dear Diary, is how this whole mess played out.
Unfortunately, I’m fairly certain that there will be more to follow.
Sincerely,
Dr. Derrick Fuller, Ph.D.
Chapter 21
The Naughty
ANNIE
Dear Diary,
The sinfully handsome, as well as slightly irritating, Detective Raphael Campillio, sat on my couch and sipped a cup of dark coffee that I had just brewed for him. “Whoa, this is strong,” he said.
“I like my coffee the way I like my men.” I handed him a slice of pumpkin chocolate chip cake. I borrowed the recipe from Cheryl Cavitt Carlson. The cake was delish and somewhat irresistible—as my scale confirmed this morning.
“Naked?” He asked and winked at me even though, unfortunately, he was fully clothed.
“Strong.” I sputtered. “Eat your cake.”
“How many strong men do you have in your life?” He peered up at me and raised one eyebrow.
Dead ones or alive ones?
I placed my hands on top of my hips. “I only have one,” I said. “You.”
“Good.” He bit into the dessert. “Very good. Just like this pumpkin cake. Tell me why you keep showing up at crime scenes?”
“The Marina Del Rey Cadillac Dealership is not a crime scene, unless you have just divulged classified, police department information.” I stalked back into my kitchen.
“No, I haven’t. You know exactly what I mean. Too many coincidences, Annie.”
I swiveled and whipped my hands in the air in the universal symbol for, ‘I’m innocent.’ “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Julia and I were simply killing time browsing for cars before we hit DSW Shoes to check out their sale.”
“You knew Mack McManus in college. You dated him,” Rafe said between bites.
Aw crap. Here we go. “Yes, I did. Allow me to give you the full, unadulterated scoop, so you don’t have to torture and pry it out of…”
Hey wait a second…
It had been way too long since we spent meaningful private time together and he was the one who brought up the “naked” comment. I was stressing. I was totally overdue in the between-the-sheets department... “Maybe I’ve been a bad, bad girl, Raphael.” I smiled coquettishly at him, tossed my long ponytail over my shoulder, and gently bit the tip of my index finger for a second. “I’ve still got those silken, cupcake print restraints somewhere…”
He sighed and stared up at me. “Tempting, Annie. Do you realize we’ve been dating for six months now?”
“Really? I had no idea.” I had a zillion ideas. They involved frosting, my really hot boyfriend, those restraints… and, wait a minute—that ‘six month’ thing was coming up again…
“I met you during Derrick Fuller’s murder investigation—you were a minor suspect. In a strange way—you kind of solved that case.”
I waved one hand at him. “You’re just flattering me. You’re so sweet and polite.”
“I am not sweet and polite,” he said.
“Yes, you are—otherwise I wouldn’t be dating you while I’m divorcing the Prince of Darkness.”
“How’s that coming along, by the way—any closer to finalizing?”
I sighed. “Mike’s attorney just sent me a letter stating he wants half of my bakery business. I responded by saying I no longer have a bakery business. And he’s more than welcome to half of nothing.”
Raphael sighed. “I’m sorry. I just wish for you, for me, for the both of us that this whole divorce nightmare was over.”
“Tell me about it.” I liked Raphael Campillio. I really, really liked him, and I think I loved him, scratch that—because I would not be the first to say those words.
“But let’s not get distracted, shall we?” He asked.
“Impossible. I’m always distracted by you.” I walked back to him, straddled his legs, wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned in close—our lips just inches apart. “Enough with the questions. I know you want to kiss me. Humor me and do it already.”
“Of course I want to kiss you,” he said, but did not kiss me. “The next vic was that female clerk who was strangled at Snotsky’s Department Store. Eyewitnesses described a woman named Annie, matching your description, who had been in the store that day. Apparently, she got into an altercation with the perpetrator, that resulted in his being detained by an angry crowd, and led to his arrest for the clerk’s murder.”
I yanked my arms from his neck. “Could have been a thousand women. I’m incredibly average looking,” I said. “Besides, how many women are named Annie or Frannie? Do you even know how many people go to those sales? Can I get you more cake? I’m famished!” I wiggled off him, snagged the remote from the side table, aimed it at the TV and clicked the “On” button. “There’s a Law and Order marathon on TNT. I know how much you love that show.”
“You love that show,” he said. “No, I don’t need cake—I’m on a roll.”
“Hah-hah! You’re pretty funny! It’s time to feed my cat. Theodore!” I flipped on the electric can opener that whirred loudly and opened up a tin. “It’s wet cat food time!”
Teddy appeared from God knows where, like a chubby rabbit out of a hat, and raced into the kitchen, meowing incessantly.
“Looks like he made it through the lily poisoning just fine,” Raphael shouted over the cat and the TV.
“Thanks to you. Oh look. Have you seen this ep, yet? It’s the one where—”
“The next murder vic was that young fellow you used to babysit in Wisconsin. You went home for that stupid Hot Guys’ contest. That’s the time you kissed another man.”
“It was not ‘stupid’, and I cop to one kiss,” I shouted. “And let’s not forget that occurred immediately after your former, on and off again girlfriend, told me over the phone that you and she had gotten back together.”
“But we didn’t.” He grabbed the remote and powered down the volume.
“She also told me that your mother calls her, ‘daughter.’ I heard your family’s Fourth of July party in the background. I wasn’t there. She was,” I said. “It stung. I thought this debacle was resolved. That it was history. That you’re over it.”
“I thought it was, too. I guess I’m not and I’m not sure you are either. Now, Mack McManus, your former college boyfriend is murdered, here, in L.A.” Raphael ran his fingers through his jet-black hair. “Anything else I need to know before everyone down at the station starts ribbing me?”
“Oh, my God! Do you really think I want your peers to ridicule you because you’re dating me? I feel terrible!”
Double crap, Diary! Was the imagined I love you talk turning into the, I’m breaking up with you talk?
“Don’t!” Raphael said. “You don’t know these people. They’re ruthless with the gossip, the innuendos, and the jabs. It’s like sport. Just tell me everything I need to know about Mack McManus.”
And that’s when I saw him: Mack. Lying on the floor on his stomach as he read my diary. “Be my guest, Annie. Tell him everything. My life is an open book. As is yours, apparently.”
I screamed. “Don’t—” and then realized—I totally didn’t want Rafe to spot you, Diary.
“Don’t what?” Rafe frowned.
“Don’t kill that mouse!” I raced to my tangerine kitchen door, opened it a crack, and pretended to kick the imaginary rodent outside. “No pumpkin cake for you, Mickey! And don’t come back!” I slammed the door.
I moved to the couch, sat down next to Raphael, took one of his strong, muscular hands in mine, and squeezed it. “I dated Mack in college. I haven’t seen him in decades when—as you already know—he Facebooked me a few weeks ago. Then he started acting weird and I contemplated un-friending him. But, I felt bad, and wanted to give him another chance. So I let my decision ride.”
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“Me, weird?’ Mack asked. “Have you even read what you wrote in here?”
I contemplated killing him, but he was already dead.
“You should have cut him off when he exhibited stalker-esque behavior,” Rafe said.
I ground my teeth. “Mack showed up at Mort’s deli, and under a wee bit of duress, I accompanied him to the Starlight Hollywood Wax Museum. He already knew about you from my posts and photos on Facebook, but he still wanted me to be his date to that WEPOC banquet. I said no. But then someone runs him over in a parking lot and kills him. Do I feel bad? Yes. I feel frigging awful. Maybe if I had gone with him to his stupid event he wouldn’t have been murdered.”
“Maybe he still would have been murdered and you’d be dead as well,” Raphael said.
I shook my head. “It’s the least I can do to try and snoop around a bit to find out who might have wanted to kill him. I’m happy to hand you any info I discover.”
“That’s not a great idea, Annie. Seriously. You’re a baker, not a detective. You could get hurt.”
“Thank you, Mr. Overprotective,” I said.
“That’s Detective Overprotective to you,” Raphael said.
“Hah-hah. Everyone thinks being a baker is a super safe, easy profession—that it’s just smiles, sugar, and spice. But a lot goes on behind the scenes in the world of cupcakes, pies, and scones. It can be dirty, delicious, and downright dangerous. I’ve seen it all first-hand, Rafe. I’m not some crumpet who faints at the first sign of trouble. I’m a Midwestern chick and Midwestern chicks are tough cookies.”
He sighed. “Fine. Who do you think wanted Mack dead? You were his ex-girlfriend, and I’m assuming he confided in you during the short time he was here. Did he know anyone else in town?”
“Here’s the part in your diary, Annie, where you start writing about me,” Mack said.
I flinched. “He knew a fair number of folks. He was in L.A. for that used car convention.”
“Previously Owned Vehicles,” Mack said. “Oh—hey! I love this entry where you mentioned how many times we did the naughty! Hah-hah! It’s pretty obvious that Mack weighed heavily on your mind for all these years.”
I snapped my eyes shut, twisted my head to the side, and cracked my neck.
“You okay?” Rafe asked.
“Headache,” I said. “Long day.”
“Scooch over and face your kitchen,” he said. “I’ll give you a neck rub.”
Almost better than sex (not really) but I’d take one of his amazing massages in a heartbeat. So, I scooched.
Rafe squeezed the top of my shoulders with his large, strong hands. I could practically feel the stress roll off like a wave.
“Mack’s former father-in-law, Bob Bubeck was in town for that same conference. From what he told me—there was no love lost between them,” I said. “Heavenly. A little to the left, please.”
“Already noted,” Raphael said and worked his strong fingers up the back of my neck. “Your neck feels like it’s filled with rocks.”
“I know,” I said. “Old boyfriend’s dead, mom’s coming into town—I’m a little stressed.”
“Understandable,” he said.
“Mack said Devin Dylan was #3 in WEPOC’s annual salesmen award. Perhaps he was jealous,” I said.
“Probably,” Raphael said. “But enough to kill him?”
“Competition’s fierce. Who’s top dog. You know how these salesmen guys are.”
“Apparently these salesmen guys like to do it one hundred and fifty times,” Mack said. “Mack’s #2! Mack’s #2!”
I winced.
Raphael stopped. “Too hard?”
“No, no,” I said. “I just thought of the logistics of Mom visiting. Like—where’s she going to sleep? Do we share my sofa bed with Theodore?”
“No,” Raphael said.
“Agreed,” I said.
“Would she stay at the Marriot in the Marina?”
I reluctantly broke free from his strong hands, swiveled and faced him. “Would your mom?”
“Why don’t we get you an air mattress?” he asked.
I gestured to my miniscule living space like Vanna White on The Wheel of Fortune before she turned a letter. “Where am I going to put it?”
“There. Just shove the coffee table over. You already do that every night to pull out the sofa bed. Right?”
“Shoot me, I beg you,” I said.
“No,” he said. “You’re too dang cute and I’d miss you. By the way—Devin Dylan has a pretty solid alibi,” Rafe said. “And no, I’m not saying more than that.”
“I bet it was Tubby Partee’, the stripper,” Mack said. “Devin went back for the WEPOC special. He appreciates a woman with curves.”
“He was with a stripper, wasn’t he, Raphael?” I asked. “She can account for his whereabouts when Mack was murdered.”
“How do you know Mack and his buddies went to a strip club?”
“That should be perfectly obvious,” I huffed. “Isn’t that what all guys do after an awards banquet?”
“Hmm. You’re not bad at this detecting thing,” he said.
“I’m far from perfect,” I said.
“Which is one of the reasons I lo… I like you.”
My breath caught in my throat. “You were going to say something else.”
“I like you—a lot?” He waggled his jet-black eyebrows.
“Aw, come on. Just say it!”
“I already did.” he smiled at me—looking as sweet as sex and candy. “You’ve been a bad girl, Annie Graceland. Where are those cupcake print restraints?”
He leaned in and kissed me—long and slow and deep. This was exactly like really dark chocolate—I couldn’t have just one piece. It totally wasn’t fair. So I gathered all my willpower, wrapped my arms around his neck, pulled him even closer to me, and kissed him back.
His bitable full lips; his clever tongue; his very broad shoulders—a girl could get lost for days tracing them. I made my way down his shirt, flipping open the buttons—okay kill me, I tore a few of them off—and they flew through the air. Come on, he had plenty of buttons; he wouldn’t miss a few. I yanked his shirt free from the confines of his pants so I could stroke his washboard abs with my hungry hands for a few days. “Raphael. Raphael,” I murmured, losing myself in the moment, the muscles, his hardness, and our collective, warm, heavy breath. When I heard…
“Whoa. Nice. Mack likes to watch.”
I jolted like I’d been hit with a cattle prod and spotted Mack staring at us, googly-eyed.
Good God, no!
I stood up, grabbed Rafe’s hands, and hoisted him to standing. “You’ve gotta go. And for God’s sake, button your shirt. Can’t have you out on the street half naked. People would talk.”
More likely they’d throw themselves at him.
“I have to clean my place tonight. After all, my mom’s coming in town. And I want you to meet her.”
Raphael grabbed my waist and pulled me flush against him. Tilted my head back with one finger under my chin and kissed me again. “Your mom’s not in town, yet.”
“She might as well be for all the cleaning I have to do.” I pulled away from him.
“I can help.”
“You’ll get in the way.”
“I can’t wait to meet your mom.”
“You’re a brave soul, Raphael Campillio. A trooper. I like that in a man.”
“Isuzu made a nice SUV Trooper. It was voted best archaeological field vehicle in 2002,” Mack said.
I’ll miss sexy-time with Raphael, Diary. But I will not make out with him in front of Mack. Oh, crap—he’s probably going to read this… Nightie night!
Xo,
Annie
Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cake
by Cheryl Cavitt Carlson
Ingredients:
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2
teaspoon salt
2 1/2 teaspoons pumpkin pie spice (I just use cinnamon.)
4 eggs
1 can (1 lb., 2 cups) pumpkin
1 cup vegetable oil
1 cup Branflake cereal
1 Six oz. package semi-sweet chocolate morsels (the more the better, it’s chocolate after all!)
Directions:
1. Stir together flour, sugar, baking powder, soda, salt and spice. Set aside.
2. In large mixing bowl, beat eggs until foamy. Add pumpkin, oil and bran cereal. Mix well. Add flour mixture, stirring only until combined. Stir in chocolate morsels and nuts. Spread evenly in ungreased tube or Bundt pan.
3. Bake at 350° F about 1 hour and 10 minutes or until wooden pick inserted near center comes out clean. Cool completely before removing from pan. Drizzle with powdered sugar glaze, if desired.
Chapter 22
The Lana Turner
GRADY
Dear Finley,
I arrived a little early, sat at the counter of Mort Feinberg’s Deli and noshed on a raisin bagel with cinnamon cream cheese, while I waited for Annie to finish her shift. I’d completed my NaNoWriMo writing goal of over two thousand words today in my murder mystery novel—and no—I’m not sharing the title yet! I can completely, one hundred percent guilt-free, allow myself to pen an update in your crisp, friendly pages.
First things first—my novel is coming along swimmingly! The hero, JOSH BANKMAN, is a dashing, young, gay man who discovers he can talk to ghosts—specifically murder victims whose crimes have not been solved. When the spirits realize that Josh can see, as well as hear them, they pester him to solve their crimes so they can pass to the Afterlife.
I know it might sound a little like Annie’s life, but I simply used her experiences as a springboard for inspiration. I did not copy anything, and no one reading this book will ever be able to follow a trail of literary breadcrumbs back to her. Julia perused a few pages and basically told me the same thing. She only insisted I make one moderate character change to the hero—that upon reflection—shook up the story, spun it around and made it even fresher. (I’m so excited!)
The Annie Graceland Cupcakes Cozy Mystery Box Set #2: Books 5 - 7 Page 9
