“Is it a car show for the hungry, the poor, the lepers, and the orphans? Yes, I overheard you talking into thin air, again.”
“Apparently you don’t realize that I multi-task.” I was so tempted to bop her on the forehead, but instead I flicked the tiny hoop that decorated my left ear. “This might look like a simple huggie earring, but it’s actually a stylish Bluetooth phone. I don’t just randomly (I finger quoted) ‘talk to myself.’”
I would prefer Pinky think I was nuts than confide that I talked to ghosts.
She frowned. “If one pumpkin pie gets delivered to one customer who ordered pecan or peach—you’ve got a big fat problem on your hands, my friend.”
“Oy gevalt!” I threw my hands up in the air. “I’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. Let me remind you of the same words you lovingly shared we me numerous times in our brief history—we are not friends.” I swerved to her left, strode around her, broke into a sprint, and exited the building.
It took us an hour to crawl over the hill in bumper-to-bumper traffic from Beverly Hills into the Valley. We finally descended the twists and turns of the mansion studded Coldwater Canyon, and turned right into the packed traffic onto Ventura Boulevard.
“Wow!” Mack gazed out the window. “It’s even grander than I thought!”
“What’s grand?” I peeked at the thoroughfare lined with restaurants, yoga studios, grocery stores, synagogues, and trendy, over-priced boutiques.
“Ventura Boulevard!” Mack said. “It runs over eighteen miles in the San Fernando Valley and at one point, it was part of the trail between the original California Spanish missions. I planned on seeing it during my trip, but my lifelong dream was squashed after I was run over.”
I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “It’s 7:30,” I said. “I hope we haven’t missed your ex-father-in-law.”
“Mack can’t wait to spend Thanksgiving with you and your mother. Do you think she’ll like it when I share the fold out couch with her? Or do I get to cuddle with you on the air mattress?”
I grimaced. “We’re going to nail Bob Bubeck or whoever your real killer is. I called Grady and Julia earlier and asked if they could help. Grady’s a maybe. Julia was super-enthusiastic about showing up and helping. I’m kind of surprised because she didn’t seem all that keen on supporting us when we were at the beach.”
“Julia’s got a crush on Devin Dylan,” Mack said.
“Julia’s got a crush on half the men in Los Angeles,” I said.
“Yeah there, but Devin Dylan’s crushing on her right back. Mack can see these things. Mack isn’t stupid you know. Hey—look over there on the left. See the lot with all the cars and the bright lights overhead?”
“You mean the Ralph’s grocery store?”
“No. The one next to it that’s lit up like a gigantic Christmas tree.”
“The Christmas tree lot? I can’t believe someone has a Christmas tree lot up already,” I said. “It’s not even Thanksgiving, yet.”
“No, the one with the burger joint in front and all the parked classic cars in the lot on the sides and in the back.”
“Got it.” I slowed down and eased into the center lane.
“Turn, turn!” Mack jabbed his hand in front of my face. “We’ve finally got a break.”
“Okay!” I yanked the wheel hard to the left and we sprung boldly in front of oncoming traffic when the engine sputtered, and my car slowed down.
A pack of headlights shone through the passenger window into my car’s interior and we winced.
“Gun it!” Mack said.
“I am!” I punched the gas pedal, but the engine made grinding noises.
A hundred approaching car drivers honked their horns.
“Jeez!” Mack slapped his hands over his ears.
“Gah!” I slammed my foot on the gas, but the engine now made noises like, “Wompy, wompy, huh, hisss, hate you, sighhh.”
And then my beloved, POS car died in the middle of Ventura Boulevard in front of an oncoming line of cars that resembled the Green Bay Packers offensive line on a good day.
Mack and I looked at each other as our eyes widened, and we screamed.
Fifteen minutes later, a couple of good Samaritans helped me push my car across the last westbound lane of Ventura and next to the curb. “Thank you so much!” I handed each of them my card and waved goodbye. “Please e-mail or text me if you ever need freshly baked goods, or a favor that doesn’t involve happy endings.”
To say I felt like crap was an understatement. I called AAA and burst into tears. The operator told me it was normal to feel super sad. She asked me where I wanted my car towed and then apologized because it would take about an hour for a driver to get to me.
“Harvey’s Auto Shop in the Marina.” I hiccupped and gave her the address.
“We’ll call you at this number right before our driver arrives,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Mack feels bad for you, Annie. I’m going to find Bob Bubeck before he gets away. See you on the lot.” He walked off.
I called Harvey and left a message. He texted me back, apologized and said to tell the AAA driver to leave the car on the street next to his place, but slip the key in the drop box attached to the security fence.
“Thanks,” I replied.
“Is tim 4 a nu car,” he texted.
I responded with a sad face emoji.
How was I going to pick my Mom up at the airport, Diary? How would we get around town? Do you realize how awful public transportation is in L.A.? It’s not like Milwaukee, for Pete’s sake. Mom and I would spend her entire trip waiting on buses and seated next to serial killers.
When Grady and Julia walked up with Devin Dylan, his protective hand cupped under her elbow. My eyes widened and I tried not to look surprised.
“Grady, you made it,” I said.
“I needed a break from the writing,” he said. “I’ve been at the Sherman Oaks library all day. Not as nice as downtown, but it had great sunlight and a fascinating group of people.”
“You okay?” Julia asked.
“Super,” I said. “Is Bob Bubeck here?”
“Oh yeah,” she said.
“He’s sauntering around the lot, checking out all the cars like he’s Mr. High Roller at the craps table,” Grady said.
“Based on his body language, I think Mr. Bubeck only has eyes for one car,” Devin said. “It’s a 1959 Cadillac Series 62 hot red convertible. Strangely enough, Mack talked about the same car the night we were out on the town together. Said it was his dream car, and that if everything went according to plan—he’d be driving that baby soon.”
I smiled sweetly at Mr. Too Handsome. “Oh, thank you, Devin,” I said. “Excuse me, I must engage in girl talk with Julia for a second. You know… what’s the next read on Sassy Girls’ Book Club, which actress looks the best on the fashion magazine covers this month, and pre-menstrual issues.”
I pulled her gently to me, kissed her on each cheek, discretely pinched her arm and hissed. “You should have told me you were bringing Devin Dylan tonight. How much does he know and if he knows too much, I’ll freaking kill you.”
“That’s so sweet of you, darling,” Julia said loudly and whispered back, “I’m dating him. He knows we’re helping because you suspect Bob Bubeck might have killed Mack. And if you kill me, I’ll kill you right back and dismember you thereafter.”
“Did you tell him I could see dead people? Because if you did, you’ll be dead yourself. Right here. Right now. On the sidewalk in front of me. I’ll impale you with my car key.”
“Guess we’ll go to hell together,” she said. “I carry a spare nail file in my purse in case of emergencies. I have enough fight in me to grab it and slice your throat.”
“You can’t slice my throat with a nail file,” I said. “It’s not sharp enough. You’d have to saw for like twenty minutes. You don’t have the stamina.”
“Go ahead. Try me. I’ve been working out, you kno
w.”
“I do believe that’s called sex,” I said.
“Whatever. It’s super stretchy, aerobic, and it burns calories,” she said.
Suddenly Mack came running up, breathless. “Oh my God, Annie! Bob Bubeck, that lizard is here, on the lot. He’s hanging out with Tiffany Tominski. And you’re not going to believe who they’re talking to!”
Do you ever have one of those days, Diary, that feels like it’s never ever going to end? And if it does end, it will end badly? Yup, me too.
Xo,
Annie
Alien Movie Trailer
Chapter 28
Like Ted Bundy
GRADY
Dear Finley,
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder? Well, they did.
Annie charged through the vintage car lot, skirting around classic polished beauties, their owners, the admirers, the looky-loos, and a few serious buyers. “Excuse me, excuse me,” she said as she bumped into a few folks, but thank God, didn’t touch one of those vehicles as these crazy car people would have strung her up quicker than a Salem witch.
Julia, Devin and I followed on her heels.
“Why is your friend so worked up?” Devin asked.
“It’s a by-product of her former, temporary brain trauma. She hit her head during a tobogganing accident when she was sixteen-years-old.” Julia said. “Her derangement only flares when she’s stressed. Unfortunately, lately, that seems to be all the time.”
Devin looked skeptical. “I thought you grew up in the South,” he said.
“I did, Sugar,” Julia said. “But then we moved to Wisconsin.”
“So, you didn’t really rescue the animals during the hurricane?” Devin asked.
“No, but I rescued the frog I was supposed to dissect in high school sophomore year biology class. I snuck him outside in my jacket and set him free next to a pond.”
“That was nice of you. Why did you pretend to be someone else when you met me?”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Julia said. “Annie wanted to find out who killed Mack. She felt terrible that she turned him down for the WEPOC banquet and that he ended up dead. We were just, you know, snooping around a bit. Harmless, really.”
Devin frowned. “You thought I was a suspect?”
“Not really.” She half-heartedly nodded. “In our defense, many murder suspects are devastatingly handsome and incredibly charming. Like Ted Bundy.”
“The serial killer?”
Julia bit her lip.
“You thought I was like Ted Bundy?” Devin blinked.
“No! Bad example!” Julia shook her head. “More like one of those handsome guys who gets profiled on Dateline NBC or Twenty-Twenty when their wife falls off a cruise ship and disappears on their honeymoon,” she said.
“You thought I was a honeymoon murderer?” Devin asked.
“No!” Julia said. “Well, maybe. But that was before I got to know you, and now, definitely not. No way I’d knowingly be dating a serial killer, or a honeymoon murderer. I’m sorry!”
“Were you ever even thinking about buying a car?” Devin asked.
“Didn’t you see those guys push Annie’s dead clunker to the curb?” She squeezed his bicep and smiled coquettishly up at him. “Of course we’re going to buy a car. Or lease one. You’re the expert, Devin. You’re our knight in shining armor. We’re relying on you to help us determine our very best options.”
He paused, then cracked a smile, leaned down and kissed her. “I knew the first time I met you, Julia Devereaux, that you were too good to be true. At last, we’re getting somewhere, naughty mystery lady, who’s stealing my heart.”
She giggled.
Suddenly, Annie stopped in her tracks. “Of course I see them, Mack. We don’t know if they’re in cahoots. I promise, I will not let him hurt your Great Aunt Mable McManus. Let me handle this!”
She looked like a crack sniper peering through her scope, as she honed in on an older guy wearing a fat, black toupee. I could see his big, fake, capped, blindingly white teeth as he chatted with—holy crap this was crazy-pants—Tiffany, who stood next to Mack’s aunt, a very short, well-dressed, octogenarian.
A chill ran through me. I didn’t know whether to be scared that all hell was probably going to break loose, or happy that there would be more drama to inspire fun things to write about. So, I settled for feeling a little of both. “Annie,” I said.
She turned and peered at me. “I’m kind of busy right now.”
“Got it,” I said. “If that woman is really Mack’s aunt, how are you going to introduce yourself? You can’t say, ‘Oh, by the way, your dead nephew told me you were his auntie.’”
She cracked her neck. “I’ll figure out something.”
“I’m here for you, and I’ve got your back,” I said. “Just give me the heads up if you need manly intervention.”
“Thank you.” She took a few steps toward the creepy duo and the frail, coiffed, white haired woman standing next to the convertible.
Julia swiveled her attention from Devin toward me, then to Annie, and frowned. “Annie, I know I’ve been pre-occupied with all the dating… I meant dating the very handsome, and resourceful, Devin Dylan. But I, too, am here for you as well.”
Annie waved at Julia. “Great,” she said.
“And even though you thought I was capable of being a cold-blooded killer,” Devin said, “I’ll find you a great deal on a car.”
“Super. FYI, my credit score’s around 670.” Annie said. “While I fully appreciate all your support, I need to be slightly undercover, and get back to the matter at hand. That said, feel free to take a bullet for me should Mr. Bubeck pull a gun from his hair. That’s the biggest toupee I’ve ever seen and I fear he might be packing.”
She crossed the rest of the distance in no time, and approached Tiffany and Bob.
“Tiffany Tominski, what a surprise to see you here at the car show,” she said.
“And you are?” Tiffany asked and peered quizzically at Annie.
“Oh,” Annie said and rolled her eyes. “I think we go to the same yoga studio.”
“Right,” Tiffany said.
“Mr. Bob Bubeck?” Annie asked and extended her hand to him.
“Why yes, miss,” he shook her hand. “You look familiar. Do we know each other?”
“My name’s Annie Rose Graceland. I was a former friend of the impossibly irritating, and recently deceased, Mack ‘The Man’ McManus. I knew him, as well as your daughter, Bailey, in college. Please give her my best.”
“Wait a minute,” Tiffany said. “I know you. Weren’t you interested in renting one of my apartments?”
“I decided against it,” Annie said. “I couldn’t afford the ocean view. Bailey’s a lovely girl. How’s she doing?”
“She’s in shock. She knew the marriage was broken, but never wished that bastard any harm. I, on the other hand—”
“Mr. Bubeck. I’m not a police officer, but honestly, I wouldn’t say things like that in public,” Annie said. “Mack’s death is considered a homicide. Statements like that might make the authorities think you were somehow involved in his death. Were you?”
“Of course not,” Bob said, “As much as I despised that lizard—”
“Excuse me.” Annie swiveled, made the universal sign for zip it across her lips, and fake coughed. I could only assume Mack was standing right next to her and wouldn’t stop babbling. She turned back to Bob. “Continue, please.”
“Mack and I were family for almost fifteen years. And he’s the only reason that I met this lovely lady.” Bob turned and took the hand of the older woman who stood next to the shiny red Cadillac.
“Miss White,” Annie said. “I’m you’re biggest fan.”
She peered at Annie. “Who’s Miss White?”
Oh crap. This was her plan? Annie was totally going to blow this investigation because this frail, albeit very-put-together woman, was not Betty White. Bob, or Tiffany, or both of the
m were obviously Mack’s killers, and they would most likely kill Annie, too. So, I decided to take that proverbial bullet for her.
I yanked you, Finley, from my backpack, strode up to them, flipped open your pages and knelt in front of the elderly woman. “Miss Betty White. You have been my heroine since well before The Golden Girls. Would you be so kind as to give me your autograph? Could you make it out to Grady Swenson?” I asked, fumbled through my bag and handed her a pen.
“Oh, Mr. Swenson,” the Betty look-alike blushed and took the items from me. “You are so sweet. I wish I was Betty White, but I’m not. My name’s Mable McManus.” Her hand trembled and she dropped the pen.
Annie bent down, picked it up and handed it to Mable. “Here you go, Miss McManus. And might I add, that I’m so sorry about Mack. You must feel awful about what happened to him.”
“Yeah there. It was quite a shocker. Thank you.” Mable took the pen in her gnarled hands.
But Annie froze and didn’t let go of it.
“I have it, honey, thank you,” Mable said.
“I know,” Annie squeaked as her face turned ghostly white, her eyes, widened, and she broke out into a sweat.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I have no idea. Call 911! Now!” Annie said. “I know who killed Mack McManus.”
The drama is killing me, Finley!
I hoped I meant that figuratively and not literally.
Your friend,
Grady
Chapter 29
The Perfect Ride
DR. DERRICK
Dearest Diary,
I leaned back against a vintage Cadillac El Dorado several yards away and watched as Annie Graceland’s newest debacle played out.
Julia and Grady reached for their phones and keyed in 911.
“I think I’d better be going now,” Mable said, dropped her end of the pen, and handed the diary back to Grady.
“I don’t think you’re going anywhere,” Annie said.
The Annie Graceland Cupcakes Cozy Mystery Box Set #2: Books 5 - 7 Page 13
