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

by Pamela DuMond

  Much to my surprise, Millie left all her jewelry, a couple of family photo albums, a few pieces of Limoge china, and her most prized possession: a 1959 Cadillac Series 62 hot red convertible to me. I shipped my sister’s belongings to my home in Venice through UPS, and hired a licensed and insured auto shipping company to transport her beloved car.

  For the most part, the vintage Caddie resided in my single garage. I took it out for a spin once a week, just to keep its juices flowing. People would notice and honk, or approach me in the parking lot at the grocery store. I started getting inquiries from car buffs offering to buy it. But, I always said no. I didn’t have a lot of connections left to my sister.

  When a couple of years later, Mack resurfaced, he was divorced, living in Vegas, and was shocked his grandmother hadn’t bequeathed that car to him. He remembered all the fun trips they took to the House on the Rock, the Wonderful World of Cheese, and the Wisconsin Dells. He sent me letters and cards and refrigerator magnets. With each greeting, he offered to take the Caddie off my tired, old, arthritic hands.

  He even showed up on my doorstep, unannounced, a couple of months ago. I made him tea as he sat in my living room and told me about Vegas, and the Strip, and how he had turned into this high-powered WEPOC salesman and how much everyone loved him. He was so popular. He wanted that car. He deserved that car. It was practically owed to him. Besides, that car must be a burden for me now that I was so old…

  Oh, there was definitely a burden, but it wasn’t the car…

  I told Mack no when he invited me to that automobile banquet. But I thought about Millie, and how she probably would have liked if I accompanied him, and so I changed my mind. But by the time I got dressed up, got a ride to my garage, and drove to the hotel, I got turned around and ended up in a strange section of town.

  I missed the event but arrived just in time to see Mack and his raucous, tipsy friends go to the Gentleman’s (right) Club. I bided my time and read a few copies of The Reader’s Digest that I kept tucked in the glove compartment. (You know me—I always keep a book on hand.) Finally, Mack and his friends stumbled out of that house of sin and said their sloppy goodbyes.

  He wove toward his car and said, “I am Number Two! I am Number Two!” as he thrust some kind of trophy up in the air.

  And I thought—yes, you are a number two, you little shithead. You’ve been a number two for quite a while now. I decided to drive up to him, roll down the window and tell him off for good. When, I have no idea how this happened, I got confused and, I swear that I meant to hit the breaks, but I hit the gas instead.

  After that, I felt a little disoriented and bewildered. I was scared I was having a TIA. I should have gone to the police, or to a hospital, but in my confused state of mind, I drove like I was on autopilot back to my garage. I parked the Caddie, closed the garage door and locked it. I walked a few blocks. I called a taxi that took me back to Helpful Hands.

  The night nurse scolded me for being out so late, but I told her I was still an independent person who had womanly needs.

  So here I sit, until the courts decide if I am a cold-blooded killer, or just a confused older gal who had a terrible accident with awful consequences, and will no longer be allowed to drive.

  Cross fingers, Diary—I’m voting on the latter.

  I miss you, Dear Diary. I miss my sister. I think she’d come visit me if she were still walking this earth. Perhaps Mack will finally visit her now that they’re both in the Afterlife. (You’re welcome, Millie.) By the way, the banana pudding here is fabulous. Don’t let them tell you all institution food is tasteless.

  Best,

  Mable “The Great Auntie” McManus

  Banana Pudding Cupcakes

  by Tina-Marie Vaitl

  Ingredients:

  1 box French Vanilla Cake Mix (plus ingredients listed on box, and Buttermilk)

  8 oz. container spreadable Cream Cheese (softened)

  14 oz. can Sweetened Condensed Milk

  ¾ Cup Whole Milk

  3.4 oz. box Instant Banana Pudding

  1 Cup frozen Whipped Topping (thawed)

  1-2 Bananas, sliced in 24 pieces

  1 tsp Vanilla Extract

  1-1½ Cups crushed Vanilla Wafers

  Yield 24 Cupcakes

  Make the cupcakes according to the instructions on the cake mix, *except* use buttermilk in place of the water. The batter will be thick, but trust me... awesomeness is about to happen! Divide the batter equally between two 12 cup muffin tins with liners.

  While the cupcakes are baking, make the filling in a separate bowl.

  Mix together the softened cream cheese with the sweetened condensed milk until it’s very creamy looking.

  Add the whole milk, vanilla and banana pudding mix and whip until it’s thickened. Keep your mixer on medium speed until everything is blended.

  Fold in the thawed whipped topping by hand.

  When the cupcakes are done, put them on a wire rack and let them cool down. The magic is about to happen!

  Using a sharp knife, cut the middle out of each cupcake leaving about ½ inch around the edges, and be careful not to go all the way to the bottom. (Save the middles for another use, or just eat them because they are yummy!)

  Sprinkle some of the crushed vanilla wafers into each cupcake shell, and place a slice of banana in next.

  You want room to put the pudding filling, and then add some more to “frost” the cupcakes with.

  Finish them by sprinkling more of the crushed vanilla wafers on top. You could also top them with some more whipped cream before the wafer garnish if you want to.

  Chill for several hours before serving, if you can wait that long!

  Chapter 32

  The Great Date Update

  JULIA

  Dear Diary,

  I had a lovely Thanksgiving dinner at Devin’s parents’ home. The day was perfect until the end, which was pretty awful.

  Devin’s mother and father are extraordinarily kind people who live in a sprawling five-thousand square foot home on a double lot in Artesia, a suburb of Los Angeles. They own a chain of Eastern Indian general merchandise stores and supply every yoga studio in North America with gorgeous Indian textiles, furniture, and art.

  After we enjoyed the main entrees that included roast turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, turkey tikka masala, and saag, Devin’s family Skyped with his grandmother, Chandani, who lives in Mumbai. He even introduced me to her. Yikes! I met the parents and the grandmother on the same day. Someone pour me a cocktail. Oh, right, his mom already did—a Pimm’s Cocktail. Between his English mother, Beatrice, his dad, Sanjay, and Chandani, I could see where Devin got his good looks.

  Devin treats me like a princess. He calls when he says he’s going to call. He’s affectionate, funny, kind. And the sex? I’m not even going to tell you the details, because it would only make you jealous. Everything about Devin feels different than the rest of the guys I’ve been dating: cleaner, more honest, hopeful.

  After dessert he and his dad, older cousins, and uncles went into the very large living room to watch a football game. The young kids were encouraged to go outside and play. The teenagers were tasked with clearing the table before they, too, made a break for the back yard. Beatrice and her friends put leftovers into Tupperware containers and stored them in the fridge. I offered to help but she just waved her hand at me. “We’re so happy you joined us. You’re our treasured guest. Just enjoy your time with Devin. We’re going to miss him so much when he leaves town next week.”

  My hand flew to my chest. “What? For how long?”

  “Hopefully less than a year,” she said and peered at me. “Oh bloody hell, he hasn’t told you yet.” She slammed a clean pot on the stove. “It only just came up. I’m sorry…”

  Devin poked his head in the kitchen and smiled at me. “The kitchen’s way more interesting than football—”

  “You’re leaving?” I asked.

  He quickly frowned but held out his hand
to me.

  We walked into the hallway where he broke the news to me that he’s leaving town for at least six months to attend to the family business in Mumbai. Chandani had recently hired a company to help manage the business, but they were siphoning off funds. They had only uncovered the fraud this very week. Devin was going to tell me tomorrow. He hadn’t wanted to ruin today.

  I felt my heart crumple in my chest, excused myself, wandered out of the gargantuan house, sat down on the back porch and watched the kids play on the jungle gym and the teens compete in a game of hoops.

  Things had been going so well between us. We were kind to each other, we had rapport, and our chemistry was through the roof. Was this it? Should I just let it go?

  Devin stepped outside, sat down next to me, took my hand, and traced the lines on my palm. “I know what you’re thinking. That we just met, and long distance never works, and that you want to move on with your life. You want that next step.”

  I wiped back a few tears with the back of my other hand, looked down at my feet and nodded. “You’re a great guy.”

  “And you’re a great girl,” he placed one tan finger under my chin and raised it up so I couldn’t help but stare into his luscious, dark brown eyes. He brushed a few wisps of my blonde hair off my cheek and tucked them gently behind my ear. He ran his finger across my cheek and then traced it across my lips.

  “Get a room!” One of the teenage boys hollered.

  “Get your own girlfriend,” Devin said and turned back to me. “Let’s talk about this.”

  “I need a few minutes alone,” I said. “I need to think. Go. I’ll find you back inside in just a bit.”

  He kissed my forehead, got up, and walked back into the house.

  Devin dropped me off at my apartment and it’s nighttime now. Even though he’s leaving in a week, I didn’t invite him in because I just didn’t want him staying over tonight.

  In the meantime, I promised you, Diary, an update on all my dates. Now that Mack’s murder has been resolved, and according to Annie, he’s passed—this is as good a moment as any.

  After dating David Bernstein for nine days, the attorney who I met at Chaz on Main Street, I discovered he was not even close to being divorced. He was flirting with the idea of separating from his wife, and was simply ‘trying out’ dating to see what it would ‘feel like’ if he did that. I told him to feel free to lose my number immediately, and not find it should he eventually get separated or divorced—for real.

  Pierre LePeuf, the Beauty Rep, who I almost, but ultimately, did not meet at Vito’s Ristorante, contacted me a month after vacating the dining establishment with the young, tatted booby blonde, who was clearly not me. I thanked him for his renewed interest, but informed him my attention had shifted from French culture to all things Italiano, including young, buff Italian men. Au revoir, Pierre.

  And then there was Nikolai Gregosky, the former hockey player. Nikolai had a big smile and a big infectious laugh. Considering all his bragging about how many models he dated during our first and only date, he probably had big infections elsewhere in his body. Not for me.

  Back to Devin. I thought I found a keeper—and maybe I did? Right now my heart’s a little torn. Who knows? He wants to Skype, Messenger, and write. He says we can get to know each other even better. It could be positively old-fashioned and romantic. Or perhaps the long distance curse will prevail, and we will simply grow apart. But you don’t know until you try. And we are both willing to try.

  I know many people write in your pages, Dear Diary, to pen romantic stories, confessions of lust, and chronicle their dating adventures. In the meantime, I’m not willing to give up on my quest for love.

  I’m sure you’ve heard this all before, but I thank you for your time, your gentle ear, and your soft pages that quickly absorbed the few tears that I’ve shed.

  Ti adoro,

  Julia

  Chapter 33

  Please Chew Slowly

  DR. DERRICK

  Dearest Diary,

  Perhaps, now you understand my frustration with life after death. To clarify—that would be life after death before passing to the Afterlife.

  Mack ‘The Man’ McManus experienced his “Paradise by the Dashboard” light when he stepped into that big Headlight in the Sky and passed to his version of Heaven. I am left behind on this earthly plane, dealing with fools and morons, and quite frankly, feeling envious. But, good for Mack. At the very least, I now have an alliance that might be pulling for me from the other side.

  I was exceedingly glum on Thanksgiving Day when I sat in an ‘empty’ chair around the very large tables cobbled against each other in Mort Feinberg’s back back kitchen. The party consisted of Mort, his crew, a few aging celebrities (whose extensive plastic surgeries were not executed as perfectly as mine,) Annie, her mother, and the hot cop she was dating. Her friend, the aspiring novelist/screenwriter/who-really-cares-at-this-point, Grady, sat with his boyfriend at the children’s table.

  The main dining tables were crowded with food as well as party guests who sat around them. So when an underling attempted to remove my chair, Annie shouted, “No! Leave that chair alone.”

  “Why?” the underling asked. “We need more room.”

  “Because that chair’s meant to be there for someone important. Someone we will always need. Someone people will always remember and… respect.” She looked down at her plate, stabbed a broccoli floret, dipped it in mashed potatoes, stuck it in her mouth, and wolfed it down.

  “How many times have I told you to chew slowly?” her mother asked. “It’s better for your jaw as well as your waistline.”

  “I like her waistline,” Raphael pinched her waist and she giggled.

  Mort gazed at Annie. “The table’s crowded, kiddo. We really could use some extra elbow room.”

  The Thanksgiving crowd hushed, looked at Annie and waited for her answer.

  “Fine!” I said. “Fine! I know you all don’t care about the dead. I’ll leave.” I leapt out of my chair. “I’ll go to a park or something. I’ll hang out with the squirrels and other filthy rodents. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I always am.”

  Annie cleared her throat and pinched the bridge of her nose nervously. “I’m not Jewish, but I think I was in a past life,” she said. “Isn’t there a Jewish tradition where an empty chair is left for Moses?”

  “You mean the prophet, Elijah,” Pinky said. “It’s old school tradition commonly used in Seders. We celebrated Shabbat when I was growing up, and we always kept an empty chair for Elijah.”

  “In my parent’s house too!” Mort’s wife said. “I loved that tradition.”

  Mort took a sip of wine, pointed at my seat, and said to the underling, “Keep the chair right there, sir. I hate to think we wouldn’t have room for Elijah. In fact, could someone pour a glass of wine and put it on the table in front of that place setting? I think that today of all days, we should extend this magical tradition to include Thanksgiving. Keep an open space for those who are not here with us today in physical form, but are here in spirit, and will forever remain in our hearts.”

  Annie tilted her head and gazed at Pinky Stein. “Do you want to grab a cappuccino someday?”

  “I’d love to,” Pinky said. “I’m buying.”

  I must admit I teared up a bit. While I wished with all my heart to pass to the Afterlife, I was still, somehow, held to this earthly plane. Although I no longer existed in human form, perhaps I had more to accomplish on earth. That said, does it really surprise you that a being as strong as I would simply fade away like your average deceased mortal? No, Diary. I would prefer to be remembered like Elijah and I climbed back into his chair.

  Annie lifted her glass to me and toasted. “Happy Thanksgiving,” she said.

  The rest of the diners lifted their glasses, toasted, and chimed in, “Happy Thanksgiving!”

  I wish I could lift Elijah’s glass but I couldn’t. Instead I would fill his chair with dignity, perfect pos
ture, and a hint of a sexy mystery, until Annie Graceland gets her two-bit act together and finds a way for me to pass to my version of Heaven.

  In parting, Dearest Diary, I know from being a world-renowned self-help author and motivational speaker, that at times you probably feel somewhat inadequate. Perhaps you believe that you are simply a blank slate until someone fills in your pages. Don’t let anyone put you down.

  Remember that you’re still a real book, after all. Keep your chin up. Show some self-respect.

  And, who knows? Now that I’ve written in your pages—even you might become a best-seller someday.

  My very best,

  Dr. Derrick Fuller, Ph.D.

  Chapter 34

  Joshua Bankman’s Very Scary Day

  GRADY

  Dear Finley,

  Yay! I can’t believe it. I finished #NaNoWriMo ahead of time. What an exhausting, exciting, and amazing experience. I know that I have extensive rewrites ahead of me, but to have actually written my first novel, have it on my computer, tucked into Dropbox for safe keeping, and printed out in double-spaced word documents to hand to beta-readers—well, frankly, I never even dreamt this day would be possible.

  I’ve got to give Julia credit. She read my pages after Annie freaked out that I was writing something too close to her actual life. It was Julia who suggested I make my hero a twelve-year-old boy instead of an adult. Never in a thousand years would I have thought of this twist, and yet, it was the perfect note. I wrote a middle-grade mystery. I am thrilled.