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

by Pamela DuMond

  *Using pasteurized eggs or liquid egg substitute will reduce any potential hazard that might result from using raw eggs. However, egg-free cookie dough can also be used. Any uncooked or undercooked meat or egg product carries potential risk. Take appropriate precautions and safety measures as necessary.

  Cupcake Batter:

  1 stick butter, softened

  1 3/4 cups sugar

  4 eggs - room temperature

  1 tsp. vanilla extract

  1/3 cup oil

  2 3/4 cups cake flour

  1 1/4 tsp. baking powder

  3/4 tsp. baking soda

  1/2 tsp. salt

  1/4 cup vanilla pudding mix

  1/2 cup dark cocoa powder, sifted

  1.5 cups whole milk

  In a large bowl or bowl of a stand mixer, cream butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Add vanilla and eggs. Mix on low speed until fully incorporated. Add oil and mix thoroughly.

  In a separate bowl combine dry ingredients: flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, pudding mix, cocoa powder.

  In a small bowl, whisk together coffee liqueur, Irish cream and sour cream thoroughly.

  Add dry and liquid mixtures to the mixing bowl in two additions, scraping down sides and bottom of bowl. Mix until smooth.

  Fill baking cups 2/3 full and add a ball of frozen cookie dough to each cupcake just before placing into the oven.

  Bake at 350° 18-22 minutes (in a standard oven, less for convection ovens) until a toothpick inserted at the edge comes out clean (inserting in the center will not give an accurate reading as cookie dough will be gooey).

  Cool completely, then frost and decorate.

  Vanilla ButterSCREAM Icing:

  1 cup butter (2 sticks), softened

  3 - 4 cups confectioner’s sugar, sifted

  A pinch of salt

  2-3 tablespoons whole milk

  2 tsp. vanilla extract

  Place softened butter into the bowl of a stand mixer that has been fitted with the paddle attachment. Turn the mixer on a medium setting and cream the butter until it is smooth and has lightened in color, about 3 minutes.

  Add confectioner’s sugar, ½ a cup at a time. Add vanilla extract and a pinch of salt. After each cup of powdered sugar has been incorporated, turn the mixer onto the highest speed setting and for about 10 seconds to lighten the frosting.

  Add milk until the frosting has reached the preferred consistency.

  For a firmer frosting, add more confectioner’s sugar, a ¼ cup at a time. For a softer frosting, add more milk, a tablespoon at a time.

  Apply to cupcakes after they have cooled.

  Serve fresh, or cover and refrigerate.

  Acknowledgments

  A huge thanks to my usual suspects: Renee George for another awesome cover, Debbie deBlas for boldly beta reading this ms, and Arianne Cruz for editing.

  Thanks to my real-life cheerleaders – you are awesome and I am grateful for you every day: Kristin Warren, Joan Brady, Sue Berger, Dakota Cassidy, Michael James Canales, Allison Morse, Alta Kirkland Roberts, Jeanie Whitmire Jackson, Cheryl Cavitt Carlson, Carole Sauer, Terri Billingsley Dunn, JM Kelley, Kaye DuMond, An’gel Molpus, Maggie Marr, Sylvie Fox, Beverly Diehl, Deborah Daly Roelandts, Beverly Osborne Cavaliere, Cindy Sample, Joanne Pence, Carolyn Haines, Monica Mason, Cheyenne Mason, and Melissa Black Ford. Thanks to my friends and family.

  Thanks to those who contributed recipes for this book: Debbie deBlas, Laura Devries, Robin Kelly, Kim MacMahon Davis . A big thanks to my Cupcakes narrators Kelly Self and C. Aurora deBlas.

  Thanks to my readers for embracing this book. Annie Graceland’s adventures wouldn’t continue without your support. You are wonderful.

  A special thanks to the Los Angeles Public Library for featuring Cupcakes, Lies, and Hot Guys in their Self-E Program. I do appreciate your support.

  Go read a book and tell someone you love about it!

  Xo

  Pamela DuMond

  Cupcakes, Bars, and Rock Stars

  An Annie Graceland Cozy Mystery, #7

  by

  Pamela DuMond

  Praise and Description:

  Praise for the Cupcakes books:

  “…it’s a wild a wacky whodunit…” Beth Hoffman (NYT Bestselling Author)

  “One part Ghost Whisperer, two parts Stephanie Plum, shake and stir and you have Annie Graceland!” Dakota Cassidy (USA Today Bestselling Author of the Accidentals series.)

  Watch the Annie Graceland Mystery Book Trailer!

  Cupcakes Book Trailer

  Description:

  Annie Graceland's a baker with just a PINCH of PSYCHIC ABILITY…

  But Annie's recently acquired a spookier skill—she can see and talk to ghosts. Much to her dismay, they also talk to her—nagging her incessantly to solve their murders.

  Annie and her friends attend the star-studded United Music Awards so her BFF, Julia, can reunite with famous rock star SLICE, her teenage crush. But when Slice is murdered during the event, Julia becomes a suspect.

  It's up to Annie to solve Slice's murder, before Julia is forever framed for the deed. It doesn’t help that his addled ghost haunts her, tagging along on his own, final ‘magical mystery tour while she investigates his groupies, the music producer, and other members of the band. Can Annie find Slice’s killer before the killer finds her?

  Enter the madcap world of Rock 'n' Roll mischief and mayhem—if you dare!

  Cupcakes, Bars, and Rock Stars

  (An Annie Graceland Cozy Mystery, #7)

  Copyright © 2016 Pamela DuMond

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Art Design by Renee George

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any other means, without written permission of the author, except in the use of brief quotations used in articles or reviews. You can contact the author via her website. Pamela DuMond website .

  For my forever niece

  Holly Nicole Fuller

  You’ll always be a Rock Star!

  Chapter 1

  Not a Celebrity

  Annie

  The seams of my twenty-year-old black spandex miniskirt squeaked in protest with every step I took on the red carpet. But, I had recently taken a vow to think more positively, and was therefore hopeful my dress would stay intact and not explode like a tired, worn out, sausage casing in front of millions of viewers on live TV. I was determined to be a glass ‘half full’ kind of girl.

  The only reason I walked the red carpet at the United Music Awards tonight was because my BFF, Julia, had scored tickets to the star-studded event. I liked to think she’d accomplished this through her skillful negotiating skills as an experienced attorney, or her family’s strategic business connections. But the harsh reality was, she texted selfies of her cleavage to an aging rock star who used to be her teenage crush.

  “I can’t believe that after twenty long years, I finally get to see Slice.” Julia pouted her lips and carefully dabbed on her signature poppy red lipstick.

  “I don’t understand why you still care about that washed-up rocker.” Grady patted his black pompadour wig. “I heard his song, Cailín Came A’Hailing in the elevator the other day on my way to the dentist’s office; that guy’s time has come and gone. On the other hand, Love Me Tender by Elvis Presley is forever.”

  “Unlike a rock ballad, a rock star first love,” I finger quoted, “‘is forever.’ A girl can grow up, get married, get divorced, and even be accused of murder, but trust me; a girl never forgets her first rock star love. Right, Julia?”

  “Right,” she said. “Which is why I’m here tonight. Why don’t you ask Annie about her first rock star love?” />
  “That’s old news. I totally forgot about him.” I dabbed the beads of sweat that suddenly erupted on my brow.

  “How long did it take before that debacle was cleared from your mother’s record?” Julia asked.

  “The judged delivered an infraction citation for that incident,” I said.

  “You had a rock star love?” Grady asked. “What was the infraction?”

  “Mom doesn’t like me talking about it. Doesn’t everyone have a rock star love?” I asked. “Maybe it’s just a poster tacked onto a wall, or a YouTube video that one watches over and over, or a concert T-shirt with a hot rocker splayed across one’s chest.”

  “You slept in that guy’s T-shirt for a solid year,” Julia said. “You said it was the teenage equivalent of a teddy bear.”

  “It wasn’t a full year.” I sniffed.

  “Who was your rock star love, Annie?” Grady asked. “You can tell me! Rick Springfield? Sting? Justin Bieber? ”

  “Nope.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Just some random guy in leather jeans.”

  Julia whistled. “Hah-hah. Not just some random guy.”

  “Color me intrigued,” Grady said. “Do I know him?”

  “Better question,” Julia said. “Who doesn’t know him?”

  “OMG! Look!” I widened my eyes and pointed. “On the red carpet, twenty yards out. The girl with the beehive hairdo—that’s Taylor Swift!”

  Paparazzi’s light bulbs flashed nearly blinding us, and people’s heads swiveled faster than Linda Blair’s during The Exorcist. “Not Swiftie!” A producer hollered. “Confirmed; that’s a no on Tay-Tay. Front and center people. Chop-chop! Cue the red carpet attendee interviews.”

  Reporters stuck out their mics and cornered guests. A swizzle stick female TV correspondent on sky-high heels aimed her mic at Julia. “Who are you here to see tonight?”

  “Oh!” Julia squeezed her hands together at her heart. “I’m here to see Slice. I hope when he sees me in this vintage Vivienne Westwood knock off, he’ll remember when we were together. When we had feelings for each other.”

  Swizzle Stick leaned in. “That is impossibly nostalgic, I’d kill for that dress, and more importantly… did you and Slice date? Or were you just a groupie?”

  “I, I was, well we…” Julia blushed, “…it was complicated.”

  I kicked the back of Grady’s leg and he jumped. “What?”

  I mimed slashing my throat. “End this, please.”

  Grady stepped in front of Julia. “I’m wearing a knock off of The King’s White Fireworks Suit circa 1971.” He patted his white bellbottom bedazzling sequined stretch pants. “It was a precursor to Mr. Presley’s Red Matador outfit—”

  “Katy Perry’s at nine o’clock. Hurry it up!” The producer shouted. Swizzle Stick and her crew thundered past us like a herd of African elephants that had been spooked.

  I placed my hand onto the small of Julia’s back. “Walk.” I propelled her forward. We forged our way through the sweltering, star-studded crowd. We passed screaming fans stuffed behind metal barricades and relegated to the sidelines. Several good-hearted celebrities stopped and posed for a few photos with a cluster of them. When Big Dog—a young male rapper—ignored their pleas and lumbered past, folks snapped pictures, and posted them to Twitter with the hashtag #BigDogSucks! I re-tweeted it after he stepped on my foot and didn’t apologize.

  My name is Annie Graceland and I’m not a celebrity or a household name. I’m a thirty-eight-year-old divorced baker with a big-boned Himalayan cat named Theodore von Pumpernickle. My singular claim to fame was that, for a brief moment in time, I was a suspect in the murder of a famous self-help author. No, I didn’t kill Dr. Derrick Fuller. But because I possess a pinch of psychic ability, his ghost glombed onto me, nagging me incessantly to track down his killer, so he could pass to the Afterlife.

  The fact that he’s still haunting me is evidence that the fruits of my amateur sleuthing efforts didn’t turn out all that peachy.

  But who cared about the past? Not me: no way, no how.

  “Isn’t it exciting we’re wearing the exact same outfits you made us buy twenty years ago?” Julia asked.

  “You made us buy these outfits,” I said.

  “You say po-tay-to. I say po-tah-toe. We wore them to Slice’s concert in Milwaukee. I think it’s good luck.” She handed me her compact. “Be a pal and bump up your makeup. You need some color. We’re at the UMAs, not at a fan convention for The Walking Dead.”

  “Fine.” I gazed into the tiny mirror. My long, shiny, L’Oreal-colored auburn hair was ratted out, piled on top of my head, and disheveled locks dangled next to my face. My boobs were squashed in a high-performance push-up bra, and my modest cleavage was visible through the fraying, black mesh bodice.

  I was a mess in a dress; a disaster waiting to happen. I said a silent prayer that my boyfriend, the oh-so-hot Detective Raphael Campillio, wouldn’t catch a glimpse of me in this get-up. He might re-think bringing me home to his mother. Frankly, I’d be scared to bring me home to my mother.

  “Besides the overall awesomeness of just being here,” Grady said, “what’s the big deal with the matching twenty-year-old outfits, the glittery makeup, and the glam hair?”

  “The Academy’s awarding Slice a Lifetime Achievement Award tonight,” I said. “It’s a special night for him, as well as Julia.”

  “Slice was interested in Julia twenty years ago,” Grady said. “He grabbed her from the mosh pit in Milwaukee, pulled her on stage, and groped her.”

  “She met him before that night,” I said. “He practiced with some struggling musicians, jamming on riffs and chords and melodies in dirty old warehouses in Milwaukee. We hung out there a couple of times.”

  “Let’s get this straight Glamvis,” Julia said. “Slice and I danced and he kissed me. Plenty of people don’t see each other for years, run into each other again, and discover that they’re soul-mates.”

  “That greasy junkie blew his chance when he tried to push you back down into the pit, you clamped onto his hair, and—oof!” Grady bounced off a wannabe who shoved in front of him to get a second of airtime on Access Hollywood. He regained his footing and continued, “Slice screamed, his bodyguard wrangled you off him, but you held onto his hair. You yanked a hunk of it right out of his head.”

  “Technically I did not hold onto his hair,” Julia frowned. “My ring got caught in it.” She wriggled a six-inch long clump of blonde hair wrapped in rosary beads from her skirt pocket, cradled the trinket, and petted it. “But then the hair pulling accident happened, and it’s not like I could sew it back on his head. So I kept it.”

  “I saw the YouTube video,” Grady said. “It has over ten million views on it. Too bad I didn’t film it, I’d have scored a TV deal by now.”

  “Ten million views?” Julia’s face flushed and she froze.

  “Shut up!” I swatted Grady’s arm. “Julia, you’ve been waiting two decades for this reunion. Keep walking.”

  We approached a security guard; his arms crossed against his muscular chest, stationed at a private, tucked away side entrance to the theater. “Sorry folks,” he said. “This area is off limits. You can enter through the doors in front of the theater.”

  I nudged Julia. “Show him your Full Access backstage pass, sweetpea.”

  She fumbled in her cleavage, extricated her lanyard badge, and thrust it in front of the guard.

  He examined it and mumbled into his headset. “Hello, Dolly checking in.”

  “My name’s Julia, not Dolly,” she said.

  “That’s probably his secret code name,” Grady said.

  “Full Access. Yes. Visiting Mr. Slice,” the guard paused. “Suite 42 D. Yes, sir.” He held out a clipboard. “Sign here, please, Miss.”

  “Thank you.” Julia scribbled her name. “What now?”

  He held open the door. “Down that hallway. Take a right at the first T-intersection. Mr. Slice is situated in Suite 42 Double D.”

&nb
sp; “You mean Suite 42 D,” Grady said.

  “Right,” the guard said.

  Julia’s face turned white and she dropped Slice’s hair trinket. “Oh my God,” she said. “Oh my God, after all this time, I finally get to see him again.” She bent over to pick up the charm as her hands trembled.

  I nabbed it and held it high in the air out of her reach. “You’ve been pining for this guy for twenty years. You are not going to walk through that dressing room door carrying a reminder of a painful memory. Men hate painful memories almost as much as they hate hair loss.”

  “It’s now or never, Miss,” The security guard said.

  “I’ll take care of the voodoo-dad.” I saluted her. “Go.”

  “Go!” Grady said.

  Julia wiped away a few tears, fluffed her hair, and blew us a kiss. “You guys are the best,” she said, and strode inside.

  Grady sniffed and dabbed his eyes, “It could be her prom night all over again.”

  “If you knew what happened on her prom night, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

  “Show’s starting soon, folks,” the guard said. “You need to find your seats.”