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

by Pamela DuMond

  In desperation, I broke down and allowed dead Derrick to visit. He regaled Slice with memories of their crazy, hedonistic times spent partying together, but the rocker didn’t recall any of their wild escapades, not even the warm summer nights picnicking at the castle outside of Vienna when they shared a five-thousand-dollar eighty-year-old bottle of sweet Riesling wine paired with wild boar sausages and light flakey strudel.

  To make matters worse, every radio station played non-stop Slice music. Folks called into the shows, sharing memories of attending his concerts, shagging him, or naming their beloved pet after him. He was, after all, the rock 'n' roll animal whisperer. I was on a slow train traveling the fast track to losing what little remained of my sanity.

  But I was a glass half full kind of girl and decided to fashion a sounder plan. Instead of sitting around and waiting for Slice to twerk me to death, or hunt down mutton stew recipes so I could make it exactly the way his mum did, even though he couldn’t taste it, I would investigate and find the person who murdered him. After all, I’d done this before, and I’d survived.

  I tracked down Dr. Derrick Fuller’s killer. (Reference Cupcakes, Lies, and Dead Guys.) I found out who killed that snippy clerk at Snotsky’s of Santa Monica. (See Cupcakes, Sales, and Cocktails.) I went back home to Wisconsin under false pretenses—created by my mother, might I add—put two and four together and figured out who killed Frank Plank. (As told in Cupcakes, Pies, and Hot Guys.) I followed the clues and apprehended Bad Santa’s murderer at the animal charity event. (Cupcakes, Paws, and Bad Santa Claus.) I discovered who killed my ex-boyfriend from college, Mack ‘The Man’ McManus, and while I couldn’t blame the woman, I still brought her to justice. (Told in Cupcakes, Diaries, and Rotten Inquiries.) I even figured out who murdered my obnoxious apartment manager, Anthony Spiggottini, and so far—through all of this—my boyfriend, Detective Raphael Campillio, was none the wiser. (Cupcakes, Bats, and Scare-dy Cats.)

  He wasn’t a dumb man, so this actually perplexed me. But then when I really thought about it, I was kind of the poster girl for innocence; and, except for my propensity to swear at crappy drivers, I was the perfect package of all things wholesome and sweet—at least on the outside.

  Raphael thought I was a cute, Midwestern chick with a decent sense of humor who liked baking, watching TV, walking on the beach, and enjoyed working at Mort’s Deli. He didn’t have a clue that I routinely talked to dead people, scrutinized their homicides, and solved their murder mysteries. He also didn’t know that on occasion, this put me in a spot of danger. He didn’t need to know this. He was a bit of a worrier. It’s not like I had to tell him everything; a few secrets were good for a relationship—they spiced it up, if that was even possible. My boyfriend was pretty darn hot all on his own, and we had enough chemistry to blow up a lab.

  His eyes were chocolate brown, his hair jet-black, and his lips full and tempting. A girl could lose her way with a man like Raphael Campillio, get lost somewhere in the vicinity of his six pack abs—mmm—I could picture running my hand over them right now, and then I wasn’t sure if I should head left or right, up or down—

  “Pour Some Sugar on Me!” Slice wailed and leaped up in the air, doing the splits, wailing on his imaginary guitar.

  I jumped a foot and my shoulders slammed into my ears. “Stop it! I beg you!” The dead guy in my living room kicked the stuffing out of my hot boyfriend fantasy, and sadly, I crashed back to the real world with a harsh thud.

  “Oh come on!” Slice said. “That’s a classic rock 'n' roll song by Def Leppard. Even you, Betty Crocker, need to let loose once in a while.”

  “Letting loose does not entail sugar pouring,” I said.

  “Fine, stick in the mud. What’s your favorite rock 'n' roll song? Everyone has one.”

  I chewed on my lip. “I’m not telling you.” I needed to track down his killer, not take another trip down memory lane. Then justice would be served, history would repeat itself, Slice would realize he was dead, and pass to the Afterlife. I needed to put this one to bed, and considering my bed was actually a fold out couch in my living room that I was no longer willing to share with a dead rock star, I needed to put it to bed now.

  The next night Raphael and I went on a delicious date to The Full Scoop, a new ice cream parlor that had opened on Rose Avenue in Venice. Rose used to be the border between the ’hood and Yuppie-Ville, but now was becoming gentrified faster than you could say Frappuccino. I told him my place was a mess, so we went back to his after sampling a few scoops of fresh, homemade vanilla, and the white chocolate with raspberries embedded in its creamy deliciousness.

  “Annie,” Raphael said when we came up for air after a round of toe-curling love between the sheets action, “is there something going on that you need to tell me about? I haven’t stayed the night at your place in over a week. That’s gotta be some kind of record for us.”

  “Nope, nothing’s going on,” I said and secretly congratulated myself on learning that new super-stretchy yoga position because it had finally paid off doing something a lot more fun than yoga.

  “I’m happy to hang out with you here, but, you’re such a homebody, and I never thought I’d say this, but I miss your cat.”

  “You’re adorable.” I smiled and brushed a lock of his black hair off his forehead. My hand couldn’t help itself, seemed to lose all control, as it traveled brazenly down his muscular shoulder and caressed his firm bicep muscle. “I didn’t know you felt that way about Theodore.”

  “I feed him his new food that he likes every time I come over, and then we play fetch with his bouncy toy.”

  “That’s sweet,” I said. “I love having people stay over, Raphael. You, my mom, all the dead… I mean you and my mom, definitely not at the same time, but at the end of the day, I need to upgrade to a one-bedroom apartment. I desperately need that extra space.”

  “You can afford it?” he asked.

  “It’ll be a juggling act,” I said. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask if you know an Officer Maria Campillio?”

  He coughed, hard, and slapped a hand over his mouth.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “So—did you track down this magical new apartment yet?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Was that a yes on Maria Campillio? She’s an LAPD detective, about my height, better body, and fabulous hair. Know her?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Did I tell you that I found out some stuff about Julia’s case?”

  “You’re going to give me privileged information?” I regarded him quizzically. “You’ve never done that before.”

  “Times change, people change.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Word has it your pal might be off the hook.”

  “Ooh, tell all!” I said and snuggled in tight against his rock solid chest.

  “Why talk when there are so many other fun things to do?” He wrapped one muscular arm around me, pulled me on top of him, and kissed me.

  “Boy am I glad you talked me into doing that,” I said over an hour later as I stepped out of the shower and snagged his bathrobe hanging from the hook on the back of the door. “We totally need to do whatever that was called again. So—was that a yes or no on the Maria Campillio thing?” I grabbed his brush from the vanity and dragged it through my wet, tangled hair.

  “Yes,” he said from the inside of the shower stall, the water running hard, until the handle creaked to a stop. “I hope you’re staying over tonight, honey. Quick question: you remembered to feed Theodore his new food that he likes before I picked you up tonight, right?”

  “No.” I frowned and put down the brush down. “Darn that finicky cat and a pox on his hunger strike. I’ve got to go home or he won’t eat. It’s late, I’ll just uber it—”

  “Nope, I’ll drive you.” Raphael stepped out of the tub, his black hair wet and glistening, his full lips somewhat fuller and even more delectable if that were possible. He snagged a towel from the rack and dried off, as I took in the lines of his chiseled
body. Moisture caressed his body like each droplet knew it had totally lucked out and was grateful to be there.

  “That’s super nice of you to offer,” I said and eyed him appreciatively, “but you might not be able to drive.”

  “Why?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “I fear you’re slippery when wet.”

  “Hah!” He reached for the tie to my robe, pulled me flush against him, and smiled. “You’re funny.” He kissed me.

  He was my sweet boyfriend. My hot boyfriend. My only boyfriend. Others could and would tempt me with their wit, charm, and smarts—but I was crazy for this man. Unfortunately, there would be hell to pay if I didn’t feed the other man in my life: Theodore, the cranky cat.

  I batted his hand and pulled away from him, or I’d be staying for round three. Or was it four? “Thanks for the ice cream, and let’s do this again real soon, promise?” I stared up into Raphael’s dreamy chocolate eyes and smooched him on the lips. The last thing I wanted was him getting wind of Slice, or Derrick, or anyone else dead who might show up at my place.

  “Call me when you get home,” he said. “Tell your cat he owes me one. I’m pissed off at him about ruining our plans for tonight.”

  “Nothing was ruined,” I said. “We had a great time.”

  “Oh, you have no idea what else I had in store for us tonight, Annie Graceland.”

  Chapter 12

  Faux Pas

  Theodore (The Cat)

  Annie trod into our abode late that night with a strong whiff of fresh vanilla ice cream wafting from her disheveled, ratted hair. She muttered under her breath, cracked open a can of wet cat food, and spooned it onto a plain, small plate with a harsh ‘clack clack clack’. “I hope you know, Theodore, that you interrupted a majorly fun date night to service your finicky dietary needs.”

  “Yes, Cat Mother,” I meowed and wove around her feet in a meticulous figure eight until she placed the saucer on the floor.

  “I hope your new super expensive food is worth all the extra costs, effort, and you’d better eat the entire serving, mister.”

  I would try if she didn’t give me the lamb and rice in special sauce again. Lately, Annie seemed to have sheep on the brain, as she perused mutton recipes online, and paged through one of her chunky red and white cookbooks, bookmarking pages. I tasted my dinner, and lucky for the both of us, tonight’s meal was chicken and tuna.

  I cleaned my whiskers and wandered into our living room where I spotted her collapsed on the couch with the laptop open and resting on her stomach. “What are you doing?” I jumped up next to her, eyed the ancient viewing device, and rubbed my chin against it.

  “I’m looking for a new apartment for us, Theodore.” She scrolled through glossy pictures of online apartment listings. “This one is a no—too expensive. No—crappy neighborhood. No—really crappy neighborhood. Wait a minute—‘No cats allowed?’ What’s up with that?” she asked and waggled her eyebrows. “Asshats! Who doesn’t allow cats in rental units these days? You kitties are terrific pets, scare off intruders, and you even catch bugs. I distinctly remember that time, Theodore, when you pounced on that fat, creepy spider, and terminated it.”

  I distinctly remember that time the spider scared the living crap out of me; I jumped five feet in the air, and bolted across the living room like I’d been hit with a cattle prod. I shivered in fear.

  Annie scratched my chin and smiled. “You’re my big, brave, adorable kitty and I love you, Theodore von Pumpernickle. Never forget that.” She stood up, pulled a cushion off the couch, and placed it on the floor next to the sofa. This was my cue to head back to the kitchen for midnight leftovers.

  I leaped off the couch, stretched in downward facing cat, and sauntered around the corner. I pulled up abruptly when I spotted the man with the pillow-like tummy that I fantasized about kneading. He crouched on the linoleum floor and stretched an inquisitive finger toward my food bowl. “Stop, thief!” I meowed.

  He stared at me, fascinated. “I distinctly heard you say, ‘Stop, thief!’ Our lines of communication are improving, kitty. It’s as if you are a muse, or an angel sent from God to herald the news of an upcoming miracle.” He leaned down and ran his hand over my spine, and I couldn’t help but let him enjoy the fluffiness of my luxurious coat.

  “That’s exactly what I said to the person who I caught stealing. ‘Stop thief!’ I wish that I could remember it more clearly. I wish I could recall to whom I said those words. But I can’t. I’ve always been rotten with names but great with faces. Maybe if I saw the scoundrel again, the name would come to me.”

  I rather liked when he petted me. I head butted his hand and allowed him to fondle my ears. I wasn’t crazy about the ear-touching thing, but ultimately I was angling for a chin rub. His hand traveled down, and caressed the side of my face, and I encouraged him with a tiny meow.

  “But the thief did not stop,” Slice said. “An altercation ensued. I don’t understand why the woman who lives here—you know the one I’m talking about—the decent looking chick who refuses to feed me? Why won’t she acknowledge what I am trying to tell her about the bandit? Maybe you should talk with her? You seem to know her far better than I do. Perhaps you could convince her.”

  His massage felt delightful, almost mesmerizing, really. Why was I worried that he was still dangerously close to my food bowl? He was probably a decent enough soul.

  My heart pounded in my chest, and it was hard for me to concentrate as I was torn between the waves of delight and fear that he would steal my leftovers.

  Annie finished pulling out her old sleeper sofa, and the bottom rungs hit the hardwood floors with a distinctive thud. It was almost time for me to jump into bed with her and snuggle on my favorite blanket, but I needed my nighttime snack. I eyed my bowl, but hesitated to walk past the man with the too tight pants.

  “Stop being a scare-dy cat, Theodore.” Mary the spirit cat perched on top of the refrigerator and stared down at us. “He’s just a ghost.”

  I had accepted a back massage from a spirit? Ew. I shuddered and all the hairs on my back stood erect like tiny little soldiers on parade. I hopped into the air, skittered a few feet away, turned, and glared at the man.

  “That ghost is just confused, you know.” Mary licked one paw and pulled on her toenails. “He’s trying to act all cool and hip, but on the inside, he’s just a befuddled little boy.”

  “Little boy or adult—it’s impolite for him to interfere with my meal.”

  “Might I remind you Theodore, that you are a cat, not a person. You are superior to humans, living or dead. You can rise above, outwit, and outmaneuver the vast majority of these hairless creatures. So if you want your late night snackie, and you wish to claim your spot on the bed before the spirit with the long, greasy hair curls up on your favorite comfy pillow, I suggest you suck it up, act like a cool cat, and make it happen.”

  “You’re right,” I said and pawed the floor around me, gathering my courage as if it were scattered kitty litter.

  “Stop procrastinating!” Mary said.

  “I’m not procrastinating! I am plotting. I fly by the seat of my pants, figure things out as I go along. Theodore von Pumpernickle is not one for impetuous action.” I meandered across the kitchen floor; my nose up in the air like it was any given evening here in the little studio apartment in Venice Beach, California—the neighborhood by the sea. “I am not scared of a stupid ghost,” I said. “I am not scared of a stupid ghost!”

  “Please stop saying that derogatory term.” Mary sighed. “You do know that technically I’m a ghost as well.”

  I stopped in my tracks, stared up at her, and before I could help it, I arched my back and hissed. I obviously terrified her: she blinked, hissed, and spat back at me. I realized my faux pas and was horrified, overwhelmed with embarrassment. Oh my god, I’d made a complete and utter ass out of myself. “I’m sorry, Mary!” I threw myself on the floor and lay still like the dead, except for my back tail that twitched all on its ow
n. I was in shock, my eyes wide and glassy. “I’m so very sorry. I uttered stupid words, ridiculous words, and I would understand if you never want to hang out with me again. I was a complete and utter jerk.”

  She jumped from the top of the fridge, to the countertop next to the stove, and then down to the floor. She leaned down toward me, sniffed my face, and gave me one reassuring lick. “I like you Teddy. You’re a good kitty, we’re becoming better friends, and no, I’m not going to dump you. On your feet, soldier, and get the job done.”

  The ghost hummed a tune that sounded suspiciously like “Street Fighting Man” by the Rolling Stones, as I pushed myself to standing. I took a deep breath, stepped boldly past him, and licked the remaining scraps of shredded chicken and tuna from my food bowl.

  I might say the wrong thing every once in a while, but I, Theodore von Pumpernickle, was not a scare-dy cat.

  LAMB STEW

  Cut lamb from neck or shoulder in pieces.

  Brown in fat with chopped onion.

  Cover with boiling water; let simmer 1/2 hour. Salt and pepper to taste.

  Add small potatoes, carrots, celery and 1 green pepper, diced.

  Simmer for another ½ hour.

  Let cool just enough so mouths will not be burnt.

  Garnish with parsley.

  Serve hot on a platter.

  Chapter 13

  Stalking Me Much

  Annie

  The next morning, I downed a double espresso and fed Theodore two pouches of Hawaii Kitty Delicacy in Sauce, in an effort to cheer him up. He’d been unusually quiet since last night, and I hoped his new food was settling his tummy and soothing his anxiety.