Cupcakes, Bats, and Scare-dy Cats (An Annie Graceland Cozy Mystery Book 6)

by Pamela DuMond

  “Don’t say he’s broken!” I hollered.

  “I didn’t mean to imply that.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I stopped for a second, closed my eyes, twisted a clump of my hair, and reminded myself, again, to calm down. “I apologize, Officer. Except for my sanity, nothing’s missing. But I might find something later. I don’t know. It’s all so weird because we were only gone for a couple of hours.”

  “Let’s go over this again. You and Detective Campillio left to go to a party. When you got home, the entry was open, and both animals, a dog and a cat, were missing. Maybe you didn’t shut your door all the way,” he said. “The door was already open a crack. The dog stuck his nose in it and the animals wandered outside.”

  I shook my head. “No. I check it. I check it every time I leave the place.”

  “Maybe it was shut but not completely locked,” he said. “Opportunists frequently jiggle doorknobs looking for an easy invitation to step inside and shop for a few moments.”

  “Shop for what?” I bit my fingernails. “All that’s missing is the animals. Do I look like a pet store?”

  He sighed. “No, Miss Graceland.”

  “I’m sorry, Officer Ni,” I said. “I’m a terrible person. I apologize from my broken heart for being entirely too crabby, but I’m panicking. My cat was rescued from a construction site that coyotes frequented as a fast food joint. Theodore’s an indoor cat, and doesn’t possess outdoor survival skills.” I knelt on the floor, looked under the couch for the hundredth time, but saw nothing except dust bunnies.

  “Officer, we appreciate your thoughtfulness and quick response,” Raphael said and handed him his LAPD business card. “If you could let others know to be on the lookout for one enormous, long-haired cat who doesn’t answer to Theodore or Teddy, and/or a German shepherd mix dog that does answer to Mozart, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

  “Sure thing,” he said. “If I were you, I’d post on the local social media sites. I’ll let you know if we have any news—”

  His partner stuck her head in the door. “Officer Ni.” She motioned to him with a quick nod of her head as her radio crackled. “We have a possible Code 187…”

  “Oh, crap,” Raphael said.

  I strode into my hallway, pulled the closet doors open, yanked out boxes and bags, and pitched them onto the floor behind me. I even looked up at that ornamental grate on the ceiling that Raphael had mentioned, but it didn’t look big enough to hide a cat. “Theodore,” I said. “Theodore von Pumpernickle, if you’re in there it’s time to come out. You’re scaring your mother. And where is the damn dog? Rafe, would you knock on Cody’s door again?”

  “I left him my information and yours. Are you sure his number isn’t already on your phone?”

  “I never called him,” I said. “I wrote his digits on a post-it and stuck it on my fridge with a little magnet—Oh my God, the fridge.” I stood up and ran into the kitchen.

  “I don’t think your cat’s in the fridge,” Raphael said.

  “Yeah, but Cody’s phone number probably fell and got sucked under.” I kneeled on the floor, planted the side of my face on the linoleum, and peered between the kitchen cabinet and the ancient appliance. “Maybe he found the both of them and what if he had to take them to the vet? Or he found Theodore, and they’re driving around looking for Mozart?”

  I plopped onto my stomach, grimaced, thrust my hand under the old rattletrap, and fished through the assorted lint and other unidentifiable gunk for anything that felt like paper. I pulled out an old Doublemint gum wrapper, a coupon for “Buy 5 natural-looking hair plugs and get 5 Free!” from Super Fine Hair Transplants for Men, and couldn’t help but notice that the model resembled a young Donald Trump. My stomach churned, but I was determined, and I kept on fishing. “What if, what if…” I pulled out a post-it with a phone number. “Score! We can call him now.”

  But Raphael didn’t answer; he’d stepped outside. There were also no demanding meows, no soothing hacking noises, nor the comforting reverberations of a dog thumping his tail on my living room floor. Except for the sound of police sirens piercing the night air, my place was quiet—too quiet.

  When a sharp pain pierced my chest, and if I didn’t know any better, I could swear I’d been shot. I clutched my chest and glanced down. There was no blood pouring onto my shirt, so I didn’t think I’d been hit by a stray bullet. I was probably having an anxiety attack or really bad gastric reflux. Jeez, I hoped it wasn’t a heart attack with all the stress I’d been under. Heart disease was, after all, the #1 killer in America.

  When the dulcet tones of someone blabbering penetrated my ears and wormed into my brain, I stood up and spotted a guy dressed like Dracula pacing my living room. He pretended to talk into a phone, even though he had nothing in his hand. Odd, because the man wasn’t here earlier, he must have just wandered in from the street.

  Oh thank you, universe for adding to the fabulosity of my spectacular night. Thank you for inviting random, strange people, to enter my apartment and make themselves at home. Come on in folks! Feel free to roam around my tiny home and help yourself to whatever you’d like. Please leave a quarter on the bathroom sink if you need to use the facilities.

  This year, Halloween fell on a weekday, giving Trick and Treat addicts an all access pass to throw parties the weekends before, as well as after the official date. Many folks probably believed this was great fun, but I lived in Venice, California, where, frankly, every day already felt a little too much like Halloween.

  Therefore, I assumed ‘Dracula’ had gone to a neighborhood party, gotten trashed, and wandered into the wrong home, which was, unfortunately, my home. I sighed. “Excuse me, sir.”

  The pasty intruder held up one finger, frowned, and kept talking. “Upon vacating the premises we expect the apartment returned to us in pristine condition, Ms. Haines, and that includes the caulking around the bathtub. I don’t care that you’ve lived in the unit for ten years. Cracks in the caulking exceed normal wear and tear, and I fear I will not be able to return your security deposit.”

  “Attention Vlad the Impaler,” I said. “You’re in the wrong apartment. Do you need me to call you a ride?”

  “Thank you for interrupting my very important business call.” He sniffed and pretended to hang up. “Do I appear itinerant? I have a car. It’s parked on the street.”

  “No offense,” I said. “But, I don’t think you’re in any shape to be driving.”

  “Like you know everything.” He sneered. “Who died and put you in charge?”

  Raphael strode back inside my apartment at just the right time. Dracula didn’t look dangerous, but one could never tell. Thank God, my detective boyfriend had returned.

  I grabbed a Tootsie Roll from the bowl of candy on the kitchen island countertop. “You’re in my apartment, dude, therefore we play by my rules. Trick or treat.” I waved the candy in front of the vampire. “Your fancy trick was getting inside my place without anyone noticing you. Kudos. Therefore I’m giving you a treat. Enjoy this delicious caramel and toffee concoction while you exit the premises—now.” I raised an eyebrow in the vampire’s direction. Funny, he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. I tossed him the candy.

  He held up his hand but it flew through his fingers. No wait, that couldn’t be. It must have flown between his fingers. I was so tired I was seeing things.

  The candy landed on Raphael’s foot and he shook his head. “Honey, you know I don’t like Tootsie Rolls, and I’m not going anywhere right now. I get that it’s been a stressful evening for you. I also understand that physical exertion—like throwing candy, helps you blow off steam, and makes you feel a little more in control. We’ve had this talk before—don’t throw things at me, okay?”

  Dracula eyed me and smiled. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sexy like Sparkles in Twilight, and his long, fake teeth just made him look like Uncle Fester in The Munsters. An irritated sensation skittered up the back of my arms, like cockroaches on my kitchen floor o
n a warm summer night, and I shuddered. “Raphael, I could swear I hear Mozart barking in the distance. Could you be a love, pop outside, and see if he’s roaming around on the street? Thank you.”

  “But, Annie I need to tell you—”

  “I need thirty seconds of private time. Please?” I blinked back fake tears because I was saving my real ones for later.

  “Um…”

  “Oh look, trick or treaters!” I pointed to the front screen door. “They’re adorable. Could you pass out some candy?” I grabbed the bowl off the counter and thrust it at him.

  He took it. “I don’t see any trick or treat—”

  “There’s one dressed up as a wino keeled over on the curb. The kids are so creative these days.”

  He walked to the door, looked outside, and squinted. “Okay.” He glared back at me. “One minute. And then I have bad news—”

  “Take a ticket and stand in line. I’m sorry I said that—I’m stressed!”

  Raphael sighed, walked outside, and I wrung my hands.

  Dracula regarded me disdainfully. “You’re awfully screechy, tonight. You know, I do believe there’s a clause in your lease—”

  I frowned. “Look Vlad, while I appreciate all the hard work that went into your elaborate costume, let me re-iterate: you’re in the wrong apartment, you’ve overstayed your welcome, and I’ve got way too much on my plate to deal with your pasty face, and the fake blood saturating your outfit.”

  Funny, even though I was supremely irritated, my chest pain was disappearing. Could this be some kind of empathic hit? My weirdo psychic ability to experience other people’s feelings in my own body usually only kicked when I was stressed…

  “And,” I said, “if you get any of that ketchup sauce, or whatever-it-is, on my sleeper sofa, I am hunting your flat ass down, and sticking you with the furniture cleaning bill.”

  Raphael walked back inside. “I called it: the disheveled guy on the curb actually was a wino. He said thanks for the Kit-Kat bar and the Red Vines. Look, sweetie, I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but this can’t wait.”

  “Nor can this,” Dracula said. “I spotted a man’s robe hanging from the hook on your bathroom door. Which indicates there’s another person living in the aforementioned premises. To the best of my knowledge you failed to report said person to Mr. Fartier so the new tenant can be added to your lease. Therefore on top of the additional two hundred dollar monthly rent for the second occupant, you’ll be penalized five hundred dollars, or I could have you evicted. Your choice, Graceland.”

  “Gah!” I clamped my hands over my ears. “My boyfriend’s allowed to leave a robe in my apartment. I know who you are and I can’t believe you’re back here. Stop! You’re making my ears bleed. And besides, that’s my robe.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Dracula said, lurched down the short hallway, and poked his head inside the bathroom.

  Rafe looked confused. “I know it’s your robe. Embroidered daisies aren’t really my thing. You don’t want me to be here?”

  “Of course I want you here.” I eyed him. He was so cute. “I’m nut-so about you.”

  “Um, okay.” He sighed. “But there’s bad news...”

  I swept my hand through the air like Vanna White pointing at letters on The Wheel of Fortune, and stabbed my finger in the direction of the vampire. “Oh, I know all about the ‘bad news.’ His name is Anthony Spigg—”

  “Anthony Spiggottini. How’d you know? They found his body in a car parked just down the block. His driver’s license was in a wallet in the middle of the street, and all the cash was gone. He was your apartment manager, yes?”

  “Anthony Spiggottini?” I squeaked as my eyes widened.

  He stomped out of the bathroom, pulled his cloak closer to him, and hissed through his long, yellow, fake teeth. “In the flesh, Ms. Graceland.”

  A cold chill swept over me, and my forearms sprouted goosebumps. “This day can’t get any worse. Put a fork in me; I’m done. Better yet? Skip the fork. Make that a stake.”

  Toffee Square Cookies

  by

  Margaret Dieman

  INGREDIENTS:

  ½ C melted butter

  3 C rolled oats

  1 C brown sugar

  1 Tsp salt

  1 egg beaten

  ½ C dark syrup???

  1 Tsp vanilla

  ¼ C sifted flour

  1 six oz. package of semi-sweet chocolate chips

  Instructions:

  Combine butter and oats and mix well.

  Combine the flour, sugar, salt, the egg, vanilla, and dark syrup and mix well.

  Blend these two mixtures together thoroughly.

  Spread evenly in the bottom of a greased 9X13 baking pan. Bake at 375 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes.

  Remove from the oven and sprinkle the chocolate chips over the top.

  Return to the oven for 1 to 2 minutes to melt the chocolate. Sprinkle with nuts if you wish.

  Cool and cut into squares.

  Should yield approximately 24 squares.

  Chapter 11

  Beware the Pet Police

  Theodore (The Cat)

  I LEANED INTO A TREE, extended my claws, and scratched vigorously at the bark hoping to relieve my anxiety. I stared at the light emanating a few blocks away through my front window, when I heard rumbling noises. My legs felt weak, and I feared I was entering the initial stages of starvation. “Did you hear that sound? That’s my stomach. We’ve been gone for at least two days now. I believe the imminent danger is over, and we can return to my residence.”

  “We’ve been gone for two hours and that rumbling’s from a moped a few blocks over.” Mary jumped up in the air and batted at a few leaves drifting down from the tree.

  Mozart rubbed his head against the trunk as he backed up. “I can’t get rid of this noose. Things that pinch my neck scare me,” he whimpered.

  “I’d be more worried about the dangerous weather conditions we’re experiencing tonight.” I hunkered down, pulled my tail in close to my body, and stared morosely at my front paws. “It’s bitter cold out, probably close to freezing, and I’m losing sensation in my toes.”

  “It’s beach weather in Southern California and I doubt it’s less than sixty-two degrees,” Mary said. “It’s so refreshing to be outside again. It’s been too long.”

  I peered at Mary and wondered where exactly she’d come from. She didn’t look a day over five years old, but what did I know about age? Common folklore declared that our kind had nine lives, but I feared Mary might be on her thirtieth. I shivered but I knew better than to show fear, so I covered it with a delicate fart. “I don’t understand why we can’t go back?”

  “Whoa.” Mozart blinked. “What did you eat for dinner?”

  Mary squinted and pawed at one of her eyes that watered. “Because there are a million uniformed officers swarming the place and you don’t know who are the people police, or the pet police. Either way, if they find us outside, close to a crime scene with a piece of evidence from a murder investigation, they’ll cart you off to the pound. Do you want to go to the pound?”

  “Murder?” I squeaked.

  “Pound?” Mozart collapsed onto the ground and panted.

  “Didn’t you see it? Clearly, Slick was strangled, shot, and murdered.” Mary licked her paw and groomed her ear.

  “How could I see it?” Mozart asked. “I was in the middle of being choked and dognapped.”

  “I’m sorry, Mozart,” Mary said. “That must have been terrifying. You seem like a sweet pooch. Many dogs and cats were born into privileged breeds and homes, but you probably weren’t one of the lucky few, and didn’t have an easy go of it when you were a baby.”

  “I didn’t.” Mozart looked depressed. “I still think we should tough it out here for a bit longer. Cody takes me to the outside place all the time. It’s not so bad, Teddy, once you get used to it.”

  Mary stopped grooming and peered into the distance. “Heads up, guys.
Five o’clock. Do you see what I see?”

  “Annie said I’m not allowed to go to the outside place,” I meowed. “That it’s dangerous, the coyotes can get me, cars could run over me, and that I must be wary of please.”

  “Fleas.” Mozart gnawed on his front paws. “Nasty, mean little bugs who crawl on your belly, hop behind your ears, and—”

  “Seriously, there’s a man wearing a hoodie walking in our direction,” Mary said. “He’s carrying a briefcase and he looks angry—”

  “Stop trying to frighten us, Mozart.” I shivered. “We left my home because you were in trouble. Now we’re in some kind of hellish outside place. Let’s call it a night, head back, get some supper, a little nip—”

  “Cody told me I’m not supposed to nip,” Mozart said. “He even put his hand on top of my nose several times and said, ‘Mozart, no nip.’”

  I sighed. “I’m not going to touch your nose. Just follow my lead. Annie will be happy to see us. She’ll take that rope off your neck in three shakes of your tail. She can turn the evidence into the people police for us, and we won’t get into any trouble. I like living my life on easy street, pal, not sleazy street.”

  And that’s when I heard it.

  “Here, puppy, puppy,” the stranger in the hoodie said as he cautiously approached us. “I’ve got a treat for you.” He pulled a small package from his pocket, ripped it open, and waved something in the dog’s direction.

  Mozart sniffed.

  I turned up my nose in disgust. He was tempting the dog with cheap convenience store cold cuts. I could practically smell the byproducts in those faux turkey slices. “I think that’s the same guy that strangled Slick,” I meowed. “What does he want?”

  “He wants the strap wrapped around Mozart’s neck. It’s evidence,” Mary said and vanished, a tiny black poof of smoke hovering in the air where she had been just moments earlier.

  “Hey dog. Don’t listen to that creepsters with the cheap food,” I said. “And don’t forget you fell for the tennis ball thing, hook, line, and sinker. Think about the mess that you got us in.”

  Mary materialized on a tree bough above the man. “Don’t touch those cold cuts, Mozart, they might be poisoned.”