“You’re crazy. I’ve got a date tonight. A hot fifty-year-old divorcee’ who works at Niemann’s. But I’m dying for a piece of that cake. I’m sure Edith wouldn’t mind if I just helped myself.” He picked up the knife, and before Lorinda could stop him, grabbed the knife and sliced a chunk of cake.
“No!” Lorinda said.
Vic flopped the chocolate cake onto a paper plate, grabbed a fork and took a huge bite. “Best cake I’ve ever tasted.” He smiled and munched. Crumbs fell from his mouth and landed on his chin.
“What has gotten into you, Victor? I cannot believe you did that,” Lorinda said. “That is simply inappropriate.”
“Go ahead. Arrest me.” He reached in his pants pocket, pulled out Edith’s Hermes’ scarf and wiped crumbs from his face. Then looked at it horrified and stuffed it back into his pocket.
“My scarf!” Edith said. “He stole my beautiful scarf.”
“His trophy,” Annie whispered.
“Give Edith my best,” Vic said. “I tried to. But I can’t wait one moment longer.” He hustled off with his plate of cake towards the escalators.
“What’s your hurry, Vic?” Annie stepped in front of him blocking his escape.
He stared at her and blinked. “You’re the bunny who assaulted that customer. Now you’re - ” He eyed her up and down. “Cinderella?”
“Maybe.” Annie sauntered toward him. “Why do you care? ’Cause from what I just witnessed, you’re no prince.”
“Call 911!” Mary screamed as she clutched her chest with one hand and ran past counters and displays toward them.
Eleven
The Time of Her Life
“Oh my God!” Lorinda crossed herself.
“Call 911!” Mary stumbled into Joshua Bumble who was ambling toward Edith’s party. They crashed into the display table and knocked over a large Grammies’ Comfy Panties sign. They fell to the floor with a thud and were deluged by pastel-colored durable high-waisted cotton underwear.
“What’s the emergency?” Millie asked.
“Pff!” Mary spit out a panty and extricated herself from Joshua. “I found Edith stuffed in the corner of a dressing room. She’s - ”
Edith screamed and floated higher into the air.
“Edith’s dead.” Annie hyperventilated and fanned herself. “I found her there, too. I think Vic killed her.”
Lorinda shrieked, “No!”
Millie shook her head and stomped her foot. “No!”
“I think you killed Edith, Bunny-girl,” Vic said. “I heard you got into an altercation with her.”
“Mary can confirm my whereabouts during Edith’s demise, as well as the fact I have a constellation of freckles on my left hip that resembles the big dipper.”
A collective gasp rose from the crowd and their gaze swiveled to Mary.
Who nodded.
“Besides, he just wiped his chin with Edith’s favorite scarf. No way she would give him that scarf. I bet he strangled her with it.”
Vic broke into a sweat, clutched his plate of cake, and bolted towards the escalators. He lunged to Annie’s left.
She countered and blocked him.
He leaped to her right.
She jumped and stood between him and his escape route.
“Why’d you kill her, Vic?” Annie wiped her forehead of sweat and realized she couldn’t, she wouldn’t dry her hand on that beautiful dress. “Edith turned you down for years. Why after all this time?”
“As long as she worked at Snotsky’s, I had a chance. Some day I’d convince her. But she was leaving.”
“She never felt it for you, Vic. It’s tragic and sad, but honestly? We all need to let those people who don’t care about us, go.”
“That’s what I did.” Vic smacked Annie in the chest with his plate of cake.
She fell and landed on her back.
Everyone gasped.
Annie’s brain went into slow motion. She shuddered as she gazed at the icing spilling down the perfect bodice and the cake staining her gorgeous dress. It felt like her dreams were once again dying.
Vic laughed.
Tears trickled down Annie’s face as she picked pieces of cake and frosting off her beautiful dress that was now dirty and ruined.
Edith hovered close to Annie above the escalators. “Don’t you dare let some ignorant person determine your attitude or how you choose to live your life. You really think we came together out of coincidence? We both had lessons to learn. Now repeat after me, ‘Justice for Edith! Get him!’”
“Justice for Edith!”
Vic stepped around Annie.
“Get him!” And she flashed to the song from Dirty Dancing. “Get him!” Annie hollered. “Because no one puts Edith in a corner!”
Lorinda growled and grabbed Millie’s arm. They chased after Vic and tackled him right before he reached the escalator. He thrashed about, but Mary ran up, sat on his chest and held his head down. Two uniformed cops sprinted up the adjacent escalator.
Edith floated, suspended between the floor and the ceiling. Streams of light from Snotsky’s enormous crystal chandelier filtered around her.
“Go to the light, Edith.”
“But where is it?”
Annie pointed overhead. “Above us. It’s been there the whole time.”
Edith’s head swiveled, and unkinked. “Oh, Annie. It’s warm. What a feeling!” She glided toward the chandelier, one arm outstretched until she reached it. She smiled. “It’s so pretty. Thank you.”
Annie watched Edith Flowers dissolve into little twinkles of light. The chandelier glowed brighter for a moment, and Edith was gone.
* * *
Annie pulled a tray of cupcakes out of her oven when there was a loud knock on her door. She startled. She’d been interviewed up the ying-yang about Edith’s murder. Signed the official police paperwork. Snotsky’s even validated her parking stub. She hoped it wasn’t some intrepid reporter who’d discovered her empathic abilities or her ghost-yakking secret. And she really hoped it wasn’t the Jehovah’s Witness ladies.
“Coming!” She brushed her hair back, and walked to the door. “Friend or foe?”
“Friend,” Detective Raphael Campillio said.
She hadn’t seen him since Edith’s debacle. She was afraid she had scared him away. Was he going to be only a friend? Time to face the music. She opened the door.
He leaned against the frame and held out a small wrapped box in one hand. “Present,” he said.
“You didn’t have to.” She took it and unwrapped it. But stopped when she saw the Snotsky’s label on the thin box.
“I know. But I wanted to. How’s the dress coming along?”
“My dry cleaner, Mr. Wong, is working his magic. You know, I haven’t had a lot of luck with Snotsky’s.”
“Open it,” he said.
She pulled the lid off the box, brushed aside thin white paper, and saw the blush boat necked tee shirt she really liked at the sale. She smiled. “I love it!”
“Good. It reminded me of you. I thought you could put that on and we could go on a date. How about we take a picnic to the park that overlooks the ocean?”
“My kind of date.” Annie smiled. He was back. He was back!
“Your mail’s here.” He leaned down, picked it up and handed it to her.
“Thanks. Come on in. Help me get ready?” He followed her into her tiny apartment. She put the mail on her kitchen counter when a postcard snagged her attention. Annie leaned in and looked at the photos of the pretty beaches. Then read the caption.
“Greetings from St. Augustine, Florida!”
THE END
Acknowledgments:
Thanks to my readers – you rock! Thanks Rita Kempley for your brilliant mind and extensive notes. Thanks again to my editor, Ramona DeFelice Long. Huge thanks to screenwriter/novelist/artist and cool dude Michael James Canales for creating the awesome book cover for Cupcakes, Sales, and Cocktails. Thanks to Deborah Riley Magnus who taught me book mark
eting. Check out her book – Finding Author Success. Thanks Sadie Gilliam for my author photo.
Thanks to my beta readers – Mary Schultz and Cheree Plank. A shout out to my author friends who are so supportive: Jenny Milchman, Laura Schultz, Beth Hoffman, Stuart McCallum, Shelly Fredman, Julie Smith Dolcemaschio, Marcia Wallace, and Jacqueline Carey to name a few. Thanks to my writers’ group, POV. There are so many book clubs I’d like to thank - but Sassy Girls on FB stands out. Terri Dunn and An’gel Ducote – you are the bomb!
Thanks to my friends that always stick by me: Melissa Black Ford, Carrie Hartney, Celia Boyle, Lynn Westman, Melissa Stead, and Monica Mason. Thanks Downers Grove North and Wheaton High alum that embraced my book as well as my chiropractic clients who allow me to yak about writing. Thanks to Krill Press and Ken Lewis at www.krillpress.com who published Cupcakes, Lies, and Dead Guys, the first book in the Cupcakes comedic mystery series.
Thanks to my mom, Susan DuMond, my step mom, Kaye DuMond, as well as Rita Kempley and Ed Schneider. You are always there for me during the rough times. Yes it means a lot and I don’t forget it.
Special thanks to all the cupcake bakers that I have met on this very fun ride. My personal shout out to a great charity, Cupcake Camp L.A., sponsored by BakeSpace.com.
Go read a great book and tell someone you love about it!
Pamela DuMond
…And now, an excerpt from Cupcakes, Pies, and Hot Guys, by Pamela S. DuMond:
One
Bliss
“Mmm. You’re killing me, baby. Whatever we’re doing right now is probably outlawed in eight states,” Detective Raphael Campillio said as he lay back on Annie Rose Graceland’s sofa. He was shirtless, totally buff and wore an “I Heart Cupcakes!” blindfold while he nibbled on Annie’s index finger.
Annie wore her typical baking attire: yoga capris and a lacy cami top and straddled him. Not so typical: the cami’s straps dangled down past her shoulders courtesy of the very fine Detective Rafe who was her new boyfriend.
She smiled and tossed her long auburn ponytail over one shoulder. Despite the fact that her marriage tanked and she was almost divorced (Hallelujah and welcome that day) she’d managed to score the most smokin’ sweet honest available man in all of Los Angeles. “You might be a hot shot detective in the City of Angels, but I am still bound by my code of ethics to put your detecting skills to the test.”
Rafe slowly pulled her finger from his mouth. “I detect fresh butter cream frosting,” he said. “While I’ll happily endure all of your tests and quizzes, please share the name of the board whose standards you are holding me to?”
Annie got the shivers. This man could quite possibly stop her heart from his sheer yummy factor. “The Board of Super Important People located in an ultra secret underground location. Probably close to Dick Cheney and Beyonce’s bunkers.”
“Dick Cheney and Beyonce have adjoining underground bunkers? Fascinating. Next test, please.”
She dipped her middle finger in a bowl of frosting that sat on the couch and dragged it across his lips.
He circled his tongue around her middle finger.
Maybe she’d died and gone to heaven. “Absolutely. Important people have underground bunkers for nuclear events, obnoxious behavior, or bad hair days,” Annie said. “Get real Rafe. We’re living in L.A. One minute you’re a smart detective who solved a celebrity murder. The next, someone’s snapped a pic of you in your boxers and posted it on Twitter.”
He frowned.
Oh dang. Time for damage control. “What are you going to do?” She asked. “Confront the media hoopla? If you’re a celebrity you hide in your underground bunker while your people deal with the firestorm.”
“You did not take a photo of me in my boxers. And you definitely did not post it on the Internet. I am not going through Weiner-Gate.”
Annie leaned back and checked that her phone was still safely hidden under the couch. “Getting back to the matter at hand,” she said. “Identify the two most delicious ingredients you’re currently tasting.”
“You.” Rafe nibbled again on her middle finger. “And let me think… you.”
“Wrong!” Oh jeez he was frickin’ killing her. “Oreos and Kahlua are the main ingredients in that frosting. But I will give you another shot. ’Cause I appreciate the fact you are here to serve and protect.” As well as the fact that he was spicier than Wisconsin cheese fondue spiked with jalapenos.
“Yes, ma’am. But I have other jobs I’m very good at.” Rafe tickled her waist and when she giggled, seized the opportunity to tug her cami higher, run his fingers up her back and caress it. Repetitively.
“I sense you are not taking this detecting test seriously.”
“You are wrong. LAPD’s detectives are the finest officers in all of the country. Produce the evidence, immediately.”
Annie tapped her frosting-swathed finger on his lips.
He wrapped a muscular arm around her back and pulled her smack dab on top of him. “Mmm.”
With her remaining ounce of willpower she pulled her hands off him. “Report of findings, please.”
“White chocolate frosting with tiny bits of fresh raspberries,” he said. “Almost better than sex.”
“Wow. You’re good. Good at anything else? Three, two, one…?” Who would have guessed getting divorced could be this much fun?
“I thought you’d never ask.” He ripped off the blindfold and flipped her underneath him.
“Whoa!” She stared up into his dark dreamy eyes just two inches away from hers. “I like that move. Where’d you learn a move like that?”
Rafe pulled her cami bra straps further down her arms with his teeth. “I’m sworn to secrecy.”
Brinnnng! Brinnnng! Annie’s phone rang about two feet away from her head. Yes, she lived in the smallest, slightly grungy apartment in Venice Beach California. And unless you were a famous artist or a zillionaire actor, small and grungy was normal for Venice. “Ignore that,” Annie said. “It’s probably Nordstrom’s Rack with another sales announcement.” Another bill collector.
“Ignored.” Rafe trailed his kisses down her throat and headed south.
Brinnnng! Brinnnng!
“Changed my mind. Answer it,” he mumbled somewhere in the vicinity of her belly button.
She stretched her arm off the couch, snagged her phone’s receiver and slammed it back down.
Rafe lifted his head off her stomach. “Are you the only woman on the Westside of L.A. who doesn’t have a fancy ring tone? No Pink. No Fergie. Not even Avril Lavigne?”
“Just a ten year old phone/answering machine combo with a speaker button,” she said. “Return to more important matters, please.”
He shook his head. “That phone’s going to ring again in four seconds. One, two, three…”
Brinnng! Rafe collapsed his face on her belly and laughed.
“Fine, you’re right. You detected. Just stay there and enjoy the 200 crunches I did this morning as well as the chocolate cupcake I ate for breakfast.” She reached behind her and punched the speaker button. “Who is this, what do you want, and it better be important?”
“Is this the way you speak to the woman who nearly died from eighteen hours of excruciating contractions before she gave birth to you?” Nancy Graceland hissed through the phone’s speaker.
“Sorry, Mom,” Annie said.
“You had a big head. If I knew beforehand that you had such a big head, I would have let Doctor Know-it-All schedule his CD selections,” Nancy said.
“C-Section, Mom,” Annie replied. “You’ve caught me at an inconvenient time. Can we talk later?”
“Before you moved to L.A. my calls caught you at inconvenient times. After you moved to L.A., my calls still catch you at inconvenient times. Will there ever be a convenient time to talk to your mother?”
Aah. Good old-fashioned midwestern mother guilt. “I’m sorry, Mom.” She wriggled out from underneath Rafe and plunked down on the floor. “What’s up?”
> Rafe grabbed his shirt from the back of the couch, pulled it on and buttoned it.
Annie mouthed, “No,” and shook her head.
He pointed to his watch and kept on buttoning.
“I know you’ve been dying to come back and visit Wisconsin. Me. Your brother, Carson. Your auntie. Your grandpa.”
Annie knew she had to visit her mom, but also knew she hated traveling. Loved her family but once again, would rather shove pins under her fingernails than travel back to the Midwest, especially in the humid, hot summer. Or the cold, frigid winter. That left about a three-month window that was relatively safe to travel back to the Midwest. If you didn’t count the tornadoes.
“Yes. Definitely planning a trip soon. Completely looking forward to it.” She was not planning a trip back to Wisconsin in the near future.
“Well my darling daughter. You might as well thank me now.”
Rafe grabbed her around the waist. “I’ll call you later.” He kissed her on the lips. For a second she forgot she was on the phone.
“Annie,” Nancy said. “I hear heavy breathing. Are you all right? You had a bout of asthma when you were ten. Is it the asthma?”
Rafe pulled away, smiled, and gave her cat, Theodore von Pumpernickel, a scratch on his enormous white fuzzy head before he exited her front door.
“Just allergies, Mom. What am I thanking you for?”
“I not only handled all your travel plans. I got you a 100% free, all expenses paid, luxury trip back to Wisconsin.”
A red alert button fired in Annie’s brain. Danger. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
“What did you do Mom?”
“Oconomowoc is having an extra special Fourth of July celebration. The town is hosting a statewide baking contest. They were looking for celebrity judges and of course I thought of you. Especially after your recent brush with the law.”
Oh that was what heavy petting was called these days? “That’s nice of you.” Annie pulled her cami straps onto her shoulders.
“I called all my friends. We voted for you. I just got word – Wisconsin’s 1st Annual Hot Pie Contest picked you to be a celebrity judge! Can you believe your good fortune?”
Pamela DuMond - Annie Graceland 02 - Cupcakes, Sales, and Cocktails Page 6
