1 Cupcakes, Lies, and Dead Guys

by Pamela DuMond

  “Oh, please.”

  “I’ll prove it. But I need to touch you.”

  She looked skeptical but held out her arm. He cupped her ass. She jerked away from him. “Pervert!”

  “Hello Annie—head trauma? Besides, who cares if I broke the two hour rule,” Julia leaned away from her and whispered into her cell, “Emergency. I think you-know-who has lost you-know-what. In-N-Out Burger on Washington. Fifteen minutes.”

  Julia accelerated her cute little hybrid car down Pacific Avenue. This street was three blocks from the beach and peppered with two-million-dollar, falling to pieces, fifties apartments shoved next to five star boutique hotels.

  All these buildings flew past her way too fast, and Annie checked to make sure her seatbelt was securely fastened. “You think I’m making up this whole Derrick haunting me and my grandmother thing.”

  “Shoot me for being tempted. Give me your hand,” Derrick said and stared compassionately into Annie’s eyes. “You’re empathic. I can prove myself to you. Please.”

  “You leave my Nonna Maria alone.”

  “Help me and I will.”

  “Roger that Five O,” Julia said.

  Annie shook her head in disbelief. For a moment, Derrick seemed sincere. Had he actually said the word please? She tentatively held out her hand to him. He took it and squeezed it. Hard.

  She winced and coughed. “It’s my hand, not your dick. Lighten up.” Annie turned to Julia.

  “I think you’re stressed. I think you’re overwhelmed. I think…” Julia rolled her eyes.

  Derrick leaned into the front seat and held Annie’s hand. He closed his eyes. “I’m now picking up on your ability for obtaining empathic information.”

  “You sound like Spock. This isn’t a Star Trek convention in the Poconos. Convince me.”

  “I don’t have to convince you of anything,” Julia said, tossed her hair and accelerated through a yellow light. “I’ve known you forever.”

  Derrick rubbed his temple with his free hand. “I wouldn’t want to be you, Annie. This empathic thing hurts. I have a headache. After today, you have to be the empath. I resign, it’s exhausting.”

  “No deal until you convince me.”

  “Fine,” Julia huffed. She blew the next light, which was definitely red and turned a sharp left onto Washington Blvd. She nearly missed a skate boarder, bicyclist, jogger and three cars that all jumped the second the opposite light turned green.

  Annie bounced off Julia’s arm. “Jeez, you’re supposed to be the law-abiding one.”

  “How convincing will I be in court if I can’t convince you? We’re a minute away from the special sauce. Maybe the special sauce can convince you.”

  “Hurry up!” Annie whispered to Derrick.

  “I feel big breasts. Very, very nice. I feel, what from experience, I would describe as a sturdy, somewhat scratchy uniform on someone burly. I hear... ‘Ooh, ooh!’ And the words, ‘No Ms., that’s not a paperback in my pants.’” Derrick paused. “Wow. Not only is that info kind of wild, but it’s all from you. You hadn’t accessed it yet.”

  “All righty,” Annie said and her eyes narrowed. “When were you going to tell me you went past first base with Big Bookstore’s security guard?”

  Julia screeched into the In-N-Out parking lot. “Oh. That. Didn’t plan… Who told you?” She turned bright red and broke into a sweat.

  “I see purple,” Derrick said. “Annie, this is amazing. You could work for the FBI or the CIA. Although, right now, you work for me.”

  “You were wearing a purple lace under wire bra.” Annie knew Julia liked lace and preferred a little extra support for her girls.

  Julia jumped and her head hit her car’s ceiling. “Ow!” She yelled and pulled her car in between two parking spaces and straddled the white parking line.

  A perfect parker behind them laid on the horn.

  “Back off!” Julia hollered, reversed erratically, re-parked and shut off the engine.

  “Purple bra. Second base, at the least with the security guard. Give.”

  “Fine. Terence was… He’s gorgeous, sweet, and hot. I think he’s packing more than the standard issue weaponry if you know what I mean. He… wait a minute,” Julia frowned. “How do you know this? Are you being empathic with me? Stop it!” She jumped out of her car and slammed the door. Strode toward Grady, who waved cheerily from the front of the In-N-Out Burger entrance.

  “Technically, no,” Annie replied and followed her. “Derrick told me.”

  Derrick tagged along on her heels.

  “I don’t believe you.” Nose in the air, Julia kept walking toward Grady who stood all smiley and relaxed next to the burger joint’s entrance.

  Annie tried to keep up behind Julia. “Why would I lie?”

  “Because we’re good at it. Just the small ones, not the big and hurtful kind. Besides, why can’t I have secrets? Why can’t I have the cute guy?”

  Annie looked a little sad.

  “One,” Derrick said. “Not your fault that Julia has low self-esteem about men. Two. She not only left her phone number with the security guard, she left her bra behind. An invitation to get asked back for repeats. A classic I Promise: You’ll Get the Guy and Score the Girl move. My eighth book in the I Promise series.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Annie said.

  “That book sold really well. That book paid for my pool,” Derrick replied as they reached the curb at the In-N-Out. “And my pool boy.”

  Annie stuck out her tongue and pushed her finger down her throat. “Blech.”

  Grady smiled, “What’s up?”

  “She’s delusional and possibly bulimic.” Julia nodded at Annie and walked past them into the burger place.

  Grady eyed Annie.

  Annie shrugged. “She’s pissed ’cause Derrick told me she went past second base with a security guard she met. She violated the two hour rule and I called her on it.” Annie and Derrick walked past Grady into the joint.

  “Okay,” Grady nodded, then looked confused. He followed them inside toward the order counter. “But Derrick, as in Fuller, is dead.”

  “Almost. Sort of. Unfortunately, he’s haunting both my grandmother and me. So, I’m involved right now,” she replied.

  “Got it. Okay. Huh?”

  Annie, Derrick, Julia and Grady sat at an outdoor picnic table in the parking lot next to the Spiffy Lube, a gas station and a giant discount store. The picnic table was packed with In-N-Out burgers, fries and drinks.

  “You’re pregnant or not. You’re dead or alive,” Grady said, paused and took a bite from his burger. “Explain this Derrick kind-of-dead thing, please.”

  Annie nibbled on a fry. “Derrick’s physically dead, but not spiritually or emotionally.”

  “Go on,” Grady said as he pulled out his notebook from his backpack, flipped it open and scribbled. Some special sauce smeared onto the page.

  “Hey, Grady,” Julia said. “If you made a notation next to each food smudge in your journal, it might add color to your work in progress. Make it really stand out from all the other UFP script submissions. Let’s see: pizza - red, guac - green, dip - dark red, french fry grease - light yellow and special sauce – orange.”

  Grady frowned.

  “Bra – purple,” Annie countered. “Hey, Grady. Ask Julia why she left her bra behind.”

  Julia huffed.

  “That’s the oldest trick in the book. Leave a little gift with purchase so he has an easy excuse to call back,” Grady replied.

  “Derrick thinks because I’m empathic I can help him find his killer quickly. With justice served and all, he can pass to the After-Life. Good for him and good for me, ’cause he’ll be out of my life and Nonna Maria’s, forever.”

  Julia polished off her burger and slurped her Diet Coke. “Fine. So who wanted Derrick dead?”

  A fry hung out of Annie’s mouth. “Oh God, Julia. You believe me!”

  “Of course I believe you. You had me at the purple bra
and the lace bumped me over the edge. I couldn’t give in right away or I’d forever be the purple pushover. Suck down that cholesterol stick and finish your Double-Double,” she said. “I need you strong and alert. You’re the point person. We need to make a list of who wanted this goober dead, quickly.”

  “I’m right there with you on the ‘quickly’ thing. Jeez, I’m stressed,” Annie said.

  “Oh, this is so exciting! I’m visualizing your cable show now,” Derrick said.

  “You’ll be even more stressed when the killer gets wind that you’re investigating,” Julia said. “First you’ll be a nuisance and then a target.”

  Derrick thought. His brows knitted as much as the Botox would allow. “She’s got something there. I must admit I broke a little more than wind before I died. My killer was probably angry. Could be a clue. Oh my God.” A look of horror grew on his face. “Was it you, Annie? You were furious with me. Did you kill me?” He backed away from her. “Is my blood on your hands?”

  “For the love of God, Derrick, shut up. I wish I had killed you, but someone much more prompt and organized beat me to it,” she said.

  “Whoa! You’re talking with a completely dead guy?” Grady asked.

  “Yes. Keep writing.” Annie turned to Julia. “I thought we were investigating?”

  “We are,” Julia said. “But the killer is seriously deranged and he’ll focus on you.”

  “Huh. Maybe there’s a spell or an incantation or…”

  Grady scribbled faster on his notepad.

  “Dead grandma in purgatory, Cupcake.” Derrick grinned.

  “Drop me at home. I’ve got a list to make.” Annie rolled up her fast-food bag and tossed it like a football into the garbage can. “Hail Brett Favre, the traitor. I’ll solve this crime ASAP and get rid of Derrick and traitors, forever.”

  It was dark and foggy when Annie walked up the sidewalk to her apartment with Derrick following close behind. Her cell rang. She picked it up and looked at the screen. 'Number Unavailable' it read. She answered, “Hello?”

  “Annie, do not hang up on me. It’s Mike. We have to talk. We shouldn’t be separated. You have to talk to me.”

  She regarded her phone, livid.

  Mike continued, an urgent tone in his voice. “We’ve been set up. Don’t do this to us. You’re ruining our marriage and our lives for no reason.”

  “How dare you say that to me,” Annie said. “My ass hung off an exam table, my legs were in stirrups and strangers poked my privates when I saw pictures of you cheating. Don’t you friggin’ tell me I’m ruining frosting on someone’s cake, let alone our marriage. I love, I mean loved you. I’m figuring things out. Leave me alone Mike,” she said and hung up.

  Derrick regarded her, concern on his face, “Cupcake?”

  “How did Mike get my phone number? I changed it the day I got the photos.”

  “Oh,” Derrick said. He didn’t have a snappy answer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No,” she said. “I want to know who killed you and get you out of my life, as soon as possible.”

  Sparks from burning logs in her fire pit wafted into the night air. Annie sat next to it huddled in a thick blanket, holding a pad of legal paper and a pen.

  Derrick stood slightly bent over with his buttock next to the flames. “Let’s go inside your hovel. I swear I’m catching a chill.”

  “Oh buck it up, weenie. Who wanted you dead?”

  “People loved me.”

  “We’re not looking for people that loved you. We’re searching for the ones that wanted you dead, cold, in the grave. Itsy-bitsy cremains. Got it?”

  “You don’t have to be graphic. Fine. Tawny. My current wife, now my widow.”

  “So Tawny’s at the top of your list?” Annie asked.

  “I don’t know who’s on the top. I simply know who’s the most obvious,” Derrick said. “Let’s call Tawny! It’s Thursday. She generally does a late yoga class, joins her friends at Restaurant Raw afterwards. Then hits the White Castle sliders and cracks open the boxed chardonnay when she gets home. Call her, now!”

  “Number?”

  Derrick told her and she dialed on her cell. He leaned into her, his ear next to hers as they listened.

  A recording picked up. The woman’s voice was slow and sing-songy. She sounded medicated. She sounded hammered. “Hi. (Hiccup.) You’ve reached Missus Doctor Tawny Fuller. Dr. Derrick Fuller’s widow. (Heavy sigh.) I’m probably grieeeeeeving right now and can’t make it to the phone. (Burp.) So, you calling people. All you calling people just leave me your name, number thingies, the name of your pub, pubic, publicists or your press-ed association. And your num-bers! Someone—no don’t suck on my toes—call you back as soon possibly during such a time difficult. (Big sob and another hiccup.) In the meantime, live on, Derrick. (Pause.) Is this fucking thing off?”

  Annie was torn, but did it. “Hi, Mrs. Tawny Fuller. So sorry about you losing your husband. I know what that feels like. My name is Annie and I really need to talk to you about who might have disliked Derrick and wanted him dead. I’m doing a little investigation for some of his, uh, close friends. Please call me at 310/555-8181. Thanks. Hang in there,” she said and hung up.

  “Tawny sounded genuinely messed up, Derrick. Kind of, sad,” Annie said.

  “Sad like a rattle snake. Tawny might be reluctant to talk right now, especially if she killed me.”

  “Back to your murder suspect list.”

  “Okay. Barry Cooperman, my manager, was apoplectic when I fired him. Obviously, the stupid heckler who shot me. Bill-what’s-his-name and anyone in his family. When I was seven years old, there was this kid who was upset that I got first-string on the soccer team and he didn’t. Big deal. I pilfered a couple of twenties from my mom’s wallet and slipped it to the assistant coach. Duh. Of course I’d make the team. Kid’s name was Walter something. I think he’s an investment banker on Wall Street now.” Derrick leaned back over the fire and rubbed his hands together.

  Annie scribbled everything onto her legal pad. “You need to think about more recent enemies.”

  “There’s not that many. Can’t we start investigating? I’m cold. I’m tired. I want to go to the After-Life.”

  “I want, I want, I want. Well, Mr. Whiny, I want a more thorough list. That way we can eliminate most of your suspects and spot a pattern or clue that possibly slipped under our radar.” She looked up only to have her nose up the crack of Derrick’s blue moons. “Blech!” she said, held her nose and boomeranged back in her chair. “We need to figure out a way to put some clothes on you. I can’t take this.”

  He turned and snapped his fingers at her. “Who’s whiny now? Stop slacking and get back to the list.”

  She rubbed her temples. “I’m in hell. I’m definitely in hell.”

  Derrick paced. “There were a couple of affairs.”

  “Shocker. Slap me on the ass and call me spanky.”

  Derrick looked intrigued. “Really? I mean—wow. You offering, that’s incredibly thoughtful.”

  “No! Think. Concentrate. Suspects. The list of your murder suspects.”

  The sun rose and sifted through the beach fog that blanketed Annie’s patio. Her head rested on her shoulder and she snored a little.

  Derrick did jumping jacks. “I was in my late twenties and there was that thing with the politician’s daughter. I once slept with my dumpy accountant so she would fib on my tax return and I’d get a bigger refund. Hey… wake up!”

  She did with a start and a snort. Looked at her watch. “Thanks for the whole half hour of sleep. I’m going inside. Do. Not. Follow. Me,” she said. She got up slowly and walked to her tangerine kitchen door.

  “But I’m hungry and cold, and …”

  “You’re dead and you’re hyper.” Annie opened the door and reflexively pushed Teddy the cat away from it. “You were a Chihuahua in a past life. If you’re lucky, you’ll be one in your next. Later, Dude.” She walked into her apartment and slammed th
e tangerine door in his face.

  “Okay.” Derrick did leg kicks. Like the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall. They burned fat, nailed his cardiovascular workout and totally toned his lower body. “My first girlfriend, Erin. We were twelve. She got mad when I cheated on her with my first boyfriend, her cousin Eric.” Then there was…”

  Annie slept on her couch. Teddy sat on her pillow and kneaded her head with his enormous paws. The clock on her bookshelf read three p.m.

  Derrick knelt next to Annie and poked her in the ribs. “No one sleeps this late. Jeez, we’ll miss Oprah.”

  She stirred slightly. “Oh, that head massage was lovely. Thank you. I must have nodded off. Boy, you wouldn’t believe the dream I had.”

  Derrick hollered into her ear. “Wake up! Time to work!”

  Her eyes slid open, spotted Derrick and closed again. “Damn.”

  Annie’s hair stuck out like Don King’s and she still wore the cruddy pajamas from the night before. She sucked down a cup of coffee in her kitchen.

  Derrick lay on his back on her living room floor and did twisting sit-ups. “I completed our list. I put stars next to the most likely suspects. What have you done today? Sleep. Oh right. Snored, cleared your sinuses, hacked a little and slept some more. Make a call.”

  She picked up the legal pad of paper, flipped through pages and pages of suspects and notes that she had made the night before. “To who do I make the call?”

  “Are you blind? The five star suspects are the first on our list. The four star, three and two follow in order.”

  She looked at the pages. No asterisks and no stars. “There’s nothing here, Derrick.”

  “Show it to me,” he said.

  She did.

  Derrick looked at the front page and frowned. “I spent hours writing recommendations, stars and asterisks. All specifically color coated for the individual suspects.” He pouted. “That was the most work I’ve done in years. I didn’t ask to be dead, you know. I was having a pretty decent go on earth.”

  “Get over it,” she said. There were some things that even a good-hearted girl just couldn’t take. A dead whiny guy was one of them. “So you can’t manipulate Sharpies. Big deal. We’ll sign you up for dead guy pre-school. Now pick a five or four star suspect and give me a phone number.”