“…a sort of genre bending comedic mystery. A little bit cozy, a little bit culinary mystery (it has recipes,) and some nice romance. And funny! Witty and quick paced.”

an excerpt from

Cupcakes, Pies and Hot Guys

by Pamela Dumond

1

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, straddling him, wore her typical baking attire—yoga capris and a lacy cami top. Not so typical: The cami’s straps dangled down past her shoulders courtesy of the very fine Detective Rafe—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, she’d 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,” Annie said. “But I am still bound by my code of ethics (Ethics/shmethics—she’d just made that up) 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,” she said.

“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 even 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 photo of you in your boxers and posted it on Twitter.”

He frowned and bit down on her finger.

Oh dang. Trouble. Time for damage control. “What are you going to do? Confront the media hoopla? If you’re a celebrity, you hide in your underground bunker while your people deal with the firestorm.”

Rafe frowned. “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 to be the next Weiner-Gate.”

Annie leaned back and checked that her cell phone was still safely hidden under the couch. “Getting back to the matter at hand,” she said. “Identify the two most delicious ingredients that you’re currently tasting.”

Rafe nibbled on her middle finger. “You. 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’ll 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 jalapeños.

“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. Repeatedly.

“I sense you are not taking this detecting test seriously.”

“You’re 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 other hand 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 beneath 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 land-line phone rang on the bookcase, two feet away from her head. Yes, she lived in the smallest, grungiest 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 call,” Annie said. “It’s probably Nordstrom’s Rack with another sales announcement.” Or 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. 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 pressed his face against her belly and laughed.

“Fine, you’re right. You detected. Just stay there and enjoy the two hundred 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 and 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, Annie’s mom, 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 selection,” Nancy said.

“C-Section, Mom.” Rafe smothered laughter into her stomach. “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?”

Good old-fashioned Midwestern guilt. “I’m sorry, Mom.” She wriggled 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 resumed 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. She loved her family, but would rather shove pins under her fingernails than go 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 venture 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 have not only handled all your travel plans, I got you a one hundred percent free, all expenses paid, luxury trip back to Wisconsin.”

A red alert button fired in Annie’s brain and she broke out into a drenching sweat.  Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Even though it was summertime, it was seventy-four degrees on the temperate Westside of Los Angeles. Annie’s forehead was suddenly so damp she had to wipe the moisture away with the hem of her top. Was it her hormones? Was it a dreadful disease? Or was it another of her stupid psychic reactions? Because Annie was psychic—kind of.

Technically, she was empathic. She could feel in her body and brain the thoughts and feelings that belonged to other people. “Mom, you’re at home right?”

“No. I’m lounging on the Lido deck on a Regis and Kelly cruise in the Caribbean. Of course I’m home. Might I remind you that Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, is also your hometown.”

“I know that. What’s the temperature in Oconomowoc right now?”

“A mere ninety-nine degrees.”

Annie walked into the kitchen, grabbed a towel and mopped her forehead. “What’s the humidity?”

“Do I look like The Weather Channel? I’d venture a guess and estimate ninety-five percent.”

“Do you have the AC on, Mom?” Annie asked.

“I bought one of those cute little hand fans when I visited Chinatown in Chicago, last year. It saves on the electric bill, big time,” Nancy said. “And I recently read that sweating is healthy. It opens the pores. Releases toxins. Keeps one youthful.”

“So that means no on the AC.” Annie dabbed the rivulets of sweat that pored down her cleavage. Thank God Rafe had left. Thank God he didn’t witness this. She hadn’t been dating him forever, and she hadn’t shared her deepest secret with him. This profusion of sweat wasn’t a hot flash, or an allergy. Technically this sweat didn’t even belong to her. It was an empathic reaction. Annie’s body was picking up on the fact her mom was drowning in perspiration back in the scorching hot and humid Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, in June.

“I didn’t call to discuss the weather,” Nancy said.

And just as fast as the heat wave started within Annie, the sensation disappeared. That’s what being empathic was about. The feelings showed up. They created havoc. They left. And Annie dealt with the fall-out. “What’s up, Mom?” She asked.

“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. Almost famous after your recent brush with the law.”

Oh, that was what “heavy petting” was called these days. “That’s nice of you.” Annie threw the kitchen towel into a laundry hamper in the corner of the room.

“I called all my friends. We voted for you. I just got word—Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Pies Contest picked you to be a celebrity judge! Can you believe your good fortune?”

Alert! Abort mission! Danger, stranger! The warnings bounced off each other as they rattled around Annie’s brain. Traveling back to Oconomowoc during tornadoes, ninety-nine degree weather with ninety-nine percent humidity on a national holiday weekend did not seem like good luck. More like a recipe for disaster.

“That’s four days away, Mom. I can’t just pick up and leave L.A. for a week. I have work. A life. A cat. I have… (A sizzling new boyfriend who needs a little, um, nurturing…) I have important things in L.A. I must attend to.”

Theodore, Annie’s long-haired, blue-eyed Himalayan wound around her legs, meowing loudly. Annie stepped into her kitchen, cracked open a can of cat food. She emptied it into his bowl and placed it on the floor. He pounced on it.

“Lost Angeles will always be there. Unfortunately. You need to come home and reconnect with your roots. The contest guaranteed first-class travel accommodations and tons of media coverage. Maybe this will help you break out of that deli you’re slaving in. You could start your own business again. And bonus, you can bring one friend for free. As long as it’s not She-Who-Cannot-Keep-Her-Legs-Together.”

“Mom, be nice. Julia’s completely changed since high school.”

“And I’ve got beachfront property on sale for pennies on the dollar. You haven’t been home in almost a year. I could die tonight and you would never forgive yourself.”

How bad could a trip back home to judge a baking contest be? “Okay, Mom. I’ll do it. Tell the Wisconsin Hot Pies Contest people I’ll do it. Send me the info, the tickets and the itinerary.”

“I already accepted on your behalf. The package should be on your doorstep tomorrow. This will be your best trip back home ev—” Nancy said.

Annie picked up the phone from the machine and put it to her ear. “Mom?” She smacked the phone with the heel of her hand. “Mom?” But the line was dead.

          2

Already blew it

It was nighttime in Venice, California. Annie’s place was smack dab in the ’hood. A woman screamed loud and long. A grisly murder? A drug deal gone bad? Or simply an average Jane who couldn’t deal with the traffic or gas prices in Los Angeles one second longer?

Annie voted for the latter as she chopped limes on a wooden block and poked the wedges into the open tops of cervezas frias. She walked the few feet into her living room and handed them to her best friends, Julia and Grady. They sprawled on her couch and watched TV.

“Share the remote, please,” Julia said, a curvaceous late thirties blonde. She snapped her fingers at Grady. “If I see one more ep of Nancy Grace, I swear I’ll put a fork in someone’s eye. Probably yours.”

Grady held the remote up high in the air past Julia’s reach. “Promise that I don’t have to watch a Housewife, a Kardashian or one of those fake blondes with the fish lips who slept with Hefner.”

Julia pouted. “But I heart Holly.”

“Promise,” Grady insisted.

“Fine,” she grumbled.

He handed Julia the remote. She flipped to The Bachelorette.

“Nooo!”

“What kind of sicko doesn’t believe in true love?” Julia huffed.

Grady sighed and his shoulders dropped. “You have anything to eat around here?”

“I’m perfecting margarita-inspired cupcakes.” Annie swirled the frosting on the cupcakes so there were little dips and swells. She knew they tasted great. She wanted them to look gorgeous as well. She winked at Grady. He was handsome and smart in a film geek kind of way. But he batted for the other team and she was more than fine with that. “Feedback, please.”

She handed them cupcakes.  They noshed enthusiastically.

“Outstanding,” Grady said.

“1800 Tequila?” Julia asked.

Annie knew Julia had met many “friends” and experienced too-many-to-count, let-alone-remember fun make-out sessions, all thanks to 1800 Tequila.

“You inspired me,” Annie said. “I might even name this cupcake, The Julia 1800 Smooch. Hey, I’m headed back home for a dealie on the Fourth. I’ve got one extra ticket.” She waved the official “Friends of Oconomowoc” eight by ten envelope in front of them.

Grady waved back at her. Annie tossed him the envelope. He caught it. Opened and perused its contents.

“What’s the dealie that could force you go back to Wisconsin in the summer?” Julia asked. “Your hair frizzes, your skin breaks out. I’ve never seen you crabbier than when it’s ninety-nine degrees out with ninety-nine percent humidity.”

“Mom signed me up as a judge in Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Pies Contest,” Annie said. “Sweet, huh? Apparently she thinks that after my “brush with the law” I’m a local celeb.”

“Did you share what your “brush with the law” really entails?” Julia asked.

Annie smiled and thought about Rafe and icing.

“Thanks for the super fun offer but I have to pass,” Julia said. “I’m definitely working that weekend. Another Smooch cupcake, please.”

Annie tossed Julia a cupcake, which she caught.

Grady flipped through the paperwork. He frowned at first. Then he smiled. “Um, Annie?”

“Yes, you can have another cupcake too.”

“I’ll skip the cupcake, but I’ll take you up on your offer to be your Plus One at the July 4th dealie,” Grady said.

“Sold!” Annie said.

Julia eyed Grady suspiciously. “You’re hiding something from me.” She zeroed in on the contents of the envelope that lay in Grady’s lap and lunged for them. But Grady hugged the envelope and its contents to his chest and curled up into a ball on the couch.

“Give!” Julia tickled him.

“You already blew it.” He giggled.

“That’s the title of Julia’s future memoir,” Annie said, dang curious what this fight was about.

Julia wrestled the paperwork away from Grady, leapt off the couch and leaned back against Annie’s front door while she flipped through the pages. Her face turned white. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God!” she exclaimed.

“What? What!” Annie asked as Theodore cowered on the floor, his head hidden under her couch while the rest of his fat long fuzzy body stuck out.

“Your mom didn’t sign you up to be a celeb judge for a Hot Pies Contest,” Julia said. “She signed you up to be a judge for Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Guys Contest. You’re going to get up-close-and-personal access to the most smokin’ guys in the Dairy State. I am so your Plus One.”

“Hot guys?” Annie asked. “How could Mom get that confused with—?”

“Get real!” Julia said. “Has anything changed since high school? I formally accept your invite to accompany you back to Oconomowoc for the Fourth of July festivities.”

“No, no, Missy,” Grady said. “You have to work, remember? You already passed. I am a more deserving Plus One than you.”

Their bickering escalated as Annie contemplated what her mom had done. So what if the contest was about Hot Guys instead of Hot Pies? Did it matter? She was already happily involved with Raphael Campillio, her own personal hot guy. It was a chance to visit home on the cheap. She’d get in. See her family. Do the judging thing. She’d get out.

Really, how difficult could it be?

Grady won the coin toss and got to be Annie’s Plus One. But Julia was not about to let an event this tantalizing slip through her twitchy fingers. She snagged a couple of vacation days from work and planned to cash in a hunk of frequent flier mileage she’d inherited from her stepdad.

Annie asked for a week off work, and her boss gave it to her. Even though her mom insisted she stop slaving at Mort Feinberg’s Famous Deli, Mort was simply the nicest boss she’d ever had. She had finally graduated from the deli’s Back Back Kitchen to the Back Kitchen. Not that it really mattered. She still dressed like a beekeeper, baked desserts all day long and got hit on by guys half her age. There were worse ways to make a living.

After a romantic tryst that involved dark chocolate and peanut butter, Annie told Rafe that her Mom had signed her up to judge a hometown contest. She’d be back in L.A. in no time.

There was just one small glitch. Apparently Rafe had planned to introduce her to his family at their family reunion on the July 4th extended weekend. Annie didn’t know this before she made her travel decisions. Now she felt awful. “Should I cancel?”

“No. Go home and see your family. Family’s important,” he said. “Besides, with the contest, it’s a free trip. You can’t beat it. You can meet my crazy relatives some other time.”

“Okay,” she said. “But I feel bad.”

“Do you have old boyfriends you’re dying to see back home?” Rafe asked.

“That would be a definite, no,” Annie said.

“So you’ve got nothing to feel bad about,” he said and kissed her. “Don’t forget me when you’re gone.”

“I could never forget you,” Annie said.

It was the morning of June 29th. Annie’s luggage was packed. Small liquidy things were stored in see-through plastic bags that could easily be tossed into a plastic container for a trip through the airport’s X-ray machines.

Julia and Grady convened at Annie’s place, as it was closest to the LAX airport. Grady ordered the cab, which screeched to a stop in front of Annie’s 1950s style apartment complex and honked twice.

Annie had her obligatory carry-on. Her one big suitcase was stuffed with all the makeup, hair products and fancy outfits she’d assumed she’d need to be a contest judge. She’d never been a judge before, but had watched enough seasons of American Idol and X-Factor to know Paula, Nicole, Kara and J-Lo were totally glam.

After a little drama about how many suitcases Julia could bring (she’d packed four) they piled into the cab’s back seat and were on their way.

Annie frowned. “I hope Theodore’s going to be okay while I’m gone. The cat sitter seems nice but a little flighty.” Annie spotted an eerie blue light emanating from the passenger seat next to the taxicab driver. The light turned into wisps of blue smoke that twisted around each other. They wove back and forth, curlicued around each other, grew thicker and finally coalesced. In their midst a familiar shape of a tall half-naked blue man wearing a silver thong took form. That man was the ghost of Dr. Derrick Fuller.

Derrick shook his immaculate head of thick, albeit dead, groomed hair and glanced down at his silver thong. “Well, congratulations to me! Not only do I look superb, just like I did before I died, but if there are no limos available and I am forced to ride in a cab, at least now I can sit in the front. Not be stuck in that disgusting, germ-ridden, vinyl back seat located behind the smudged I-doubt-it’s-bullet-proof Plexiglas partition.”

“Whatever, Derrick,” Annie said. Great, she thought. She was headed out of town to be a judge at a beauty pageant. The last thing she needed right now was the narcissistic ghost of the self-help author-guru who not only ruined her marriage, tanked her bakery business when he was killed with one of her signature cupcakes, but then haunted her to solve his crime. And when she finally nailed his killer, asshat Derrick Fuller still didn’t pass to the Afterlife.

“Derrick’s here?” Grady asked and eyeballed the cab’s interior.

“You told him that he can’t come to Wisconsin with us, right, Annie?” Julia rifled through her purse. “Who needs a blue ghost in a silver thong when there are so many red-blooded live men? I can’t find my lip plumper. I think I forgot my lip plumper.”

“No, Derrick’s not coming to Wisconsin with us,” Annie said. “He’s working very hard on performing good deeds so he can pass to the Afterlife.”

“Say the word and I’ll try my best to travel with you,” Derrick said. “It might count as a good deed.”

“The word is No.”

“You’ll miss me in Wisconsin, cupcake,” Derrick said. “A disaster or debacle will ensue. You’ll be pulling your cheaply dyed hair out of your large head as you frantically attempt to reach me for advice. But I will be too busy helping other people.”

“I will have you know my hair dye costs $8.99 a box,” Annie said.

“What if the recycled airplane air sucks the hydration from my lips and I arrive looking wrinkled?” Julia asked. “Do you think they have lip plumper at the airport stores?”

“What airline?” the cab driver asked as he turned onto Lincoln Boulevard heading south toward LAX.

“One second.” Grady flipped through their itinerary. “Damn! Excuse me, driver. Pull over for a moment, please?”

The cabbie pulled to the side of the crowed zooming six-lane thoroughfare. “Meter running, you know.”

“What’s up?” Annie asked.

“We’re going back for my lip plumper?”

“We’re not leaving from LAX.” Grady grimaced.

“Long Beach?” Annie asked.

“John Wayne Airport?” Julia chimed in.

“No,” Grady said.

Julia’s Margarita Smooch Cupcakes

• Yield = 12 cupcakes

Ingredients:

• 1/2 stick butter (1/4 cup) softened

• 1 cup granulated sugar

• 2 eggs – room temperature

• .75 Tsp vanilla extract

• 3 Tbsp canola oil

• One large lime, zested

• 1.5 cups cake flour

• .75 Tsp baking powder

• .5 Tsp baking soda

• 1/4 Tsp salt

• 3 Tbsp tequila

• 3 Tbsp lime juice

• 1/2 cup sour cream

• 1/2 cup milk

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line standard-size muffin pans with paper liners.

Cream butter and sugar together 5 minutes or until smooth. Add vanilla then add eggs one at a time. Add tequila and lime juice. Mixture will look curdled. Add oil.

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

In a small bowl, whisk together 1/2 cup milk and sour cream thoroughly

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

Divide the batter evenly between the prepared liners, filling each about two-thirds full.

Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, 18 to 20 minutes, rotating the pans halfway through baking. Let cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.

Margarita Frosting Ingredients:

• 4 oz. butter, room temperature

• 4 oz. cream cheese, room temperature

• 2 cups powdered sugar

• 1 tablespoon lime juice

• 2 tablespoons tequila

Frosting Instructions:

Add butter and 1/2 of the powdered sugar to large mixing bowl. Combine on low speed.

Add tequila and lime juice and gradually add remaining powdered sugar. Once combined, increase mixer speed and whip until light and fluffy. Add additional powdered sugar if stiffer consistency is desired. Garnish with lime wedge and sprinkle of sea salt.

Recipe courtesy of Cupcakes-A-Go-Go in Madison, Wisconsin. Co-Owner – Laura Devries (Address, store hours and links at book’s end.)

3

Hoofing it

Annie pulled her wheelie suitcase as she looked up at the Blackhoof Bus Station sign in downtown L.A, located square in the middle of skid row. The scorching summer desert sun blasted down on her and seared every pore on her face. “You’ve got to be freakin’ kidding me!” She held one hand high overhead and attempted to shade her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Grady said. “When I saw it was the Hot Guys Contest, I totally blanked on the location of our departing venue.”

“Midwest Airlines versus Blackhoof Busline?” Annie asked. “The pristine pain-in-the-ass security riddled gargantuan airport versus the teensy urine and taco scented bus station in downtown L.A.?”

“Again,” Grady said, “I might have experienced a tiny brain fart.”

Julia yanked enormous black sunglasses out of her over-sized designer purse and slid them on her face. “You all stay out here and acquire a little more sun damage. I’m going inside to buy my ticket. Then I’m hitting the pharmacy across the street for lip plumper and some SPF 60. Because when I hit fifty, I want to continue to look thirty, darlings.” She walked off.

Two days later, Annie watched Julia and Grady as they practically melted down the bus’s stairs in front of her.

Julia’s hair was in a bun that stuck to her skull and didn’t budge.

“Hey, look Julia,” Grady said. “Your head’s been Saran-Wrapped.”

Julia flipped him the appropriate finger.

Annie clomped down the bus’s enormous stairs and glanced around at their destination. It was hard to miss the banner hanging from the station’s roof, “Welcome to Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. Home of Lac LaBelle: Stay and Play a While!” It was a hundred degrees outside and felt like a steam room inside of a sweat lodge.

The bus driver quickly unloaded the passengers’ bags and set them on the curb. Arriving passengers walked past travelers who wiped their dripping brows as they boarded the bus. One big fellow wearing a muscle T-shirt was red as a tomato, wet like he’d just taken a shower and looked like he might explode at any second.

“So help me God, if this is what that flippin’ brochure meant by ‘Hot Guys,’ I will kill someone.” Julia pinched Grady’s arm.

“Ow. Is there some reason you always have to take it out on me?” he asked.

“Yes. You’re always the closest.”

“I learned the hard way back in high school not to be anywhere in arms’ length of Julia when she’s crabby,” Annie said.

“Grady, be a love and help me with my luggage.” Julia tossed her carry-on over her shoulder. “Where’s the nearest AC?” She fanned herself and headed for the bus station’s front doors.

Grady wiped his glistening face with a tissue. Its remnants stuck to his two-day face stubble like TP on the bottom of someone’s shoe. “Why should I help?”

“Because you always do,” Julia said.

He sighed, grabbed Julia’s three other bags, as well as his one, and stumbled after her. “My back hurts. I’m not having fun yet.”

“I didn’t force you to come here.” Annie ran her hands through her hair which felt as sticky and crusty as an old cinnamon Danish.

As she searched for her suitcase in the smallish line of bags perched on the curb she felt a zit erupt on her forehead. An old hunched geezer toddled off with his blue suitcase. A tatted teenage girl grabbed her enormous backpack, hoisted it onto her shoulders and hiked away. There were only four suitcases left on the curb. But none of them were hers.

“Where’s my suitcase?” Annie started to panic. That bag had all of her fancy contest judge clothes, as well as her makeup, yoga mat, and her book, How Not to Stress.

The bus huffed, puffed and lumbered out of the parking lot. Her bag had to still be on it. She frowned. “Stop!” She chased after the bus. “You have my luggage!”

But the bus didn’t slow down. It belched a big puffy gray cloud of exhaust smoke into Annie’s face. She coughed and stumbled after it.

“Stop! I need my fancy clothes! I beg you, please!” Her eyes teared.

An older van, with a satellite dish on its roof and a green and yellow sign emblazoned with “WNOC,” screeched into the Blackhoof parking lot. It barely missed Annie and separated her from the bus and her luggage.

“No!” Annie smacked her palm on her forehead.

A coiffed thin young woman with teased big blonde highlighted hair that hadn’t wilted from the heat stepped out of the van’s door. She wore a tight Ralph Lauren knock-off summer suit, clutched a microphone and strode toward Annie. The woman glanced back at the van as an older schlubby blond man eased out the driver’s door carrying a video camera. “Olaf, pick up the pace, my strudel,” she said.

Olaf grunted, bent down and rubbed his knee. “Yeah there, Stephanie,” he said. “Right after my third double bypass.”

Annie watched the bus rumble, puff and belch away with her luggage and everything she needed to be a contest judge. How could she do this gig without all her proper clothing and accessories? She couldn’t. She hunched over and covered her eyes with her hands.

“Yay!” Stephanie jumped up and down in front of Annie and clapped like a cheerleader. “You’re Annie Graceland Piccolino in the flesh.”

“Annie Graceland.” She stood back up. “I’m losing the Piccolino forever when my divorce finalizes.” She hacked. Her mouth tasted like she’d been sucking on an exhaust pipe. “So nice to meet you, but I have a wardrobe emergency. The bus just left with my luggage and I’m a judge—”

“You’re a judge in the Hot Guys Contest! You’re one of my inspirations,” Stephanie said. “A local girl who made it good.”

“More like made it semi-medium,” Annie said. “But thanks.”

“I had to be the first to welcome you back. I’m Stephanie Storms and I officially represent WNOC, the local premiere cable news station.” She grabbed Annie’s free hand and shook it enthusiastically.

“Awesome to meet you.” Annie extricated her hand from Stephanie’s zealous grip.

“Olaf-kins,” Stephanie said. “Contact HQ. Tell them to send the intern to intercept the No.154 bus on its way toward Appleton and search for Annie Graceland’s luggage. Top priority.”

Olaf sighed and pulled out his Blackberry.

“That’s sweet of you,” Annie said. “Tell me that thing’s not on?” She pointed at the mic.

“Not until Olaf gets here,” Stephanie replied. “Professional courtesy. But honestly, I would very much appreciate a heads up on the dishy details during the Hot Guys’ Contest.”

Annie frowned. How was it possible Stephanie hadn’t broken a sweat while Annie’s complexion was most likely gray from the exhaust smoke and she sported armpit stains that headed toward her knees? “Don’t know. The contest people might have rules or conditions about press leaks that I don’t know yet.”

Stephanie opened her timeless Coach bag and pulled out several documents.

Stephanie had a vintage Coach bag? Annie loved Coach.

“I thought of that,” Stephanie said. “Legal at WNOC drafted this document that grants you permission to share color commentary contest information with me. As you can see, the Wisconsin’s Hot Guys’ contest president signed here, the VP here, and legal counsel, here.” She pointed to their signatures.

“Oh.” Annie scanned the documents and felt a stab of envy that she wasn’t that organized.

“Obviously you can’t share voting results with me, but you’re not privy to that information anyhow. This copy’s for you. You can call the station and speak to my supervisor if you have any questions.”

“Okay,” Annie said. “Let me get settled at my hotel and give me a shout. Especially if you find my luggage.”

“Absolutely!” Stephanie jumped up and down. “This will be, like, so much fun!”

Annie wanted to bond with Stephanie, so she managed a hop. When she heard a tiny but robust engine rev and a couple of  pop-pop-pops.

In Venice, California, those metallic sounding pops could be auto backfire, gunfire or fireworks. Right now in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, they were gunfire. A dirt bike sped through the Blackhoof parking lot. Its driver, a smaller leather-clad figure wearing a helmet aimed a handgun at Annie and Stephanie.

Stephanie heard the gunfire and screamed. Annie tackled her. They landed on the pavement—Annie smack dab on top of Stephanie and sweating like a married politician sneaking out of a cheap motel room. How was it possible Stephanie still hadn’t broken a sweat? Was she a creature from another world that was secretion-less?

Pop-pop-pop! More gunshots rang out.

Annie caught a glimpse of the bike’s skinny wheels and heard the squeal of rubber on blacktop as the driver pulled a Youie and sped off. “You okay?” Annie asked as her heart raced.

“Frick!” Stephanie said. “I mean, dang. Except for the fact your knee might be in my kidney, I think so. Is Olaf okay? Tell me Olaf’s okay. He’s the only cameraman I have access to.”

Annie looked over her shoulder. Olaf had one knee on the ground and his camera aimed at the fleeing biker. “Hot damn!” he said. “This is what news should be.”

Instead of relaxing at the contest’s swank accommodations at The Lake Lodge on the shores of Lac La Belle and sampling its many luxurious amenities, Annie spent her first morning and afternoon back in Oconomowoc at the city police station.

Neither Grady nor Julia had witnessed the shooting. They were briefly questioned, quickly released and cabbed it to the lodge. Julia was probably getting a mani/pedi and Grady writing a treatment for a screenplay about the driveby gunshot incident, even though he hadn’t seen it.

Annie sat on a plastic chair in a tiny sterile air-conditioned squad room waiting to be interviewed by a local police officer. She put her head on the metal table in front of her. She should have followed her instincts. Something warned her not to come back. There wasn’t even a dead body and she was already in a police station. She banged her head on the table several times.

The door to the interrogation room swung opened. “A smart girl once told me that head banging should be reserved for punk rockers who don’t care about losing brain cells,” a man said, “—because they’ve already lost theirs.”

Annie raised her head off the table. A tall, built, early thirties, dirty-blond man walked into the room. She blinked. Maybe the Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, PD had a time machine warp room, because the guy resembled a younger Brad Pitt.

“Annie Graceland. It’s been a couple of years, hasn’t it?” the man asked.

She squinted at him. He was handsome in that high cheek boned blue-eyed kind of way. And he looked familiar. “I have no idea, mister…?”

“Detective,” he said, pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table from her, sat down and smiled. “How are you?”

That wasn’t the first question she expected to be asked by an Oconomowoc detective. “You really want to know?”

“I do.”

“I’m dehydrated, haven’t slept in three days. I have a contusion on my knee from rescuing this Stephanie TV person.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “My hair might have worms. My luggage with all my clothes and important business stuff is missing and I’m seriously wondering if I’ve made a really bad decision coming back to Wisconsin on a holiday weekend. Why do you look so familiar?”

“Stephanie’s a hometown pain. We’ve been hoping and praying for years that she’ll head to bigger pastures.” The detective got up, walked to a mini fridge in the room’s corner and opened it. He snagged a bottle of water from the fridge and a blue bag from the freezer. He walked back and pressed the ice pack onto her knee. “This will decrease swelling and stop your new bruise from becoming a big one.”

She shuddered and felt something chilly, wet and slimy slither down her back. She shook her head. The Officer hadn’t placed an ice pack anywhere near her back. Just on her knee. “Thanks.” She was having an empathic reaction. Oh, frick.

“You’re overly tired and will probably sleep like the dead tonight after you spend a couple of hours with Nancy.”

How did he know about her mother, Nancy? Right. She was back home. Everyone knew everybody in smallish midwestern towns.

“Your hair could use a wash,” he said. “But I don’t see any worms wiggling onto your shoulders.”

She shuddered and involuntarily flinched. “That’s a good thing.”

The detective handed her a big bottle of electrolyte-enhanced Lac LaBelle Mineral Water. “Drink this.”

She chugged the water. Immediately felt a little better. “Thanks. I have to help host opening ceremonies for a contest tonight. No time to see my mom until after.”

“Got it,” he said. “In regards to you coming back here for July 4th—we’ll be arresting our obligatory roster of idiots. Drinking and driving, drinking and boating, drinking and drinking, illegal fireworks, a couple of car crashes, a few druggies, and of course the town flasher. What were you thinking coming back for a summer holiday?” The man leaned back in his chair and regarded her.

Annie took a swig of water and stared at him. “I was thinking I’d see my family. I wasn’t thinking I’d end up at the local P.D. when I haven’t even broken a single law. What’s your name, detective, and why do you look familiar?”

“My name’s Detective Jamie Ryan,” he said. “You babysat me when you were in high school and I was ten.”

Good God, it all rushed back and flooded her noggin’, filling up all the little wrinkles and crevices in her brain like a tsunami. Little Jamie Ryan with his skateboards, dogs, video games and addiction to Harry Potter books. Goofball Jamie Ryan, who used to stick tadpoles down her back and giggle so hard he’d lose his breath. He had grown into Detective Jamie Ryan with the dangerous crystal blue eyes.

“Oh. Right. I babysat a lot of kids,” she said. “You grew up nice, Jamie. I mean you grew up to be a law-abiding, nice young man, Detective Jamie Ryan.”

“You grew up nice, too, Annie,” he said. “Sorry about the tadpole thing. I was a little obsessed with girls and frogs back then.”

Annie knew that statement described the majority of boys. She slugged back some more water. “I’m a judge at—”

“Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Guy Contest,” he said. “Technically I’m in favor of the contest. But honestly a little concerned it will objectify men.”

Annie burst out giggling. “You’re still hilarious.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Like every single beauty contest for women doesn’t objectify them?”

“Well… but… kind-of…it’s completely different.”

“Ha-ha! Hiding any frogs, buddy?” Annie laughed so hard she clutched her stomach. And then like any pageant judge, she pulled it together. “I’ve got to be at work by six p.m. What do you need to know?”

“Let’s start with the idiot shooter in the parking lot.”

There really wasn’t that much to tell him. A couple of gunshots that seemed to be aimed at Stephanie. The shooter was a person on a dirt bike who wore leather in ninety-nine degree weather and, therefore, must be completely deranged. Since Annie had never met Stephanie until today, she had no idea who would want to harm her.

Annie then mentioned her luggage was either stolen or still on the No.154 Blackhoof Bus headed towards Appleton, Wisconsin.

“Did you have a chance to fill out a missing luggage—”

“No,” she said. “That’s when I nearly got run over and the shooting started.”

“I’ll handle that for you,” Jamie said. “Make some calls.”

“Thank you.”

“You need a ride?” Jamie eyeballed her.

A memory popped into Annie’s head like it was yesterday. Jamie’s folks hired her to babysit and dog walk while they attended a Clean the Lakes event at the supper club. Sixteen-year-old Annie walked their German shepherd down their long blacktop driveway surrounded by thick woods.

Half way down the blacktop, ten-year-old Jamie burst out of the bushes on his skateboard dressed like a ninja warrior. He yelled, “Hai Ku!” and spooked Sasha the dog, who bolted toward the woods like she was possessed. Annie tried to hold onto her leash, but ended up falling onto her butt and dragged down the sloping pavement.

“Sasha, no!” she yelled over and over, finally letting go of the leash. The dog stopped its panicked flight, panted heavily and looked at her, confused. She padded back to Annie who lay face up, her legs half on the driveway and the rest of her in the leaves and moldy dirt. Sasha leaned in and licked her face.

Annie gained a nasty case of road burn on her toucas as well as her first exfoliating dog-wash facial. Jamie wheeled up to her on his skateboard, held out his chubby pre-pubescent hand and said, “Hey, lady. Need a ride?”

“No, thanks.” She spit out a few dog hairs. “I think I’ll wing it.”

Now Annie looked at Jamie’s hand. It was muscular. Had long fingers. A couple of scars. No wedding band. “No thanks,” she said. “I think I’ll wing it.”

It was late afternoon when Annie left the Police Department clutching her fourth bottle of mineral water, her Coach purse and her tote. She walked out the double doors into the parking lot and called Rafe on her cell. His voicemail answered and she felt a little sad. “Raphael. It’s Annie. I miss you. We’re officially in Wisconsin. Yay! A little drama. Fill you in later. I hope all is great in your world. Mwah!”

Annie craved a bath, a salt scrub and possibly a delousing. She spotted a vintage baby blue Cadillac convertible polished to an impossible shine turn into the police parking lot.

Her mom owned three cars. One was an ancient clunker. Another was an inexpensive newer model that got great gas mileage. But the vintage blue Caddie was Nancy’s favorite, which she only unveiled on special occasions.

But a strange woman with bright red, short spiked hair, sporting enormous dark sunglasses and hot red lipstick was behind the wheel. Not her mom.

Annie’s mom was blonde, had always been blonde, even though now technically she should be silver. The Cadillac’s driver looked like her mom’s younger wild cousin, Gert. The one who ran off twenty years ago to Lithuania with the crazy artist dude.

“Annie Graceland!” The firecracker red-headed woman hollered. “I can’t believe I had to find out on the WNOC news that you landed in town.”

“Gert?” Annie asked. “How’s Lithuania and where’s Mom?”

“First things first.” The woman put the Cadillac in park. Turned off its engine and tossed Annie the car keys. “Put your suitcase in the trunk. Only one tiny bag?”

“I had a tote and one large suitcase.” Annie placed her tote into the trunk and slammed the car’s trunk. “Blackhoof lost my most important bag. All my beautiful pageant outfits were in it. Without them, people will think I’m an idiot. A moron. A loser.” She got in the passenger seat and handed the keys back to the glamorous older redhead who fired up the engine. “So, when’d you get back in town, Gert? And where’s mom?”

The woman cracked a smile and instead of backing up to exit, circled the Cadillac slowly around the parking lot and waved to several police officers in uniform. “Gert left that whack-a-doodle artist and moved with her younger boyfriend to a nudist colony in Costa Rica years ago. She opened a Mr. Softie Custard shop on the beach. Made a fortune. Thanks for the compliment. But I’m not Gert.”

Oh, my God, Annie thought and stared at the woman. The firecracker wasn’t Gert. It was her mom, Nancy, with radically new hair, something different about her face, but the same attitude. “Mom?” she asked. “Are you all right? Do you have a disease? Do we need to go to Mayo clinic? I swear we’ll figure it out together.”

Nancy waved her hand. “I’m fine.”

“What happened?” Annie asked.

Her mom laughed. “Seventy happened, darling.” She revved the engine and gunned it. Annie flew back into the cushy Caddie seat as they squealed out of the parking lot. “And seventy is the new fifty.”

4

Time Of Our Lives

Annie’s mom pulled onto the two-lane street. The lake side had a wide grassy shoulder. The opposite side swept past houses, driveways, and relatively thin grassy shoulders that dipped down into leaf filled mossy ditches. “Like, wow,” Annie said. “You didn’t tell me you had some work done.”

“I haven’t told a soul except for my Wild Women’s Group. I wanted a little tiny uplifting so my face and my spirits matched. It’s called a ‘Time-of-Life’ lift. Minimal cutting. Local anesthesia. You can go back to work in three days!”

“You don’t work.”

“You can go back to Bible Study in three days!” Nancy tapped her finger on her cheek that was closest to Annie. “Daughter’s kiss goes right here.”

Annie smooched her mom’s freshly minted face. It was still her mom and it felt warm and wonderful. Like mini-marshmallows in hot chocolate. “Are you driving me to the Lake Lodge?”

A tiny frown squirmed its way onto Nancy’s face. “Yes, dear. Considering I haven’t seen you in a year, I’m more than happy to pick you up like a Tibetan Sherpa and schlep you to your destination.”

“The contest’s opening ceremonies are tonight.” Annie looked at her watch. “We’ll have a ton of downtime to catch up and hang out and—what time is it here?”

“I stopped keeping track of time a while ago.” Nancy hard turned the steering wheel to the right and whipped the Caddie onto the picturesque, tree-lined, two-lane road that circled Lac LaBelle. “Gloria, my Wild Women’s tribal leader, says when you count time all it does is make you depressed that so much has passed. We should simply pay attention to where the sun is in the sky.” Nancy eyeballed the sun. “I’d say it’s about five-ish.”

Wild Women? Tribal leader? Five-ish? Oh shit. Opening ceremonies for Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Guy Contest started at six p.m. Annie was exhausted. Once she realized they were taking the bus, she had planned on a nap as well as plenty of downtime to prepare before the opening ceremonies. Annie reached up and tilted the rearview mirror toward her and gazed into it. She looked like a creature who had just escaped the third realm of hell.

She had fresh pink zits, grimy hair and errant eyebrow hairs that were attempting to unite in the uni-brow look she sported in junior high. This would not do. She was a pageant judge. She was supposed to look coiffed and glamorous. Somewhat like Paula Abdul. Or Stephanie.

“Hurry, please. Pedal to the metal, Mom. Remember the multiple conversations we’ve had about how slow drivers can be as dangerous as fast ones?” Annie pulled out her cell phone and hit one number for speed dial.

“I was only driving slowly because I lost my license a couple of months ago.” Nancy punched the gas.

Annie’s head started throbbing and she felt the one visible vein on her forehead pulse. She placed her phone to her ear.

“Hot Guys Central. How can I be of service?” Julia purred on the line’s other end.

“I’ve been at the police station the entire day, my suitcase is stolen or missing. No bitchin’ clothes for the contest, no makeup, no fancy hair doo-dads. Mom picked me up and we’re headed for the lodge. I’ve got to look presentable and coiffed like a beauty pageant judge in approximately forty-five minutes. Tell me that you and Grady have had less than three drinks apiece and can save my ass?”

The Caddie’s engine revved. Her Mom swerved down the middle of the two-lane road that curved around the lake. Small non-suicidal forest animals dodged its wheels and dove for safety.

“Hold on,” Julia said. “Grady, put the strawberry daiquiris in the fridge.”

“But I just picked the berries from the Lodge’s garden,” he whined.

“They’ll keep. Annie needs us to be kind-of sober.”

“Then why are we on a road trip to Wisconsin? I don’t know anyone who vacays in Wisconsin who stays kind-of sober.”

“Save the drama for Los Angeles,” Julia said. “God knows that town needs it like oxygen.”

Annie’s heart skipped a beat ’cause in that statement she knew Julia was re-connecting with her Midwestern roots.

“Julia?” Annie asked.

“We’re on it. Mission Pageant Judge. Heads up? Skip the lobby,” Julia said. “It’s packed with swooning women, men who aren’t frightened of who they really are, as well as those who are still in the closet. Park on the lake entrance. Between the wedding gazebo with the plastic white rose cascades and the Bait and Tackle shop with the enormous smiling trout. Take the back elevator to room 303. Do the secret knock.” She hung up.

“I don’t remember the secret knock!” Annie shouted into the phone as she and her mom in the Caddie blasted down Lac LaBelle Lane.

“I do,” Nancy said. “That’s the one Julia did on your bedroom window junior year in high school every time you were sneaking out to go to a party.”

“Oh, that secret knock,” Annie brain-strained for the memory. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, my only daughter.”

A little over an hour later, Annie teetered toward a conference table podium in the Lake Lodge’s packed ballroom. It was outfitted with a long white table skirt with red white and blue emblems celebrating the Contest. She knew the following: she flunked the secret knock three times until Julia threw open the door and yanked her inside.

Her friends stripped off Annie’s road clothes and pushed her into the shower. They ruthlessly scrubbed and exfoliated her from head to toe and even managed to shave her legs. Annie survived with just one bleeder—a nasty razor cut on her calf that would not clot.

She reached down and rubbed the drying blood over her leg in the hopes it would make her look tan, not like she needed to go to the ER.

Julia and Grady dried her off with multiple cushy three hundred-thread count lodge towels. They slapped sparkly self-tanning moisturizer on her entire body, plumped her lips, plucked her uni-brow, transforming it into two eyebrows, teased and sprayed her hair to enormous proportions, rimmed her eyes with kohl and made her drink two cups of coffee spiked with just a tad of Kahlua.

She squeezed into one of Julia’s spandex one-size-fits-all outfits—a skimpy off-the shoulder leopard print dress. And the absolute worst? They made her wear really tall heels. Everyone who ever met Annie knew she was petrified of tall heels.

Annie caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror in the hallway on the way to the ballroom. “I look like Tarzan’s girlfriend, Jane.”

“You’re welcome,” Julia said.

“I totally appreciate all your efforts, but you know I can’t walk in heels.” Annie wobbled, her arms extended out to her sides for support, as she pushed off the hallway’s walls.

“Own the heels, work the attitude and be the totally cool contest judge that we know you can be.” Julia grabbed Annie and smooched her on the cheek. “Kill them, babe.”

Grady smooched Annie on her other cheek. “I’m writing all this down you know.”

“Change my name this time,” Annie said.

“I changed it last time.”

“You called my semi-fictitious character Fannie Laceland. Everyone with half a brain figured it out.”

“Considering that spec script went nowhere, I think you’re still off Hollywood’s radar.”

Annie teetered toward the conference table where the other contest judges were already seated. She spotted Stephanie on the sidelines, picture perfect and posing in front of Olaf’s rolling camera. They were the only video camera crew in attendance. In L.A. this place would have been infested with news crews.

She couldn’t wait to meet her fellow judges. They were probably Nicole Scherzinger or J-Lo types. Gorgeous, hip, cool. She felt lucky to be included in their company. She took her seat at the conference table. Phew. She’d arrived. She hadn’t fallen. And she didn’t feel any bugs crawling in her enormous hair. Disaster averted.

An older woman sat next to Annie. She had silver hair, looked like someone’s beloved Nana and smelled like overly sweet roses that had been dipped in lilac