Jaine Austen 7 - Killing Bridezilla (20 page)

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that was left was a bare stucco slab. Any bits of evidence had long since been swept away by either the cops or the wind.

Back in the room, I quickly rifled through Patti’s drawers, but came up empty-handed.

With a sigh, I finished packing and was all set to go when I noticed Patti’s Hermosa High yearbook on her night table.

Gad, I hadn’t seen that thing since graduation.

My parents lost mine in the move from Hermosa to Tampa Vistas. No great loss as far as I was concerned. I’d always hated my graduation picture, with my forced smile and Orphan Annie hair. It made my driver’s license photo look like a
Cosmo
cover.

I had no real desire to look at it again, but like a dental patient who can’t resist probing a sore tooth, I found myself walking over to check it out.

But I never did get to revisit the old me. Because just as I lifted the yearbook from the night table, a faded photo fluttered to the floor.

I picked it up and saw that it was a picture of Denise in her cheerleader outfit. Well, half of the outfit, anyway. I gulped back my surprise when I saw she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing above her waist. Yep, she was totally topless—if you didn’t count the butterfly tattooed on her shoulder.

Yikes. If that photo ever saw the light of day, Denise could kiss her political career good-bye.

Just as I’d suspected. Patti
had
been blackmailing her all these years. Which meant Denise had a strong motive to kill her.

At last. A bona fide Exhibit A!

I was so elated with my discovery that at first I 202

Laura Levine

didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

But at some point the clattering of Daphna’s heels in the hallway broke into my consciousness.

I stashed the photo in my purse and had just put the yearbook back on the night table when Daphna popped her head in the door.

“Got everything you need?” she asked.

Yes, indeedie. And then some.

I drove home feeling a lot like Daniel must have felt before he sauntered into that lion’s den.

Prozac was going to kill me when she saw Mamie.

I could just picture her reaction—the arched back, the swishing tail, the dramatic leap onto the top of the bookcase. No doubt about it. She’d be in full-tilt Drama Queen mode.

Mamie did not share my gloomy mood. She was perched on the passenger seat, her head out the window, yapping a friendly hello to the passing fire hydrants. Poor thing had no idea she was leaving the lap of luxury for life in Economy Class.

“I sure hope you learn to like Alpo, kiddo.”

All too soon, I pulled up in front of my duplex.

We were just getting out of the car when I saw Lance trotting up the street in his jogging shorts.

Lance is one of those irritating people who actually enjoy working out.

“Hey dollface!” he said, joining us.

Naturally, he was talking to the dog.

“Where’d this cutie come from?” he asked, scooping her out of my arms.

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“I inherited her from someone who died,” I said, giving him the
Reader’s Digest
version of events.

“Won’t Prozac be upset if you bring home a dog?”

“That’s putting it mildly. I’m fully expecting World War III to break out in my living room.

Which is why I’m going to have to find another home for her.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” he said, scratching her behind the ears. “She’s adorable.”

“Hey,” I said, a spark of hope igniting. “Why don’t you take her?”

Mamie seemed to approve of this suggestion and began covering him with sloppy kisses.

“Clearly she’s crazy about you.”

“Actually,” Lance said, gazing down at her,

“I’ve always wanted a dog.”

“Oh, Lance. She really is a sweetheart! So warm and loving and friendly. And hardly any trouble.”

Notice how I didn’t mention her penchant for rolling around in garbage. Which I didn’t count as a flaw, since I was convinced Prozac put her up to it.

“I don’t know,” he hesitated. “It’s all so sudden.”

“She’d make a great date magnet,” I said, revving up my sales pitch.

“I don’t need a date magnet,” he said, suddenly starry eyed. “I think at last I’ve found my soul mate.”

I barely suppressed a groan. Lance is one of those incurable romantics who falls in love with the frequency of an NPR pledge drive.

“Remember Kevin?” he gushed. “The guy I 204

Laura Levine

met at the yogurt parlor? We’re so totally on the same wave length. And not just about yogurt.

About everything!”

I nodded through a few more beats of Isn’t-Kevin-Wonderful chat, then got the conversation back on track.

“So what about Mamie?”

He looked down at the bundle of fur in his arms, then broke out into a smile. “Okay, I’ll take her.”

“Lance, you’re an angel!”

I would’ve thrown my arms around him and covered him with kisses but Mamie beat me to it.

“I’ll get her suitcase,” I said, reaching into the Corolla.

“Omigod,” Lance gasped. “Is that Gucci?”

“You bet. Monogrammed. And you should see her outfits. I never knew Versace made dog clothes.”

“Oh, honey,” he said, nuzzling Mamie’s fur.

“You’re a girl after my own heart.”

After settling Mamie at Lance’s apartment, I trotted back to my own place, thrilled to have averted the wrath of Prozac.

“Hi, Pro!” I called out as I let myself in.

She looked up from where she was curled up on my sofa and sniffed.

I smell dog fur.

Her pink nose twitched indignantly.

And then, before she could get any closer, I raced to the shower to wash away all traces of The Other Woman.

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YOU’VE GOT MAIL

NOBEL PRIZE WINNER ABDUCTED FROM AIRPORT

Famed Italian physicist and Nobel Prize winner Enrico Facciobene, whom Stephen Hawking has
called “one of the keenest analytical minds of our
generation,” was abducted from Tampa
International Airport last night by what witnesses
described as a deranged attorney.

Facciobene was scheduled to begin a research
grant at the University of Tampa. But when representatives of the university arrived at the airport to
pick him up, they saw him being forcibly dragged to
a white late-model Toyota Camry.

Professor Susan MacDonald described the abductor as a balding man in his sixties wearing
an If At First You Don’t Succeed, Sue, Sue Again
T-shirt.

“This crazy fellow tore out of the airport and raced
to his car, which was illegally parked in a white
zone,” said MacDonald, “dragging poor Signor Facciobene against his will.”

Any witnesses with information about the abduction
should contact Det. John Hill at (813) 555-9876.

To: Jausten

From: Shoptillyoudrop

Can’t write much now. I’m off to bail Daddy out of jail.

More later—

Mom

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Laura Levine

To: Jausten

From: Shoptillyoudrop

Subject: The Wrong Man!

Well, I’m back, and you’ll never believe what happened.

Daddy picked up the wrong man at the airport!

I don’t know how he could have possibly made such a ridiculous mistake. The man looked nothing like Roberto’s picture. I knew the minute he walked in the house it wasn’t him.

Daddy always was bad at recognizing people. I’ll never forget the time he asked a waitress at Howard Johnson’s for her autograph because he swore she was Meryl Streep. I said, “Hank, what on earth would Meryl Streep be doing waiting tables here in Tampa?” He insisted it was her, said she was probably “researching a role.”

But I’m rambling, aren’t I? Getting back to Signor Facciobene. That’s the man Daddy abducted, a famous scientist from Italy. I could tell the poor man was upset.

He kept shouting “Hiya! Hiya!” It turns out he was trying to say “Hyatt.” That’s where he was supposed to be staying, but of course we didn’t know that.

I said to your father, “Hank, this isn’t Roberto.” And he said, “Of course it is; he looks just like his photo,” and I said, “I’m the one who dated him; I should know who he is for heaven’s sake!”

“Well, if he isn’t Roberto,” Daddy asked, “who the heck is he?”

And just then I happened to look over at the TV, which I’d turned on while I was setting the table.

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You know how I like to have the TV on to keep me company when I’m doing chores around the house.

Anyhow, there on the TV was a news bulletin with Signor Facciobene’s picture, saying how a world-famous Nobel Prize winner had been abducted from the airport by a crazy man in an
If At First You
Don’t Succeed, Sue, Sue Again
T-shirt!

“Good gracious, Hank!” I said. “You’ve kidnapped a Nobel Prize winner! How could you??”

But Daddy never did get a chance to answer my question because just then the doorbell rang. And there on our doorstep, where all the neighbors could see them, I’m sure, were two uniformed policemen!

Daddy started babbling that it was all an innocent mistake, that he hadn’t meant to kidnap anybody, that he thought he was picking up his wife’s boyfriend. You can imagine how red my face turned at that.

But it turned out they weren’t here about Signor Facciobene. “We’ve come to investigate a claim of stolen property,” one of them said. “An overdue library book.”

Can you believe it? They were here about Daddy’s silly library book!

At which point Signor Facciobene came running up to them crying “Aiuto! Aiuto!” which apparently is Italian for “help.” Of course the police recognized him right away, and faster than you can say “Arrivederci, Roma,” they were carting Daddy off to jail.

And just as they were driving off, you’ll never guess who pulled up in a taxi. The real Roberto! I have to 208

Laura Levine

admit, he didn’t look much like the photo he sent; that picture must’ve been taken years ago. He’s put on quite a few pounds since then. But he’s still as sweet as ever and was kind enough to come down to police headquarters with me. After they called in a translator, Roberto explained what happened and they let Daddy go.

Then the three of us all had a lovely dinner at Apple-bee’s because I’m sorry to say in all the ruckus of Daddy getting arrested, my eggplant parmigiana got burned to a crisp.

Well, that’s it for now, darling. I’m off to bed. Which reminds me. I sent you some fabulous leopard throw pillows to go with your new comforter set.

They’ve got a few teeny rhinestones on the leopard’s nose which may be a trifle garish, but I’m sure you can snip them off.

Much love—

Mom

To: Jausten

From: DaddyO

Subject: Little Mix-up

I suppose Mom wrote you about that little mix-up at the airport. It was a perfectly understandable mistake. After all, the fellow kept saying Hiya!

Hiya! I thought he was saying hello. The only reason I dragged him to the car was because I was parked in the white zone and I didn’t want to get a ticket.

And I don’t care what your mother says, the man was the spitting image of Roberto’s picture. I hap

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pen to have an amazing gift for recognizing people.

Why, I once saw Meryl Streep waiting tables at HoJo’s!

How many people can say that?

Love and hugs from,

Daddy

Chapter 20

Idrove over to Denise’s law office the next day, my mind reeling over my parents’ e-mails. Can you believe Daddy kidnapped a Nobel Prize winner? This was worse than the time he set fire to the Tampa Vistas clubhouse. I’m telling you, the man should be declared a National Disaster Area. How he’s made it this far without a prison record is beyond me.

But I couldn’t think about Daddy. Not now. I had to stay focused on the case and confront Denise with my Topless Cheerleader discovery.

After parking my Corolla deep in the bowels of Denise’s high rise, I took a series of escalators up to the lobby and then boarded the elevator to her sky-high office.

I went over my plan of attack as I rode up. I’d barge into her office and catch her off guard.

Then I’d flash the Topless Cheerleader photo and watch her face crumple in dismay. Tears streaming down her face, she’d admit that Patti had been blackmailing her and that she’d resorted to murder to put a stop to it.

With any luck, I’d be walking out of her office with a signed confession.

But things didn’t exactly go according to plan.

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Laura Levine

For starters, I didn’t barge into Denise’s office.

Her gargoyle secretary (a woman with biceps the size of Easter hams) kept me cooling my heels for thirty-five minutes before she finally allowed me to go in.

“Hello, Jaine,” Denise greeted me, not the least bit startled, having had thirty-five minutes to prepare for my appearance. “How can I help you?”

“Take a look at what I found in Patti’s yearbook.” I said, trying my best to send out Tough Girl vibes.

I whipped the topless cheerleader photo from my purse and showed it to her. Sad to say, she didn’t crumple in dismay. No tearful confessions ensued. Nope. She just threw back her head and laughed.

“Patti still had that silly thing?”

And suddenly my theory that Patti had been blackmailing Denise didn’t seem quite as compelling as it had thirty seconds ago.

I plowed ahead anyway.

“I think Patti was using this picture to keep you under her thumb. That’s why you stayed friendly with her all these years. You were afraid not to. But when you decided to run for office, you couldn’t risk having her spill the beans about your topless past.”

“Are you saying I’m the one who sabotaged that balcony?”

She wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

She got up from her chair, reed thin in a pinstriped pantsuit, and walked around her desk to face me.