Jaine Austen 7 - Killing Bridezilla (26 page)

268

Laura Levine

“Oh, I did. Very much. But the sad fact is, I needed her money.”

“You? But you’re one of the richest men in Los Angeles.”

“Make that past tense, sweetheart.
Was
one of the richest men. Due to a string of unfortunate investments, I’m afraid I’m in dire financial straights. I’ve already worked my way through my money—and Daphna’s, too, for that matter.

“Fact is, I’m stone-cold broke. I needed Patti’s money to finance Sunset Estates and get back on top again.

“If Patti died as a single woman,” he said, plucking a piece of dust from one of the miniature houses on Leisure Lane, “her money reverted back to Daphna. Which meant it reverted back to me since I handle all of Daphna’s finances.

“So I had to kill her, quickly, before she married Dickie.” He actually managed to looked pained. “I hated to do it, but surely you can understand. I had no other alternative.”

The man had no idea he was a roaring sociopath.

He adjusted one of the trees on Easy Street, clearly in love with the project he’d already killed twice for.

“It was simple enough to slip out during the cocktail party and jimmy the railing. I’d already snatched one of the workmen’s drills and hidden it in the linen closet. That thing was powerful. Loosened the bolts in no time. Afterward I tossed the drill in the bushes, but I kept the drill bit. I figured I’d plant it on Cheryl and frame her for the murder. Everyone knew she loathed KILLING BRIDEZILLA

269

Patti. But when Normalynne showed up at the wedding and made such a scene, I decided to plant it on her instead.”

“Let me guess. You dropped it in the backseat when you and Kyle ushered her out to her car.”

“Clever touch, wasn’t it? But it was all for nothing. What I didn’t know at the time, of course, was that Patti and Dickie were already married. Dickie’s the one who inherits, not me.

“What a waste of lives,” he sighed. “First, Patti.

Then Julio. And now you.

“Well, time to get started,” he said, checking his watch. “Rosa should be gone by now. I sent her off on an errand. She won’t be back for hours. Can’t have any witnesses to your untimely demise, can we?

“Come on, honey.” He nudged me with the butt of his gun. “We’re going to take a little walk.”

“Where to? Easy Street?”

“Ah, so you figured that one out, too. No, we’re not going to Easy Street. We’re going upstairs to the balcony. Back to the scene of the crime.”

He shoved me out to the foyer, his gun lodged firmly in my back.

“Let’s go,” he said when we reached the foot of the winding staircase. “Upsy daisy.”

With pounding heart, I started up the stairs.

By the time we reached the top, I felt like I’d climbed Mt. Everest.

Conrad prodded me down the corridor to Patti’s room, his gun now an appendage to my spine.

Patti’s bubblegum pink palace hadn’t been touched since the last time I saw it. Beyond the 270

Laura Levine

French doors, the balcony still loomed ominously, without a railing.

“Now here’s what’s going to happen,” Conrad said. “There’s going to be an accident. I’ll tell everyone you came to the house investigating Patti’s death and asked if you could search her bedroom for clues. I let you go upstairs alone. I warned you to be careful, that there was no railing on the balcony, but minutes later I heard you scream and came racing up the stairs only to find your mangled body splattered on the ground below. Now all you have to do, my dear, is jump.”

“What if I won’t?”

“Then I revert to plan B.”

“I don’t suppose that involves letting me go and forgetting we ever had this little chat?”

“Not exactly. Plan B is where I shove you in the trunk of my car and drive you to a deserted ravine and blow your brains out execution style.”

“Ah. Death a la Julio.”

“What’s it going to be, sweetheart?”

So there I was, trying to choose between a suicide leap or a bullet to the skull, when suddenly a barking ball of white ball of fur came flying into the room.

Holy Mackerel. It was Mamie!

Somehow she’d managed to open the car door. What an escape artist. I swear, that dog was a regular Houdini with paws. I had no idea how she got into the house; probably through her old doggie door in the kitchen. I didn’t care how she did it. All that mattered was that she’d distracted Conrad.

And indeed she had.

He’d whirled around in surprise when she KILLING BRIDEZILLA

271

made her grand entrance. Which meant that I no longer had a lethal weapon pointed at my internal organs. I took advantage of my momentary freedom to lunge at Conrad and tackle him from behind.

We spent the next few minutes grappling for the gun, Mamie nipping at Conrad’s ankles. It wasn’t long before the gun went off with a ghastly bang, shattering Patti’s vanity mirror. Mamie, frightened, skittered under the bed. I only wished I could join her.

Finally, after taking an energetic bite of his wrist, I got Conrad to drop the gun. Whooping in triumph, I reached down to grab it.

Big mistake.

I’d given him the chance to tackle me. And he took it.

For a guy in his sixties he was amazingly strong.

And as you well know, for a gal in my thirties, I was amazingly out of shape. Which is why seconds later, he had me pinned to the floor, his hands around my neck in a viselike grip.

Apparently he’d had a change of plan. Instead of shooting me, he’d decided to choke me to death. And he was doing a heck of a good job. I was gasping for air, certain that each breath was my last, when I heard:

“What the hell is going on here?”

Daphna stood in the doorway, aghast.

Conrad loosened his grip on my neck, and the minute he did, I started babbling.

“Daphna,” I shrieked, my voice raspy from near-strangulation. “Thank God you’re here! Your husband killed Patti! He did it for her money.

He sabotaged the railing and put the drill bit in 272

Laura Levine

Normalynne’s backseat and killed Julio on Easy Street and I discovered the truth, and now he’s trying to kill me, too!”

“Don’t listen to her, Daphna,” Conrad said calmly, getting up from where he’d been straddling my chest. “
She
was trying to kill
me
. The woman is mentally unhinged. You can hear it in her voice.”

Oh, rats. I had been ranting like a refugee from a loony bin, hadn’t I?

“She’s the one who killed Patti,” Conrad continued, Mr. Cool and Collected. “She’s had a pathological resentment toward her ever since high school. All her life she’s been waiting for an opportunity to kill her, and when she was invited to the wedding, she finally got her chance.”

“That’s not true!” I wailed, once again sounding like a woman in serious need of her meds.

“Daphna, darling. We can’t depend on the courts to deliver justice. We’ve got to take the law in our own hands and kill her ourselves.”

Daphna’s eyes narrowed into angry slits. She bent down and picked up the gun.

Oh, Lord. She believed him.

“Go ahead!” he urged. “Shoot her!”

But much to my surprise, she aimed the gun at Conrad.

“Shut up, Conrad,” she said. “I know you’re broke. When I went shopping today, all my credit cards were denied. I just got back from our lying, cheating dirtbag of an accountant who admitted under threat of a lawsuit that for years he’s been allowing you to steal my money. According to him, we don’t have a pot to piss in.”

A nervous smile flitted across his face.

KILLING BRIDEZILLA

273

“So we’re broke. No problem, darling. I’ll get back on top again. But that doesn’t mean I killed Patti.”

“But he did!” I screeched. “He stole the workman’s drill and snuck upstairs during the cocktail party and—”

“Enough, Jaine,” Daphna said, holding up her hand. “You had me at
Thank God you’re here.
”

She turned to Conrad, her eyes now blazing with fury.

“You killed my daughter.”

“Okay, I killed her,” he admitted. “But she was a brat. You said so yourself many times. You didn’t even like her.”

“She was my daughter, Conrad. I may not have liked her, but I
loved
her.”

A fat tear rolled down her granite cheek.

“Call the cops, Jaine.”

I did, and with the kind of lightning response you get in places like Bel Air, they were at the front door in mere minutes. Mamie came out from hiding to give them a thorough sniffing.

Valiantly ignoring the dog saliva on their ankles, they took down our statements and, without further ado, hauled Conrad off to a luxury suite at the county jail.

When everyone finally cleared out, Daphna turned to me and started to speak.

“Jaine . . .” she began.

Was it my imagination or had that granite face somehow softened? Was there a spark of newfound compassion in her eyes? Maybe after all that had happened, she’d opened her heart and become a kinder, gentler Daphna. Maybe some good had actually come of Patti’s death.

274

Laura Levine

“Yes?” I said, flashing her an encouraging smile.

“Get that yapping mutt out of here.”

Oh, well. I guess the only good to come of Patti’s death was the deli at the funeral reception.

And Mamie, of course.

I scooped the little bitch in my arms and left the big one to her own devices.

Epilogue

Thanks to my testimony—and Daphna’s—

Conrad was convicted of first-degree murder and is now serving a life sentence at Homicide Estates, otherwise known as San Quentin Prison.

Needless to say, Daphna divorced him. Forced to take a job in the men’s department at Saks, she promptly sunk her teeth into a billionaire Saudi oil magnate who divorced his three wives to make her his one and only. Last I heard, she was getting her Botox shots at a palace in Dubai.

And it turns out Conrad wasn’t the only one on the brink of poverty. When Dickie tried to cash in on his inheritance, he discovered Patti had frittered away most of her father’s money on her failed business ventures. Her line of doggie clothes alone cost over a million dollars.

Of course, Dickie and Veronica had never been planning to kill Patti. All they wanted was to walk away with a small fortune in a divorce settlement. And as soon as Veronica realized there were no big bucks on Dickie’s horizon, she dumped him faster than a hot potato puff.

At which point, Eleanor Potter sprang into action and begged Normalynne to take Dickie 276

Laura Levine

back. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Eleanor still thinks Dickie is a prince among men.

But Normalynne, I am happy to report, is back at her old job teaching high school biology and engaged to be married. To, of all people, one of her arresting officers! That’s right. The brawny cop with the gentle voice. Apparently he fell in love with her the minute he first handcuffed her.

More good news. Patti’s death seems to have been a turning point for Cheryl. She joined a twelve-step program and, after reading about Linda Ruckle in the Hermosa High newsletter, she wrote her a letter of apology about being so nasty to her in gym class. They started a correspondence, which grew into a friendship, and the bottom line is that Cheryl is now L.A. district manager for Linda Ruckle Cosmetics.

Denise Gilbert won her race for city council in a landslide. Trust me, this is just the beginning. Someday that woman is going to be California’s first topless cheerleader woman governor.

As for Walter Barnhardt, he had the nerve to send me an invitation to his wedding. I didn’t go, of course. But I did send him a gift I knew he’d treasure—his Sexometer. It was worth every penny in shipping costs to get rid of the darn thing.

And remember my fiancé-for-hire Brad aka Fireman Brad aka Dr. Francois Cliquot? Well, the other day I turned on the TV and there he was on a soap opera, playing the part of Dr. Boyd Radcliff, internationally famed neurosurgeon!

Does life imitate art, or what?

And now—drumroll, please—I’ve saved the best news for last:

KILLING BRIDEZILLA

277

Lance has adopted Mamie the Wonder Dog!

This time, for keeps. In the few days Mamie lived with him, Lance had fallen head over heels in love with her and was miserable without her.

Yearning for the patter of her little paws on his hardwood floor, he took her back and made Kevin get allergy shots.

The only teeny downside to this story is that Kevin wound up dumping Lance for a guy he met in the allergist’s waiting room.

So Lance is single again, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s deliriously in love with his new roommate. He keeps making noises about setting up a playdate for Mamie and Prozac, but in the interests of avoiding a possible nuclear holocaust, I’ve been dragging my heels on that one.

Well, gotta run. Her royal highness needs her belly rubbed.

Catch you next time.

PS. I never did hear from Dylan Janovici, the adorable English professor. But guess who did call and ask me out for dinner? Principal Seawright! Apparently he was quite taken with me and my tush at our last encounter. Needless to say, I turned him down. I wasn’t about to go out with a man old enough to be too old for my mother. Last I heard, he was dating a waitress at Hooters.

W ordsmith Jaine Austen’s ship has finally

come in. Her new teaching gig on a fancy cruise

line nabs her a free vacation—and access to a

twenty-four-hour buffet! But sooner than you

can say “bon voyage,” Jaine’s all-expenses-paid

trip to the Mexican Riviera seems destined to be

a wreck . . .

Things are already off to a rocky start when Jaine discovers a stowaway amidst her luggage—

her persnickety cat Prozac. To make matters worse, Prozac is also spotted by the ship’s steward, an aspiring writer who quickly uses his advantage to blackmail Jaine into editing his massive handwritten manuscript. So much for seven days of sun, fun, and relaxation . . .

Jaine’s sinking sensation grows stronger at dinner, where she meets chatty Emily Pritchard, a wealthy seventy-year-old who’s raveling with her bossy personal secretary, Ms. Nesbitt, and her nephews, arrogant investment banker Kyle and his ruggedly handsome brother Ryan. Jaine can’t help noticing the tension among them, especially when he cruise’s charming—and sleazy—British dancer, Graham, whisks Emily out onto the dance floor and keeps her there for the rest of the evening.