Killing Cupid (A Jaine Austen Mystery) (2 page)

Read Killing Cupid (A Jaine Austen Mystery) Online

Authors: Laura Levine

BOOK: Killing Cupid (A Jaine Austen Mystery)
8.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“Who ate my chocolate?” she screeched, holding out her box of Godivas.
The remaining models looked at each other, unnerved.
“One of them is missing!” Joy stomped around the room, shoving the box under everyone’s nose. The models. Cassie. Travis. And moi, her gaze lingering for an uncomfortable beat on my thighs.
“Which one of you took it? Huh? Huh? Huh?”
At this point one of the models, a skittish young thing in leather pants and a tank top, grabbed his portfolio and scooted out the door.
“If I find out you did it, you’ll be in big trouble!” Joy shouted out after him.
“There were six chocolates in the box,” she said, turning back to the rest of us. “And now there are only five! See?”
She started counting out the chocolates in the box.
“One ... two ... three ... four ... five ...”
Then she looked down and saw what we all saw: The sixth chocolate.
You’d think she would have been embarrassed. But no. Hurricane Joy, having spent all her venom, just shrugged and said, “Never mind.”
As she tottered back into her office, the models broke out in a chorus of nervous whispers. But Travis and Cassie just rolled their eyes.
“This happens all the time,” Cassie said with a shrug.
Holy mackerel. And I thought
I
was a chocoholic.
 
I trudged up the path to my duplex in the slums of Beverly Hills, a modest pocket of no-frills dwellings far from the mega-mansions north of Wilshire Boulevard. I was still shuddering at the memory of Hurricane Joy when Lance came bounding out from his apartment.
“So did you get the job?” he asked, his eyes lighting up at the sight of me.
“Yeah, I got it,” I sighed.
“Great!” he beamed, ignoring the cloud of gloom hovering over my head. “Now you can have Joy fix me up on a date.”
“Forget it, Lance. The woman is a crook. She pads her client list with models and actors who don’t even belong to the club. Most of the guys who do belong are a lot older and paunchier than you. I saw a grand total of five attractive male clients on her active client list, only one of whom was gay. And he lived in Rancho Cucamonga with six cats and a Maserati.”
“A Maserati, huh? Works for me! So set me up with an appointment ASAP.”
“I’m not setting you up with an appointment. Joy’s fees start at ten grand a year, and there’s no way you can afford that.”
“We’ll see about that.”
And with a sly look, a lot like Prozac’s just before she’s about to pounce on a cashmere sweater, he trotted off into the night.
Back in my apartment, I checked my messages, praying that an assignment had come in from one of my regular clients. Eagerly I scanned my e-mails for a note from Toiletmasters (
Flushed with Success Since 1995!
) or Tip Top Cleaners (
We Clean for You. We Press for You. We Even Dye for You!)
or Ackerman’s Awnings (
Just a Shade Better
). But alas, my in-box was depressingly devoid of job orders.
For the time being, it looked like I was stuck with the Godiva Godzilla.
YOU’VE GOT MAIL!
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Exciting News!
 
 
Exciting news, honey! I just ordered the most adorable Georgie O. Armani jacket from the shopping channel. Lipstick red with white piping. It’ll be perfect for Valentine’s Day. Daddy is taking me to dinner at Le Chateaubriand, Tampa Vistas’s most elegant restaurant. Daddy promised he’d make the reservations today. He’s probably getting me what he always gets me for Valentine’s Day: a dozen roses and a bottle of Jean Naté. I’m getting him something he saw on an infomercial, some crazy gadget called a Belgian Army Knife. I wanted to buy him a watch from the shopping channel, but no, he had to have that silly Belgian Army Knife. He insists he can’t live without it.
 
But enough about Daddy. Here’s the really exciting news. Guess who’s moved to Tampa Vistas. Lydia Pinkus’s brother, Lester. You remember Lydia Pinkus, don’t you, honey? One of my dearest friends and the president of the Tampa Vistas Homeowners Association. Anyhow, her brother is the most charming man, a retired physics professor, a world traveler, and a former amateur boxer. And so distinguished. He looks just like the doctor on the Lipitor commercials!
 
He’s staying with Lydia until he can find a townhouse of his own. And today he’s taking me and Lydia and Edna Lindstrom to lunch at the clubhouse. Isn’t that the sweetest thing ever?
 
Must run and get dressed.
 
Love and XXX,
Mom
 
 
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Horrible News!
 
Horrible news, Lambchop. Lydia Pinkus’s brother, a retired physics professor, has moved to Tampa Vistas. What an insufferable gasbag. Yapping about black holes and antiquarks and bragging about how he used to be an amateur boxer. Big deal. I used to be on the varsity Ping-Pong team in college, but you don’t catch me bragging about it.
 
It’s bad enough having to put up with that battle axe Lydia. Now I have to put up with her gasbag brother, too. He’s taking your mom and Edna Lindstrom to lunch at the clubhouse today. Thank God I don’t have to go, too. If I had to hear one more story about quantum chromodynamics or the time Lester sparred with Sugar Ray Leonard, I swear I’d conk out head first in my chicken noodle soup.
 
But on the plus side, Lambchop, your mom is getting me a fantastic gift for Valentine’s Day. A genuine Belgian Army Knife. It’s just like a Swiss Army knife, only it comes with a built-in callus remover—and a free recipe for Belgian waffles!
 
More later. Gotta call and make reservations for Valentine’s dinner at Le Chateaubriand. It’s Tampa Vistas’s most exclusive restaurant, you know.
 
Love ’n’ hugs from,
Daddy
 
P.S. I think Lester Pinkus has a “thing” for your mom. I’ve caught him staring at her when he thought I wasn’t looking.
 
 
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Silliest Thing You Ever Heard
 
Forgot to tell you, sweetheart. Daddy thinks Lester Pinkus has a crush on me. Isn’t that the silliest thing you ever heard?
 
XOXO,
Mom
 
 
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Gasbag Romeo
 
Unsettling news, Lambchop. I just happened to be walking by the clubhouse restaurant a while ago, and you’ll never guess what I saw! Lester Pinkus holding hands with your mom! What did I tell you? I knew that gasbag Romeo was up to no good!
 
Love ’n’ snuggles from
Your very irate,
Daddy
 
 
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: The Death of Me Yet
 
I swear, honey, your father will be the death of me yet. He thinks Lester Pinkus and I were holding hands in the clubhouse dining room! Of all the absurd ideas! It turns out Lester studied palm reading in Nepal (such a multi-talented man!) and was giving us all palm readings. He told Edna she had an extra-long life line, and saw wonderful things in her future. She was so excited, she almost forgot to go back for seconds at the buffet. Anyhow, just as it was my turn to get my palm read, Daddy showed up. He claims he just happened to be walking by. Oh, puh-leese. I know your Daddy, and he was spying on us! Now he thinks Lester Pinkus was holding my hand!
 
I can’t write any more now, darling. I’m way too upset.
 
Yours, desperately in need of Oreos—
Mom
 
 
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Sadly Mistaken
 
If Lester Pinkus thinks he can woo your mother away from me, he’s sadly mistaken. I still haven’t gotten around to making those reservations at Le Chateaubriand, but when I do, I’m going to get the best table in the house and show your mom what a true Romeo is made of.
 
XXX,
Daddy
 
P.S. Did I tell you my Belgian Army Knife comes with built-in nose hair trimmers? Cool, huh?
Chapter 3
T
he Case of the Missing Godiva was just a taste of things to come. Life with Joy, as I was about to discover, was one constant hissy fit.
Over the next few days I watched in dismay as she ran roughshod over her staff, screeching at Cassie for not answering the phone fast enough and bringing her Sweet’n Low instead of Splenda for her coffee. Afraid of identity theft, she was constantly changing her AOL password, and then screaming at Travis when she couldn’t remember it.
But the minute a client walked through the door, she was sweet as pie, Mother Teresa in Manolos.
My second day on the job, I got to see her in action with a new client.
I was in Joy’s office, listening to her ramble on about her matchmaking triumphs and, not incidentally, thinking about the e-mails I’d received from my parents that morning.
For those of you who haven’t already met them, you should know that my parents are disaster magnets of the highest order. Wherever they go, catastrophe seems to follow. Although Mom, a confirmed TV shopaholic, is not without her quirks, Daddy is the family’s designated crazymaker. I swear, he can take an ordinary day and turn it into a headline on the evening news. Poor Mom deserves a Congressional Medal of Honor for putting up with him all these years. I sincerely doubted Lester Pinkus had a crush on Mom. Just another case of Daddy’s imagination running wild.
I was sitting there, hoping Daddy would come to his senses without too much collateral damage, when Cassie poked her head in the door.
“Someone to see you, Joy. He says he’s interested in joining the club.”
Immediately Joy morphed into Queen Mum mode.
“How teddibly nice to meet you,” she said as Cassie ushered in a short, pasty-faced gnome of a guy, all spiffed up in brown shoes, white socks, and his Sunday best pocket protector.
His name, embroidered on his company work shirt, was Barry.
Joy sat him down in one of her fussy Marie Antoinette chairs.
“So how can I help you ... Barry?” she asked, reading his name off his chest.
Barry smiled shyly, revealing a most disconcerting gap between his two front teeth, then launched into a heartrending tale of his non-existent love life.
“I haven’t had a date since high school,” he confessed, “when my mother made me take my cousin to the senior prom.”
“You poor darling,” Joy tsked, fake empathy oozing from every pore.
“I’ve tried all the online dating services, and never got chosen once, except by a woman named Brandy, who said she charged a hundred dollars an hour. But for me, two hundred.”
“Why, that’s disgraceful!” The Queen Mum was outraged. “These online dating services are nothing but a waste of money. You don’t want a silly computer trying to find you a date. You need the personalized services of an expert matchmaker.” At which point she launched into her spiel about coming from a long line of matchmakers dating back to Charlemagne. (When last I’d heard that whopper, it was Henry VIII. Somehow she’d managed to add a few extra limbs to her family tree.)
Barry sat there with his mouth open, entranced by her every word.
“When you sign up with Dates of Joy, I personally hand pick the woman of your dreams.”
“Gosh,” he said, eyes wide with wonder.
“Here. Let me show you some of your potential dates.”
And then she laid it on him. The coup de grâce. The Date Book. Larded with photos of unavailable models and actresses.
He blinked in amazement as she turned the pages.
“These girls are members of your club?”
“Absolutely,” Joy lied, smooth as velvet.
“But they’d never go out with someone like me.”
So Barry was not quite as clueless as he looked.
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Joy said. “So many of my lady clients are fed up with the shallow men they meet here in Los Angeles. They don’t care about superficial things like looks and income. They’re searching for deeper qualities in a man, like warmth and sensitivity, qualities I sense you possess in spades.”
“Ya think?” Barry asked, scratching some wax out of his ear.
“Absolutely!”
“Okay, I want Albany!” Barry pointed at a picture of a spectacular redhead, the kind of vixen you see tossing her hair in a shampoo commercial. “When can I go out with her?”
“Soon, very soon,” Joy assured him. “But first,” she added, flashing him a deceptively angelic smile, “there’s a little matter of finances. Here at Dates of Joy, our fees start at ten thousand dollars a year.”
“Ten thousand dollars?” He gulped.
“It’s normally twenty-five thousand, but I’m giving you a discounted rate because I sense you’re a quality person.”
If she told one more lie, she’d turn into a congressman.
Poor Barry’s face blanched at the news of Joy’s outrageous fees, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Surely it would be a matter of milliseconds before he was bounding out the door and hurrying back to the friendly folks at Match.com.
But no, much to my consternation, he scratched some more wax out of his ear, musing, “I have a ten-thousand-dollar CD that’s coming due. It’s my entire life savings. I was going to roll it over, but maybe I could cash it in.”
“Don’t!” I wanted to cry.
“You won’t regret it,” Joy said, giving Satan a run for his money in the dirty tricks department.
“I guess I’ll just run over to the bank and get the money.”
“Why go to all the bother?” Joy cooed. “Just call them up and transfer the money to your checking account, and you can write me a check here and now.”
I could see the wheels in her devious little brain spinning. She was not about to take a chance that he’d walk out the door and change his mind on his way to the bank.
And like a dope, Barry got on the phone and closed down his CD, giving the banker at the other end of the line his Social Security number and mother’s maiden name, all of which I feared Joy was memorizing for future use.
Minutes later he was writing Joy a check for ten grand.
Tucking his check in her bosom, Joy ushered Barry out of her office with a royal “ta ta,” assuring him he’d soon be tripping the light fantastic with the woman of his dreams.
“Where the hell am I ever going to find a woman desperate enough to go out with that bozo?” she muttered the minute he was gone.
As I listened to him out in the reception area setting up an appointment with Cassie to have his picture taken for the date book, I was overcome by a sense of dread. This poor man was about to step in a bog of fiscal quicksand, and I was just sitting there doing nothing. I couldn’t let him go through with it!
When I heard him leave the office, I jumped up from my chair.
“Excuse me,” I said to Joy, who was treating herself to a Godiva. “Be right back. I’ve got to use the ladies’ room.”
Without waiting for a reply, I scooted out of the office and went racing down the corridor. Thank heavens Barry was still there, waiting for the elevator.
“Barry!” I called out.
“Yes?” He turned to look at me, beaming, no doubt, at the thought of his future date with Albany.
“If you know what’s good for you,” I whispered, “you’ll stop payment on your check.”
He blinked in confusion.
“Why would I do that?”
I wanted to tell him the truth, that Joy was a lying, cheating, amoral chocoholic whose date book was a total sham. But I had to be careful. The last thing I wanted was a slander lawsuit on my hands.
“Let’s just say it might not work out as well as you think,” I offered lamely.
“Don’t be silly. Joy said I’d meet the woman of my dreams. And Joy would never let me down. She’s great.”
“Really,” I called after him as he stepped in the elevator. “Give it some thought.”
Poor innocent lamb,
I thought as the elevator door closed and he began his descent. Little did he know how far he was about to fall.
 
I hurried back to Joy’s office, where I found her chomping down on another Godiva.
I wondered what she’d do if I reached over and plucked one from the box.
Scenes from
Apocalypse Now
immediately sprang to mind.
Instead I took some Tic Tacs from my purse.
“Care for a Tic Tac?” I asked pointedly, hoping she’d get the message that sharing was a Good Thing.
“Yuck, no,” she replied, totally oblivious, and picked up where she’d left off on her ramble about her lifetime achievements.
I took out my steno pad and took desultory notes, inwardly rolling my eyes at each outrageous bit of puffery. She actually expected me to believe that she had fixed up Nelson Mandela on one of his first dates out of prison.
She was in the middle of one such colossal whopper when the door to her office opened and in walked a raven-haired hunk in tight leather pants and a silk shirt unbuttoned practically to his navel. Six-pack abs waxed to perfection peeked out from the deep V in his shirt.
All very Rodeo Drive Hit Man.
Joy’s eyes lit up at the sight of him.
“Tonio, honey!” she cried.
“Hey, babe,” he said, sauntering in, giving me an up close and personal look at his impressive tush.
If those leather pants of his were any tighter, they’d be a tourniquet.
“Who’s this?” he asked, raking me over with bedroom eyes that came complete with satin sheets and an overhead mirror.
“This is Jaine Austen,” Joy said. “The writer I told you about. Jaine, this is my boyfriend, Tonio.”
“Nice to meetcha,” Tonio said, then slithered over to Joy and, totally unabashed by my presence, bent down and planted a wet smacker on her lips.
“Miss me, babe?”
She nodded mutely, her eyes glazed over with lust.
Okay, class. Time out for discussion. What, we must ask ourselves, is wrong with this picture? What was a serious hottie like Tonio doing with the Godiva Godzilla?
I was about to find out.
“Hey, babe,” he said. “I just saw a great shirt over at Barneys, but I’m a little short on cash. Can you spot me two hundred?”
The glow in Joy’s eyes dimmed just a tad.
“Can’t you use your credit card?”
“Those idiots at Visa cut me off,” Tonio said with a careless shrug. “It’s some kinda clerical error. I’ll have it sorted out in no time.”
Joy bristled in annoyance, but then Tonio bent down and nuzzled her neck. Instantly her eyes went all soft and gooey.
With a sigh, she reached for her purse and pulled out an impressive wad of dough.
“Here,” she said, peeling off two hundred-dollar bills.
“Thanks, babe.”
Then, with a wave and a wink, Tonio was out the door.
Whaddaya know?
Looked like somebody had a boy toy. And an expensive one at that.

Other books

Berrr's Vow by Laurann Dohner
Reaction Time by Alannah Lynne
The Still by David Feintuch
El sueño del celta by Mario Vargas LLosa
Yoda by Sean Stewart
No Hope for Gomez! by Graham Parke