Killing Cupid (A Jaine Austen Mystery) (7 page)

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Authors: Laura Levine

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I had, after all, deleted that godawful e-mail!

The clouds of doom had lifted. I saw sunshine! I saw rainbows! Oh, hell. I saw Skip Holmeier III.

There he was, toupee akimbo, scarfing down hors d’oeuvres from Cassie’s tray.

I prayed that somehow he’d developed a mad crush on her in my absence, but that was not to be.

As if guided by radar, he turned around and spotted me instantly. And before you could say “Your toupee looks like Shredded Wheat,” he was at my side.

“Jaine, my dear! I was hoping you’d be here. Let’s find a secluded corner and chat. I’ve brought pictures of Miss Marple!”

For the first time I was grateful that Joy had roped me in as her indentured servant. It was the perfect excuse to keep Skip at bay.

“Sounds like oodles of fun, Skip, but I can’t spend any time with you tonight. I’m afraid I’m on waitress duty.”

With a feeble wave good-bye, I grabbed my tray from where I’d left it on the bar and zoomed off to the kitchen to load up on hors d’oeuvres.

When I came back out, Skip was over in a corner, talking with a very shaken Tonio.

Once more I wondered what Tonio had done to make Joy so angry.

And as it happened, Joy was about to get a whole lot angrier.

Because just then Alyce Winters, swathed in a bright red spandex sheath, came slithering into the room, her raven extensions wriggling likes snakes on her shoulders.

She looked a hell of a lot tougher than the day I’d last seen her crying in the parking lot.

Strolling over to me, she plucked an hors d’oeuvre from my tray.

Nearby I could hear what sounded like a bull bellowing.

It was Joy, of course, her face almost as red as her dress.

Now she came roaring over to us.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” she hissed at Alyce. “I already told you. You’re banned from the club.”

“I spent my last ten thousand dollars on your worthless service,” Alyce replied, not bothering to lower her voice. “The least I can get out of it is a crummy hors d’oeuvre.”

She took a bite and wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“And I do mean crummy.”

“Get out of here!” Joy sputtered. “This instant!”

The veins on her neck were throbbing, and in spite of Joy’s attempt to keep her voice lowered, people were beginning to look.

“I want my ten thousand dollars back,” Alyce said, not moving an inch.

“Over my dead body!” Joy hissed.

“Sounds like a plan,” Alyce replied with a cool smile.

That did it. Alyce had pressed the right button. Now Joy was in fighting mode, swinging her arm back like she was going to slug Alyce Winters right in her nose job.

But after their set-to in the parking lot, Alyce knew what she was up against. Before Joy could make a move, Alyce reached out and grabbed Joy’s wrist, then twisted it behind her back.

Joy winced in pain.

“You can’t keep treating people the way you do, Joy. Not anymore. I’m going to put a stop to you.”

Then she dropped Joy’s wrist, turned on her heel, and walked out the door.

For once, Joy was at a loss for words. Was it my imagination, or did I see a flash of fear in her eyes? She stood there, rubbing her wrist, until she realized everyone was looking at her.

“Do forgive that ghastly intrusion,” she said, piling on her British accent with a trowel. “A former member of the club. Mentally disturbed. Most distressing. But we mustn’t let that upset us, must we? Let’s party on!”

Then she faked her brightest smile and plunged back into the crowd, in full-tilt damage control mode.

Out from under her radarscope, I headed to the bar to thank Travis for helping me with Joy’s password. And, not incidentally, to nab a wee sip of cheap champagne.

But when I got to the bar, Travis was nowhere in sight.

So I helped myself to the tiniest sip of Château Rite Aid, and thus fortified, continued making the rounds with my hors d’oeuvres—careful to avoid Skip, who had poor Tonio cornered, boring him senseless with anecdotes about his dearly departed Miss Marple.

By now I was starving. It had been ages since I’d wolfed down those two pot stickers at home (okay, four). I looked around the room and realized to my delight that Joy was nowhere in sight.

Hallelujah! I reached down for one of the hors d’oeuvres on my tray, a plump filo dough pastry bursting with cheese, and was about to pop it in my mouth when suddenly Joy came storming into the room, holding out her Godiva box.

“Who ate my chocolates?”

Her voice rattled the room like a sonic boom.

“Just a little while ago,” she shrieked, “there were twelve chocolates in this box. And now there’s only one!”

Omigosh. She was having another Godiva Meltdown!

She held up the empty Godiva box in one hand and the lone chocolate in the other.

“Who the hell ate my chocolates?” she screeched again.

Everyone just stared at her, too stunned to speak.

“Whoever did it,” Joy said, her massive bosom heaving, “is blackballed from Dates of Joy for life!”

With that, she popped the lone chocolate in her mouth.

For a brief instant, I allowed myself to hope that this small dose of chocolate would calm her down and make her see that life was worth living. I know it always works that way for me.

But that, alas, was not to be.

Seconds after she swallowed it, she clutched her stomach and fell to the floor, writhing in pain.

People began screaming and reaching for their cell phones. Everywhere I looked, desperate singles were calling 911.

“Joy, sweetheart!” Tonio cried, racing to her side. “Are you okay?”

“Of course not, you idiot,” Joy gasped.

As it turned out, those were her last words.

By the time the paramedics got there, Joy was dead.

Poisoned, as I would later learn, by a lethal dose of cyanide.

At long last, someone had taken the Joy out of dating.

YOU’VE GOT MAIL!

To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Arby’s, Here We Come!

Would you believe Daddy forgot to make reservations at Le Chateaubriand? I only reminded him about 382 times. He insists he’ll be able to get us a table. Oh, sure. At the last minute on Valentine’s Day? Like that’s ever going to happen!

Arby’s, here we come.

XOXO,
Mom

To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Oops!

With all the Sturm und Drang of dealing with Lester “The Gasbag Romeo” Pinkus, I forgot to make dinner reservations at Le Chateaubriand.

But fear not, Lambchop! I know how to grease a palm or two.

Love ’n’ snuggles from
Your ever-resourceful,
Daddy

To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Worst Valentine’s Ever!

Of course there weren’t any tables available when we got to Le Chateaubriand. I knew there wouldn’t be. Daddy tried to slip the maître d’ some money to get us a table, but the maître d’ just flipped his quarter right back at him.

We were about to leave when Lydia Pinkus came running up to us. She and Lester had a lovely table by the window, and Lydia invited us to join them. I felt sort of funny about it, after those two dozen roses from my “Secret Admirer,” but Lydia insisted.

Daddy looked none too happy as we headed across the room, but I made him promise to behave himself.

I was a fool to think he’d keep his word. He spent the entire meal glaring at Lester and muttering under his breath. When Lester made a harmless reference to his days as an amateur boxer, Daddy began bragging about his “grueling victories” on his college Ping-Pong team.

Worse, he took out his new Belgian Army Knife, the one I was crazy enough to give him for Valentine’s Day, and kept talking about how the nose-hair trimmer could “kill a man” under the right circumstances.

He insisted on using the built-in corkscrew to open our bottle of wine and proceeded to shove the cork straight into the bottle. We spent the whole night picking pieces of cork off our tongues.

Daddy made a big show of giving me my Valentine’s gift at the table, which turned out to be a beautiful pink cubic zirconia ring. (Daddy insists it’s a diamond, but it sure looked like CZ to me.)

“From your not-so-secret admirer,” he said as he handed me the ring, giving Lester the evil eye.

Lydia, always gracious in any social situation, made a big fuss over my ring and tried to keep the conversation going, but it was tough sledding, what with Daddy shooting dirty looks at Lester every few seconds.

After a while, things got so tense that Lester excused himself and went to chat with Edna Lindstrom and Grace Vincent, who were sitting at a nearby table with some of the other Tampa Vistas gals. I only wished I were sitting there with them.

Eventually he came back, and I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room. I’m afraid I may have had a wee bit too much wine (so much stress!) and it just raced right through me.

When I came back, I could see Lydia was at her wit’s end, watching Daddy demonstrate the built-in callus remover on his Belgian Army Knife.

She excused herself and scooted off to the ladies’ room. Everybody except Daddy was using any excuse in the book to get away from that awful dinner table. I myself was so upset, I couldn’t eat a bite of the hot fudge sundae Daddy ordered for dessert. Well, okay, maybe I had a wee bit of ice cream. With a tad of fudge sauce. And maybe a few nuts. And a dollop of whipped cream. But that’s all. I swear.

And wouldn’t you know? I spilled fudge sauce on my brand new Georgie O. Armani jacket.

I swear, honey, it had to be the worst Valentine’s ever!

Mom

To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Bit of a Disappointment

Well, Lambchop, I must confess Valentine’s Dinner was a bit of a disappointment. Your mom and I were forced to share a table with the Stinky Pinkuses—Lydia and her perfidious gasbag of a brother, Lester.

But I showed him a thing or two.

I’m sure he was impressed with the way I opened our wine bottle with my Belgian Army Knife. And I know I put the fear of God in him when I showed him the lethal power of my nose-hair trimmer.

The highlight of the evening, of course, was when I gave Mom her diamond ring. You should have seen Lydia’s eyes bugging out. Lester’s too. They were green with envy. And Lester could tell he didn’t stand a chance with Mom.

Yes, I put the Gasbag Romeo in his place, all right.

Happy Valentine’s Day to my little Lambchop From her loving, Daddy

To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Back to Normal

Daddy’s strutting around, mumbling about how he put Lester Pinkus in his place, whatever that means. Oh, well. At least he seems to have given up the crazy notion that Lester has a crush on me. And so have I. Lester was nothing but a perfect gentleman at dinner. I can’t believe he possibly sent me those flowers. It was probably just a mistaken delivery.

Thank heavens things can go back to normal.

Happy Valentine’s Day, honey. Love you mucho.

XXX
Mom

To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Oh, No!

Horrible news, honey. I was just getting ready for bed when I realized my Valentine’s ring is missing! I must have put it on the sink in the ladies’ room at Le Chateaubriand when I washed my hands and forgot to put it back on again! I just called the restaurant, but no one has turned it in.

Worst of all, Daddy’s convinced Lydia stole it!

Oh, dear. It’s all too distressing.

Must get an Oreo—

XXX
Mom

To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Diamond Thief!

Your mom’s diamond ring is missing. And I know exactly who took it. Lydia Pinkus! You should’ve seen her eyes light up when she saw that thing. And she went to the ladies’ room right after your mom. No doubt she filched it from where it was lying on the sink where your mom left it. She and her no-goodnik brother are probably trying to sell it on the black market at this very minute.

But fear not, Lambchop. The Pinkus’s evil plot will be foiled!

Love ’n’ hugs from
Your crime-fighting,
Daddy

Chapter 10

I
t had been quite the Valentine’s Day Crime Wave, n’est-ce pas?

First, Joy got bumped off. Then three thousand miles away, Mom’s “diamond” ring disappeared into thin air. (Was it possible that Lydia Pinkus, model citizen and Tampa Vistas social doyenne, had stolen it?)

Of course, the shenanigans at Tampa Vistas paled in comparison to Joy’s murder.

According to the
Los Angeles Times,
which I read the next morning as I scarfed down my cinnamon raisin bagel, Joy’s final Godiva had been laced with cyanide. And according to Cassie, who’d overheard two cops talking when they came to cart the body away, whoever killed Joy had tossed the twelve missing chocolates out Joy’s window into the alley below. Probably to make sure she ate the poisoned one right away.

A memorial service, the
Times
noted, was planned for later in the week.

Who on earth, I wondered, could have killed her?

Immediately I thought of Alyce, the client with a grudge. Hadn’t she told Joy she was going to put a stop to her? Had she lived up to her threatening words with a poisoned chocolate?

And what about Tonio? Joy had been about to turn him over to the authorities. Had Tonio killed her to shut her up?

I was pondering these questions, and whether or not I should nuke myself another bagel, when I heard Lance’s familiar knock.

“Omigosh!” he cried when I let him in. “I just heard the news. What a tragic loss. I don’t know how I’m going to cope.”

“But you hardly knew her.”

“Knew who?”

“Joy Amoroso.”

“Joy? I wasn’t talking about Joy. I was talking about the tanning parlor that closed over on Robertson Boulevard.”

“That’s a tragedy, all right. My heart breaks to think of all those poor, needy people running around West Hollywood without a tan.”

“Scoff if you must. But if God wanted us to be pale, He would have never invented thong bikinis.

“So,” he said, swiping the last bite of bagel from my plate. “What happened to Joy?”

“She’s dead. Killed with a poisoned Godiva.”

He rolled his eyes in disbelief.

“Please tell me you were nowhere near the scene of the crime.”

“As a matter of fact, I was.”

“Jaine, Jaine, Jaine!” he cried. “What is it with you? Everywhere you go, dead bodies seem to pop up.”

It’s true, I’m afraid. I’ve seen more than my fair share of corpses in my day. (All of which you can read about in the titles listed at the front of this book.)

“Do the police have any idea who did it?” Lance asked.

As it turned out, they did have a person in mind.

Namely, me.

Indeed, it was at that very moment that I heard a knock at my door. I opened it to find two men standing on my doorstep in ill-fitting suits, looking none too chirpy. One was a scrawny guy with an Adam’s apple the size of a golf ball; the other, a beefier, refrigerator-sized chap with a military buzz cut.

“Are you Jaine Austen?” asked the Refrigerator.

I nodded, my throat suddenly dry.

“LAPD Homicide,” the Refrigerator said as he and his partner flashed their badges. “May we come in?”

“Sure,” I gulped, leading them inside.

“Guess I’d better be going,” Lance said, jumping up from where he’d been sitting on my sofa.

He took my hands in his, a soulful look on his face.

“Remember, Jaine. I’m here for you whenever you need me. Except tonight. Donny and I are going to the movies. And tomorrow night we’re hiking in Griffith Park. And Thursday we’re having a picnic at the beach. Isn’t that romantic?”

“Very,” I said, icicles dripping from my voice.

“So if you need anything, anything at all, I’m thinking maybe you should call your parents.”

And with those words of undying support, he went sailing out the door.

“Won’t you sit down?” I said, turning to the detectives.

They plopped down on the sofa, still warm from Lance’s tush.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked, hoping I could win them over with refreshments. “Juice? Coffee? Cinnamon raisin bagel?”

“Cinnamon raisin bagel?” The skinny detective looked interested.

“No, thank you,” the Refrigerator replied, shooting his partner a stern look. “We never eat on the job.”

From the looks of his gut, he sure was eating somewhere.

“Well, well!” said Detective Adam’s Apple. “Isn’t she a cutie!”

I smiled demurely until I realized he was talking about Prozac, who had wandered in from the bedroom and was now doing her version of a pole dance on the detective’s ankles.

“Who do we have here?” he said, scooping Prozac up in his arms.

She looked up at him with wide green eyes.

Your future Significant Other, if you scratch me behind my ears.

The Refrigerator was having none of this little love-fest. He shot his partner a disapproving glare, then turned to me.

“We need to ask you a few questions about Joy Amoroso’s murder.”

“Ask away,” I said, trying to look as non-homicidal as possible.

“It seems you were among those attending Ms. Amoroso’s party,” said Detective Adam’s Apple, reluctantly abandoning Prozac to check his notebook.

“Yes, Joy called me at the last minute to help out at the party as one of the waitstaff.”

“Apparently you decided to abandon your waitressing duties,” the Refrigerator said, looking like he was ready to slap a pair of handcuffs on my wrists.

“Oh?” I replied, doing my best to maintain a look of wide-eyed innocence.

“We have a witness who says he saw you sneaking out of Ms. Amoroso’s office.”

Damn that Greg Stanton. What a blabbermouth.

“I misplaced my purse,” I said, repeating the lie I’d told Greg, “and thought I’d left it there.”

“You know, of course,” said the Refrigerator, his eyes boring into mine, “that’s where Ms. Amoroso’s chocolates were located.”

“Yes, I know. But I went nowhere near them.”

He said nothing. Just continued to shoot me his laser glare.

“How would you describe your relationship with the deceased?” asked Detective Adam’s Apple, trying to ignore Prozac, who had now draped herself across his legs.

“Businesslike. She hired me to write a brochure for her, as well as some online dating profiles. We were on perfectly cordial terms.”

“Perfectly cordial?” The Fridge snorted. “Is that why you described her as a Psycho Cupid?”

Oh, hell.

“You found my brochure copy.”

“It was right there,” Detective Adam’s Apple pointed out, “in Ms. Amoroso’s recently deleted e-mail files.”

“I had no idea,” the Refrigerator added with a most unattractive smirk, “that Elmer Fudd was available for dating.”

“Okay,” I admitted. “So I didn’t like Joy. But I swear, I didn’t kill her.”

The Refrigerator made a note on his pad.

I just hoped it wasn’t a reminder to order an arrest warrant.

“Do you have any idea who did kill her?” he asked.

Reluctantly I told them about Alyce and the veiled threat she’d made at the party. I couldn’t share my suspicions about Tonio, however, not without admitting I’d been crouching amid the dust bunnies under Joy’s desk. Somehow I sensed they would not be favorably impressed.

“Well, thank you for your time,” the Refrigerator said, hauling himself up from my sofa.

“Yes, thanks,” Adam’s Apple added, trying to extricate himself from Prozac’s lingering embrace.

“I certainly hope I’m not a suspect.”

If I’d been expecting reassurances, I was sadly disappointed.

“Just don’t leave town,” the Refrigerator said.

Ouch.

I ushered them both out and then leaned against the front door with a sigh.

“Dammit, Pro. They think I might have killed Joy. What am I gonna do?”

She looked up from where she was examining her privates.

What you always do in times of stress.

She knew me well.

Without missing a beat, I headed straight for the Oreos.