Death of a Neighborhood Witch (Jaine Austen Mystery) (25 page)

“Oh, Pro,” I moaned. “Mommy’s been through hell and back. You can’t imagine how awful it was being shoved in an open grave. My God, I saw a spider there the size of a baseball!”

Yeah, right. Whatever. Is that falafel I smell on your breath?

With that, she began yowling full throttle, her gentle way of reminding me it was dinnertime.

After feeding my faithful feline some Hearty Halibut Innards, I sent out for Chinese food—chow mein and wonton soup, which I slurped at halfheartedly, my eyes growing heavier with each bite. Believe it or not, I did not even begin to finish it.

Instead I got into bed and fell into a deep, comalike sleep.

I guess premature burial tends to tucker a gal out.

YOU’VE GOT MAIL!

TAMPA VISTAS TATTLER

Nude Man Breaks into Tampa Vistas Town House

A nude man was spotted breaking into the town house of Tampa Vistas resident Lydia Pinkus last night.

When Ms. Pinkus, along with two of her friends, returned to her townhome at around 10:00 p.m., they found the intruder, Mr. Hank Austen, passed out on her recliner, wearing a pink charmeuse bathrobe, a bowl of English trifle in his lap.

Ms. Pinkus has declined to press charges.

“I’ve come to expect things like this from Hank,” she said. “The poor man can’t help himself.”

To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Big Fat Lie!

I’m so mad I could spit! Daddy’s promise to give up his “murder investigation” was nothing but a big fat lie! The minute I left the house to go to the movies with the gals, he was hotfooting it over to Lydia’s to search for Irma Decker’s “corpse”!

By the time he got there, it was pouring rain and pitch dark. With visibility near zero, Daddy proceeded to fall smack dab into Lydia’s “Ghost Moat,” which in the rain was a muddy mess.

But that didn’t stop him. No, that crazy man hoisted himself out of the moat and shimmied up the drainpipe to Lydia’s second-floor balcony to let himself in through her sliding glass door. Never mind that he could have broken his neck. Up the downspout he went. By the time he climbed over the balcony railing, he was dripping wet and covered with mud.

Not wanting to track any muck onto “the scene of the crime,” he stripped down naked. Right there on the balcony! Where anyone could see him!

Naturally he was freezing to death, so he headed to Lydia’s closet to find something to wear. Of all things, he chose her brand new pink charmeuse robe. She hadn’t even had a chance to wear it, and now Daddy’s got it all stretched out!

The way Daddy tells it, he decided to start his search for Irma’s corpse in the refrigerator. Why on earth he thought he’d find a corpse in the refrigerator, I’ll never know. If you ask me, he just wanted something to eat. That man can’t go anywhere without a snack.

Anyhow, he looked in the refrigerator, and of course, Irma wasn’t there. But what he did find was a big bowl of Lydia’s fabulous English trifle. You may or may not know this, but Lydia Pinkus happens to be famous throughout Tampa Vistas for her English trifle. She’d whipped one up that afternoon, planning to serve it to me and Edna after the movies.

Daddy took one look at those layers of whipped cream and pound cake and strawberries and bananas and couldn’t resist. He told me that all he intended to eat was just one spoonful. Well, one spoonful led to another and the next thing you know, he was sitting in Lydia’s living room recliner, with the trifle bowl in his lap.

What Daddy didn’t realize, of course, was that the trifle was loaded with rum. By the time he got to the bottom layer, he was out like a light.

And that’s how we found him when we came home from the movies. Stretched out on the recliner in Lydia’s brand new pink charmeuse robe, the bowl of trifle in his lap, whipped cream on his nose, snoring like a foghorn.

Honestly, honey, I thought I’d die!

And things only got worse, because just then the police showed up. Apparently Lydia’s neighbor saw Daddy breaking into the town house buck naked and called them.

Lydia was an angel and declined to press charges. But I wasn’t nearly so gracious.

“What on earth were you thinking?!” I screeched the minute the police had gone.

“I came to search for your best friend’s dead body,” Daddy said, scowling at Lydia.

Lydia blinked in amazement. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You can’t fool me, Stinky—I mean, Lydia. I saw you sneak out of your house the other night with that duffel bag. The Nose knows. You were getting rid of the murder weapon!”

“That duffel bag was Irma’s!” Lydia said. “It contained all her prescription medications. She left in such a hurry to visit her sick aunt over in Sarasota, she forgot to take it. She called me in a panic when she realized she didn’t have it, so I got in the car and brought it over to her.”

A perfectly logical explanation. But was Daddy satisfied? Of course not.

“A likely story,” he sneered.

Just when I was ready to bop him over the head with the trifle bowl, the doorbell rang. And guess who it was?

Irma Decker! In the flesh.

The crisis with her sick aunt had passed and she’d come back to resume her stay with Lydia. You’d think Daddy would have the good grace to be embarrassed, but no, he actually asked Irma for a photo ID!

Before he could humiliate me any further, I grabbed him by the belt of Lydia’s pink charmeuse robe and dragged him right out of there.

I may never speak to him again.

Your furious,
Mom

To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: A Slight Glitch

I suppose Mom told you what happened last night at Lydia’s house. Due to a slight glitch, my search effort didn’t go exactly as planned.

What a fuss everybody made just because I happened to have a bite or two of Lydia’s English trifle. You would’ve thought I’d just stolen the British crown jewels.

It turned out Lydia didn’t kill her friend, after all. Not this time, anyway. But I wouldn’t put anything past old Stinky. She’s trouble with a Capital T.

Speaking of trouble, I’m in a bit of hot water with your mom right now. Time to woo my way back into her good graces.

More later—

Daddy

To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Sweet as Pie

You’ll never guess what Daddy just sent me. A dozen of the most beautiful roses! He’s been as sweet as pie all morning. And tonight he’s taking me out to dinner at Le Chateaubriand, my favorite restaurant, for a steak dinner!

And best of all, he put that awful Dracula creature away in the garage.

Daddy may be impossible at times, but when all is said and done, he can be awfully charming when he wants to be.

XOXO,
Mom

To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Out of the Doghouse

Well, Lambchop, I’m happy to report I’m out of the doghouse with Mom. Roses and a steak dinner did the trick.

Your mom really is a wonderful woman. I know sometimes I can be a bit of a handful, and she’s an angel for putting up with me.

Love ’n’ snuggles from,
Daddy

PS. Just sent away for the most amazing Thanksgiving centerpiece: A Pooping Turkey! You just press down on the turkey’s tail feathers, and out pops a Tootsie Roll! Isn’t that a hoot? I can’t wait to see the look on your mom’s face when she sees it for the first time!

Chapter 28

I
woke up the next morning feeling perky and refreshed, and—after removing Prozac’s tail from my nose—ready to face the day.

Not even the news about Daddy’s disastrous visit to Lydia Pinkus’s town house could dampen my spirits.

I was in the middle of a nutritious cold chow mein breakfast when I heard Lance’s familiar knock on my front door.

“Jaine! It’s me. You’ve got to let me in.”

With a sigh, I got up to open the door.

“Have you heard?” he cried, rushing in. “The Moores have been arrested!”

“I know all about it, Lance. They pushed me into an open grave. I was the one who filed the assault charge.”

“But that’s not all!” His blue eyes grew wide with excitement. “They’ve just been charged with killing Cryptessa! It’s on TV right now!”

We raced into my bedroom and turned on the news.

A smiling picture of Matt and Kevin, taken in happier days, was in the top right corner of the screen as a toothy anchorette breathlessly reported, “Test results just released by the police department show Matt Moore’s fingerprints on the murder weapon, a Do Not Trespass sign.”

Over footage of Matt and Kevin in handcuffs, being marched to a police van, the anchorette informed us, “Kevin Moore, Mr. Moore’s wife, has also been arrested as an accessory to the murder. Police are speculating that the Moores plotted the murder of the faded sitcom actress to gain access to oil rights on her property.”

Yippee! I’d told the cops my theory about the murder, and they’d obviously taken me seriously.

“Police say they owe their break in the case to one of the Moores’ neighbors.”

How nice of them. They were going to give me credit.

“Yes,” said the anchorette, “according to the police, a Mrs. Helen Hurlbutt alerted the authorities when she saw the Moores assaulting a woman who’d previously been a suspect in the case.”

Of all the nerve! Here I solved the murder for them, and the cops were still referring to me as a former suspect.

Now Mrs. Hurlbutt was on the screen, talking to an on-the-spot reporter.

“It was nothing, really,” she said, gloating into the camera. “I just did what any concerned citizen would do.”

I clicked off the TV in disgust.

“I’m the one who found the killers, and she’s getting all the credit!”

“Life’s just not fair, hon,” Lance said, lying back on my bed with a pained sigh.

I knew that sigh only too well. I felt a sob story coming on.

“My heart’s been broken in a million pieces,” he said, blinking back non-existent tears. “That’s what I came to tell you yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“My date with Peter was an unmitigated flop. I took him to Il Cielo on Beverly Boulevard. The place with the strolling violinist and gorgeous moonlit patio. It was the perfect setting for a love connection. But I could sense Peter wasn’t interested in me romantically.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I sort of got the hint when he said, ‘Lance, you’re a very nice guy but I’m not interested in you romantically.’ ” Another pained sigh. “I was so upset, I could hardly finish my penne with arugula.”

Penne with arugula? What sort of nut goes to an Italian restaurant and orders pasta with lettuce???

But I digress. Back to our stirring adventure . . .

“I guess I liked him so much,” Lance was saying, “I talked myself into thinking he liked me, too.”

This time there actually was a tear glistening in his eye.

And in spite of what a rat he’d been, I felt sorry for him.

“Oh, who cares about Peter?” I said.

If truth be told, I did. Especially now that I knew things were kaput between him and Lance.

“Anyhow,” Lance said, “I’m sorry for all the dirty tricks I played on you—renting that ape suit and barging in on your dinner and sending you on that wildgoose chase out to Malibu.”

“That’s okay, Lance. I forgive you.”

“I fought the valiant fight,” he said with a brave smile. “But it’s all over now. You win, Jaine. I get the strong feeling that Peter might be interested in you.”

“Me?” I asked, trying to act as if I hadn’t been praying for that very turn of events. “What makes you say that?”

“I just looked out the window and saw him walking up to your front door. I bet he’s going to knock any second.”

And indeed, at that very moment, there was a knock on my door.

I tried not to look too jubilant as I raced to get it.

There was Peter standing on my doorstep, in chinos and an oxford blue shirt.

“Hi,” he smiled, looking every bit as adorable as the day I’d first seen him when I’d come back from burying Van Helsing. “Mrs. Hurlbutt told me what happened to you at the cemetery yesterday, and I stopped by to see how you were doing.”

“Great. Just great.”

Now that you’re here.

“I guess I’ll be running along.” I turned to see Lance standing behind me. In the excitement of finding Peter on my doorstep, I’d forgotten all about him.

“See you later, guys,” he said.

He and Peter gave each other an awkward nod as Lance headed out the door.

“Wait!” I followed Lance outside and mouthed, “How do I look?”

“Fine,” he mouthed back, “except for this.”

With that, he plucked a chow mein noodle from the collar of my robe.

Honestly, one of these days I’m going to have to buy myself a bib.

Back in the living room, Prozac, the little hussy, was hurling herself at Peter’s ankles like a vixen in
Cats Gone Wild
.

“What a doll,” he said, picking her up.

She gazed up at him with sultry green eyes.

Aren’t I, though?

Then he turned to me. “I suppose Lance told you about our dinner the other night?”

I nodded.

“For some crazy reason, he thought I was gay. Kept talking about his infallible gaydar.”