Jaine Austen Mystery: Killing Cupid Part 13

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- x.x.x.

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.

It had been quite the Valentine's Day Crime Wave, n'est-ce pas?

First, Joy got b.u.mped 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 G.o.diva had been laced with cyanide. And according to Ca.s.sie, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.diva."

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 t.i.tles 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."

d.a.m.n 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, h.e.l.l.

"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."