Jaine Austen Mystery: Killing Cupid Part 27

"No, of course not! I stole Albany's headshot."

So much for a murder confession.

"I took Joy's date book from the reception area and brought it into her office. At first I just wanted to look at Albany's picture. I don't know what came over me, but then I took the picture out of the book. I figured Joy owed me that much. I even had it framed."

With that, he reached under the sofa cushion and pulled out a framed photo of the gorgeous redhead he'd fallen for on his first visit to Joy.

"But I'm afraid to hang it up. After all, it's stolen property."

"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, Barry."

"You're not going to tell?"

"My lips are sealed," I said, getting up to leave.

"No!" he shouted, jumping up and blocking my path. "You can't leave."

All traces of the scared rabbit he'd been just a few seconds ago were gone, his fists once again clenched tight, a strange manic gleam in his eyes.

And a wave of fear shot through me.

Was it possible this namby-pamby goldfish lover was a killer? Had he poisoned Joy's chocolate, after all, and taken Albany's headshot as a souvenir?

Had he known all along I wasn't really a reporter? Had he heard that I was investigating Joy's murder? Afraid I'd stumble onto the truth, had he lured me here to the wilds of Glendale to put a permanent end to me and my investigation?

Suddenly those upper arms of his which just two seconds ago had seemed sort of flabby now looked taut and muscular.

"I've got something to show you," he said.

I just prayed it wasn't a machete.

I surrept.i.tiously reached into my purse for my travel-sized can of Aqua Net. I've always found hair spray an effective subst.i.tute for Mace. All it takes is one good spritz in the eye to put your attacker out of commission.

With my finger on the nozzle, I watched as Barry pulled out a drawer in the coffee table and took out a black oblong box.

The perfect size for a revolver.

By now my palms were gushing sweat.

He lifted the lid on the box, and I practically swooned with relief. Not a gun in sight. Instead the box was lined with pens!

"My vintage fountain pen collection," he said, beaming with pride.

Before my grateful eyes, his upper arms turn to flab again.

How foolish I'd been to think of him as a killer.

"I have one of the best collections in the San Fernando Valley. I thought you might be interested in doing a story about them for the L.A. Times."

The poor guy just collected pens as a hobby.

"Look," he was saying. "Here's a 1920 Esterbrook. Extra-fine nib."

He took out one of the pens, a lovely tortoisesh.e.l.l affair, and unscrewed the top. The nip was indeed fine as a needle.

He then unscrewed the base of the pen, revealing the rubber sack that held the ink.

"It's a real beauty isn't it?"

"Absolutely," I said. I wanted to kiss the darn thing, so grateful that it wasn't a lethal weapon.

And then it hit me. Maybe it was a lethal weapon. How easy it would have been for Barry to take one of his pens and fill it with cyanide, and use a superfine nib to inject the poison in a bonbon.

Was I looking at an innocent pen-or a murder weapon?

"So how about it, Jaine?" Barry was asking. "Do you think you can write about my pens?"

"I'll have to check with my editor," I fumphered, surrept.i.tiously clutching my Aqua Net. "In the meanwhile, I'd better be running along."

"I hope you got everything you came for," Barry said.

"And then some," I a.s.sured him.

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

TAMPA VISTAS TATTLER.

Tampa Vistas residents were treated to a

fascinating slide show last night at the town

house of Homeowners a.s.sociation president

Lydia Pinkus, whose brother, Professor Lester

Pinkus, entertained one and all with a

PowerPoint presentation of his recent trip to

Nepal, where Mr. Pinkus, along with his colorful

Sherpa guide, climbed the rugged cliffs of Mount

Gauri Sankar.

The slide show came to an unfortunate halt,

however, when one of the partygoers, Mr. Hank

Austen, shattered a plate gla.s.s window in Mr.

Pinkus's bedroom.

Further details were unavailable at press time.

To: Jausten

From: Shoptillyoudrop

Subject: I Thought I'd Die

I thought for sure Daddy had given up on the idea that Lydia and Lester had stolen my ring. He certainly was all smiles when we showed up for the party, running to the buffet and scarfing down Edna Lindstrom's Swedish meatb.a.l.l.s like he hadn't just finished a three-course meat loaf dinner at home!

Then the lights dimmed, and we all gathered around to watch Lester's slide show. We weren't sitting there for more than two minutes, watching Lester and his colorful Sherpa guide trekking up Mt. Ravi Shankar, when suddenly I realized Daddy was gone. At first I thought he'd made a trip to the bathroom, but when five more minutes pa.s.sed and he didn't come back, I knew something was up.

As much as I hated to miss the pictures of Lester and his colorful native guide pitching their tent in their long johns, I slipped out of the living room to find Daddy. I tried Lydia's bedroom, the den, and the kitchen (always a popular stop for Daddy). Finally I came to the guest bedroom.

When I opened the door, I thought I'd die.