Death of a Bachelorette

by Laura Levine

  (The latter accompanied by a most nauseating wink.)

  “You shall promise to wash my hair, floss my teeth, polish my harpoon, and minister to the needs of my pet pig, Ava Gardner.”

  My God, I was being sold into slavery! Damn that Manny for making me come here tonight!

  “And now,” Konga continued, “before our nuptials are sealed, it is time for the most revered of Paratitan tribal traditions. The bridal tattoo.”

  The guy beside him, brandishing the hypodermic needle, nodded with a happy grin.

  Oh, lord. Suddenly I remembered that tattoo of Konga on Suma’s shoulder—the one I’d noticed the day we went harpoon fishing.

  Criminy. That hypo was for me! I was about to get a tattoo of the toothless wonder etched on my arm forever.

  By now, of course, I was ready to trade places with the stinkfish roasting on the fire. I wanted to run, but once again, the sight of all those guys with spears scared me silly.

  I kept praying I’d wake up and that this would all be a bad dream, but no. The guy with the hypo plodded closer and closer.

  And just when I’d given up hope, I saw a tawny flash of fur come tearing through the village. It was Prozac! Lured no doubt by the smell of the roasting stinkfish.

  But then she spotted me, standing there in my wedding dress, my bridal feathers pinned to my chest.

  At the sight of that bright plume of feathers, she lit up like a Christmas tree.

  Oh, look! A birdie! For moi!

  And with a single leap, she jumped onto to my bosom, clawing the feathers to pieces.

  By now the villagers were aghast. Prozac had destroyed the holy feathers of their tribe. But instead of being mad, they cringed in fear, backing away, terror in their eyes. Even Konga had retreated, cowering behind Suma.

  “No kitty! No kitty!” they cried. Just like Akela at the mansion.

  Wow, these people were seriously afraid of cats.

  Tai stepped forward. Even he looked scared.

  “Remember the first day you came to the island?” he said. “I told you cats played an important part in our culture. Some are good. And some are evil. I couldn’t see Prozac clearly that first day because she was in her carrier. But now I realize your cat is the spitting image of our Evil God, Nokiti.”

  He pointed to a totem pole at the far end of the circle.

  Sure enough, at the top of the pole, was the face of a cat with an uncanny resemblance to Prozac.

  Omigosh. Akela hadn’t been saying, “No kitty!” when she saw Prozac, she’d been invoking the name of Nokiti, the Evil God of Paratito.

  “Go!” Konga now commanded, his voice trembling. “And never return to our village again.”

  “Not a problem,” I assured him. “It’s been lovely meeting you. Too bad we weren’t a match, but I’m sure you’ll find the twelfth soulmate of your dreams out there somewhere.”

  “Just go!” he screamed.

  “Begone, Mainland Trash!” Suma chimed in.

  Ever happy to oblige, I raced to the hut where I’d changed, grabbed my capris and tee, along with my purse, and skedaddled out of there faster than a speeding stinkfish.

  Chapter 32

  “I’m so sorry Prozac got loose!” Polly said as I hurled myself into the waiting Jeep. “She wriggled out of the car before I could stop her. I ran after her, and the next thing I knew, I saw her jumping into your arms at the fire pit.

  “What was going on there, anyway?” she asked, starting up the Jeep. “And what on earth are you wearing? Are those real animal bones?”

  “It’s my wedding dress,” I said, collapsing into my seat.

  “Your what?”

  “I was supposed to marry Konga and become his twelfth wife. They were going to tattoo a picture of him on my shoulder!”

  “You poor thing!” Polly tsked, as she took off down the road.

  “But thank heavens for Prozac, my rescuing angel. She raced right in to save the day!” I said, nuzzling my angel’s neck and showering her with baby kisses. “How am I ever going to thank you?”

  Prozac looked up at me with calculating eyes.

  Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” I jabbered on to Polly, “but that beer-bellied bozo expected me to wash his feet and feed his pet pig, Ava Gardner! And all he was wearing was a tassel loincloth. Oh, gaak! I shudder to think what was under those tassels—Hey,” I said, interrupting my own horror story. “Where are we going? This isn’t the way back to the mansion.”

  Indeed, as I looked around, I realized we were on an unfamiliar dirt road.

  “Change of plan,” Polly said. “We’re not going to the mansion.”

  With that, she pulled up to a clearing in the woods, where another Jeep was parked.

  And standing there, looking dapper as ever in white linen, was the very last person I expected to see—Spencer Dalworth VII.

  “Omigod!” I whispered. “It’s Spencer. He knows we’re on to him. Somehow he must have found out about that undeleted photo in Hope’s phone.”

  “Of course he did,” Polly said. “I told him all about it. Right after I deleted it permanently while you were in the shower getting ready for your date with Konga.”

  I looked over at Polly, and all traces of the warmhearted gal who’d befriended me were gone. The perky bestie with the shaggy bangs and friendly smile had morphed into the kind of steely-eyed piranha you see manning the makeup counters at Bloomie’s.

  “Hi, sweetie!” she called out to Spencer.

  My God, she was on his side!

  And before I knew what was happening, she’d whipped a gun from the Jeep’s glove compartment and aimed it straight at me.

  “Get out,” she said, poking me in the ribs with the butt of her revolver.

  I climbed out of the car, Prozac clutched in my arms.

  “Look who’s here, darling!” Polly said, shoving me toward Spencer. “Right on schedule. I kept an eye on her at the ceremony. She didn’t have a chance to talk to the cops.”

  “Brilliant!” Spencer said, nodding his approval, his eyes as vacant as ever.

  “So you knew Spencer was the killer all along,” I gasped.

  “Oh, but Spencer’s not the killer,” Polly chirped with pride. “I am!”

  “You cut the cords on Hope’s chute? But that’s impossible. You were with me all morning the day of the murder.”

  “That’s where we fooled everyone, right, darling?”

  “Absolutely, sweetpea,” Spencer concurred.

  “I didn’t cut the cords that morning. I did it the night before. It was so easy. Pretending to comfort Kirk after Hope dumped him, I went back with him to his cabin to get him drunk. More than drunk, thanks to the heavy sedative I slipped into one of his beers. It left him pretty much zonked out until well into the next day.

  “As soon as he passed out, I zipped over to the prop shed and cut the cords on Hope’s chute. Then over to the mansion to plant the wire cutter in Dallas’s closet. I felt bad about framing her, but I had no other choice. She seemed like the best bet as a suspect, after the way she’d practically threatened to kill Hope in front of the cast and crew.

  “The next day, Kirk was still so zonked out from the sedative he was barely able to function, let alone check the cords on the parachutes before the jump. After the murder, I convinced him to lie and tell the police he’d checked the cords. I put the fear of God into him, telling him he could be arrested for criminal negligence if he admitted the truth.

  “I was careful to stay by your side the entire morning of the murder, Jaine.”

  “And I hung around Kirk,” Spencer added, “making sure he went nowhere near the chutes.”

  “With Kirk swearing he’d checked the chutes that morning, we both had airtight alibis.”

  “Absolutely airtight!” Spencer echoed happily.

  “Time to get moving, hon.” With her gun firmly planted in my ribs, Polly started shoving me forward into a thi
cket of trees, Spencer lighting our way with a flashlight.

  In the distance, I could hear a muffled roar, like thunder or a railroad train. But I knew that was impossible. There were no trains in Paratito.

  “You were right about Hope,” Polly said, the butt of her gun prodding me from behind. “She was blackmailing Spencer. Threatening to go public with his dog-collar fetish if he didn’t marry her. Would you believe the little creep snuck into his bedroom suite to make a pass at him, and when he rebuffed her, she followed him to my cabin and stood outside taking pictures of us? The girl had no ethics whatsoever.”

  “Most unsportsmanlike,” Spencer piped up.

  “So that was you in the picture,” I said, remembering the woman’s leg in the fishnet stocking.

  “Of course it was,” Polly replied. “Spencer’s definitely a leg man, aren’t you, honeybun?”

  “Absolutely, pumpkin.”

  Oh, gaak. I couldn’t decide which was making me more nauseous: the gun in my back or their treacly love chat.

  By now we’d wended our way through more trees, and the sound in the distance had grown louder. I recognized it now. It was rushing water.

  “Spencer and I are in love,” Polly said proudly. “We were from the moment we met. And we’re going to be really rich some day. As soon as Spencer marries Dallas, of course.”

  “Wait. What? So Spencer wasn’t lying when he told Dallas he wanted to marry her?”

  “We figured he’d stick it out for a year or two,” Polly said, “and then walk away with a bundle in a divorce settlement. Either that, or knock Dallas off for the insurance money. We hadn’t decided for sure. All we knew was that Hope was standing in our way and we had to get rid of her. Just like we’re going to have to get rid of you.”

  We now came to a clearing in the trees, and I saw the source of the rushing water. We’d reached the cliffs of Paratito’s Grand Waterfall.

  “I followed you that day when you went swimming in the waterfall pool,” Polly said. “I tried to scare you, but you kept nosing around, asking questions.

  “So here we are,” she said with a sigh. “Sad to say, you’re going to walk just a little too close to the ledge of the falls and plummet to your death.”

  She prodded me closer to the falls. Pelted by the spray, I looked down—way down—and felt my knees go weak at the sight of the water thundering down onto the rocks below.

  In my arms, Prozac bristled at the water splashing her face. Assuming, no doubt, that she was about to get a bath, she broke into her patented “No Bath!” yowl, screeching at the top of her lungs.

  How many times do I have to tell you? No baths! No showers! No water of any kind!

  “Time to say good-bye, Jaine,” Polly said, with a jaunty wave. “Go ahead, Spencer. You do it this time. I already killed Hope and Kirk.”

  “You killed Kirk, too?” I asked, furious with myself for not suspecting that my Paratitan BFF had been a two-time murderer.

  “I had no choice,” Polly replied. “The blubbering idiot was about to go to the police and confess that he’d never checked the cords that morning. Then our alibis would be out the window.”

  “And besides,” Spencer added, “we needed someone to confess to the murder to get Dallas out of jail.”

  “So I force-fed Kirk a lethal dose of sedatives and wrote that pathetic suicide note,” Polly said, beaming with pride.

  Good lord, how could someone who just this morning was so darn likeable be such a roaring psychopath now?

  “Really, Spencer,” Polly was saying. “Time to do your share. You kill Jaine.”

  “Don’t do it, Spencer!” I cried, in a desperate attempt to save my life. “If you wind up with Polly, she’ll be every bit as bossy as your mother and have you under her thumb for the rest of your life. Don’t you see? You’re just trading one manipulative bitch for another.”

  He blinked, confused, and for a minute I thought I had him.

  But then Prozac started wailing again, which seemed to snap him out of his stupor.

  “Go ahead!” Polly cried, her face flushed with excitement. “Kill her!”

  She was actually getting off on this.

  “If you say so, darling,” Spencer replied, back under her spell.

  “Okay, kill me. But don’t hurt Prozac,” I pleaded. “Take her. She’s a darling cat, no trouble whatsoever.”

  “Are you kidding?” Polly snorted. “I’ve seen the little monster in action. She’s toast.”

  At that, tears began streaming down my cheeks. I was terrified at the prospect of dying, of course, but simply could not bear the thought of Prozac’s furry little body being hurled to oblivion.

  “Cheer up, sweetheart,” Polly said. “Maybe she’ll survive the jump. Nine lives and all that. Go ahead, Spencer. Give her a push.”

  He stepped toward me. I stepped back. By now, I was perilously close to the edge, Prozac yowling at the top of her lungs.

  They had me cornered. There was no place to go but over the cliff.

  Then, just as Spencer stepped forward to do me in once and for all, he screamed out in pain.

  I gasped to see a spear piercing his thigh, blood gushing from his leg.

  “My God!” Polly cried, rushing to his side. “What the hell happened?”

  It was then that I turned and saw Suma, still in her muumuu, taking another spear from a holster she had slung over her shoulder. She took aim, and this time, she zinged Polly, who crumpled to the ground, moaning.

  Dear, sweet, darling Suma. This blubbery mountain of a woman had just saved my life!

  After grabbing Polly’s gun from where she’d dropped it on the ground, I hurried over to Suma. I would have thrown my arms around her in gratitude had I not been holding Prozac and had she not said, “Keep that evil monster away from me.”

  “Suma, how did you know I was here?”

  “I’ve been following you ever since you drove away from the ceremony. I saw the Jeep turn down the road to the waterfall and followed the path. I wasn’t sure exactly where you were—not until I heard your monster cat wailing.”

  Prozac flicked her tail, a tad peeved.

  I wish everybody would stop calling me a monster. A cat’s got feelings, you know.

  “Lucky for you, I don’t go anywhere in the woods without my spears. One never knows what dangerous animals one may come across,” she said, eyeing Spencer and Polly, gushing blood at the edge of the falls.

  “You care about me!” I said, my eyes welling with tears. “You sensed I was in danger and came to my rescue.”

  “Don’t be silly. I came for my necklace.”

  She pointed to Konga’s teeth still strung around my neck.

  “Oh. Right.”

  I happily returned Konga’s teeth to his Number One Wife.

  “May they rot on your neck forever,” I said.

  “And the muumuu. I need that back, too. You can send it to me tomorrow. Along with your capris and T-shirt. They’re just my size.”

  Her size? On what planet?

  “Although I may have to take them in a little,” she added.

  Okay, now she was beginning to get on my nerves.

  * * *

  Suma stood guard while I took the Jeep and returned to the village to summon Tonga and Ari. Spencer and Polly were quickly arrested and hauled off to the criminal wing of Paratito’s General Hospital, which was little more than a shack with a couple of stethoscopes. I just hoped they were out of antiseptic. And anesthesia.

  Back at the mansion, Manny was stunned to learn of this latest turn of events.

  “But Polly seemed like such a sweet kid,” he said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  Uncharacteristically touched by our ordeal, Manny had Akela make me a double-decker pastrami sandwich on rye. With an extra side of pastrami for Prozac.

  Which I gratefully toted to Sauna Central.

  Near brushes with death can sure whet a gal’s appetite. This gal, anyway. Absolutely starving, I t
hrew myself on my bed and began wolfing down my pastrami sandwich with gusto. On the floor next to my bed, Prozac was swan-diving into her pastrami with equal abandon.

  Our chowfest was interrupted just then, however, when Godzilla came zapping out from under the baseboard. In nanoseconds, he’d snatched a pastrami shard that had fallen from Pro’s plate.

  Never one to share, Prozac hissed in outrage as the giant waterbug shifted into high gear and scooted off with his prize.

  Let me tell you, that waterbug could move. Before I knew it, he’d zipped across the room and under my bed, Prozac hot on his heels.

  I followed the chase, getting down on my knees to lift the bottom of the bedspread and watch the action.

  And then I blinked, amazed, as Godzilla scooted out through a gaping hole in the wall behind my bed. Probably an opening for one of the electrical outlets that had never been installed.

  Like a shot, Prozac squeezed herself through the hole and was gone.

  I raced out to the hallway to find Prozac still chasing Godzilla.

  So that’s how she’d been making her Great Escapes from Sauna Central!

  If only I’d bothered to look under my own bed!

  Scooping Prozac up in my arms, I let Godzilla run off with his prize. After all, he’d helped me solve the Case of the Getaway Kitty.

  Back in my room, I finished my pastrami sandwich, thrilled that this whole mess was over. Then, exhausted from all I’d been through, I flopped back in bed and fell into a deep sleep—joy in my heart, pastrami on my breath, and Prozac’s tail draped ever so thoughtfully across my nose.

  So all’s well that ends well.

  Or as Spencer would say:

  Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

  YOU’VE GOT MAIL!

  To: Jausten

  From: SirLancelot

  Subject: Oops!

  With all the hooha of Brett and my broken heart and the paint job on your Corolla, I’m afraid I forgot to mist your Boston fern.

  It looks a wee bit dead to me.

  Epilogue

  Justice seekers will be pleased to note that Polly and Spencer, former lovebirds, are awaiting trial in Tahiti. Spencer, the spineless wonder, apparently cut a deal with the prosecutors and agreed to testify against Polly for a reduced sentence.