Death of a Neighborhood Witch (Jaine Austen Mystery)
Page 21
It was an exact match.
I slid it on the shelf with a sigh of relief. Mission accomplished. The Tahiti honeymoon could proceed as planned.
Then, just as I was stashing the broken Buddha into my purse, I happened to glance down at Peter’s desk. There, next to his computer, was a freshly printed manuscript.
Omigosh. This must be his novel. The one he sold for six figures.
I’d been yakking about writing a novel for years, but somehow there was always another toilet bowl ad or mattress commercial to distract me. But Peter had actually gone ahead and done it.
I admired him more than ever.
It was when I took a closer look and saw the title page, however, that everything fell apart.
There they were, six little words that would turn my world upside down:
THE DEVIL’S POODLE
by Peter Connor
The Devil’s Poodle? Wait a minute. Wasn’t that the title of Cryptessa’s novel? The one she’d shown me the day I came to pay my condolence call for Van Helsing?
I remembered how Cryptessa had stormed into Peter’s housewarming party, demanding that he read her book. He’d turned her away, telling her he never read unsolicited manuscripts. Was it possible he’d read it after all, and liked it? Liked it so much he wanted to be its author?
Had Peter Connor killed Cryptessa to get his name on the best-seller list?
No, it couldn’t be. Not Peter. Not Mr. Right.
Besides, the Moores were the killers, weren’t they?
Or were they? Maybe all they were guilty of was plotting to defraud Warren of his rightful inheritance. Maybe they pushed me into that open grave to stop my snooping, afraid I’d discovered their plans. And maybe the only reason Matt’s fingerprints were on Cryptessa’s DO NOT TRESPASS sign was because he’d helped her nail the stake into the ground.
As much as it pained me, I feared Peter was the killer.
But how could I prove it? Right now it was my word against his. For all anyone knew, he’d thought up the idea for The Devil’s Poodle on his own.
In a desperate attempt to uncover some actual evidence, I began searching through his desk. I cringed to discover a cache of hard-core porn magazines in the top drawer, the kind of stuff that made me want to disinfect my eyeballs. I continued rifling through stacks of old bills, many stamped “second notice,” entertaining a faint hope that I wouldn’t find anything more damning. But then I found it, crammed in the back of the bottom drawer: Cryptessa’s battered manuscript, The Devil’s Poodle in ragged typeface on the title page.
“So you know my little secret.”
I whirled around to see Peter in the doorway, a butcher’s knife gleaming in his hand. I’d been so engrossed in my search, I hadn’t even heard him coming.
“Who would have thought Cryptessa’s book would be any good?” he said, strolling into the room. “Certainly not me. But she left it on my doorstep and I took a peek out of curiosity. Thought I’d die when I realized what a blockbuster it was. I knew it would sell for at least six figures. And that’s when I came up with my little plan. I was sick of seeing my authors get all the big bucks. Why couldn’t I get a piece of the action? So I paid Cryptessa a visit. Turned on the old charm. You know how good I can be at that.”
He flashed me that grin I once found so attractive. Now it made the bile rise in the back of my throat.
“When Cryptessa swore to me that no one had read her book, that she’d kept it under lock and key while she was writing it, the paranoid old crone signed her own death warrant.”
By now he was standing in front of me, the tip of his butcher knife just inches from my heart.
“And then you—sweet, silly Jaine—you gave me the perfect opportunity to kill her, the night of my Halloween party when I saw you taking off your ape suit. How easy it was to slip it on and blame the whole thing on you.”
And to think I’d wanted to marry this maniac.
“Anyhow, after I whacked Cryptessa, I ran down the street and then up the alley behind my house. I popped in my back door and hid the ape suit in a safe under the floorboards in my service porch—a memento of my very first murder.”
He giggled with pride.
“Then I hurried outside to join the crowd in front of Cryptessa’s house. No one any wiser. Until now, that is. Too bad you had to be such a nosy parker. I figured you’d be fun in between girlfriends.”
“In between girlfriends?”
He shot me an insolent smile. “I saw how crazy you were about me, figured I’d kill some time with you until somebody in my league came along.”
With that, something in me snapped. Suddenly I was flooded with rage. Rage for the way Peter tried to frame me, and use me, and most of all, for the way he killed a perfectly innocent albeit highly aggravating woman just to make it on the best-seller list. I wasn’t about to die at the hands of a bum like Peter. No way.
But what could I do with that damn knife only inches from my chest?
Then I had an idea. It was the oldest trick in the book, but maybe he’d fall for it.
“Mrs. Hurlbutt!” I cried out, looking over his shoulder. “Thank heavens you’re here!”
Luckily he took the bait.
He whirled around to see if the Town Crier was really at the door, and when he did, I grabbed his laptop and whacked him on the head as hard as I could.
Then I ran for my life.
Unfortunately, I did not get very far. I did not take two steps before I tripped over my own purse and went sprawling onto the floor.
And clearly I had not whacked Peter hard enough, because two seconds later he was on top of me, straddling my chest.
“Time to write ‘The End,’ Jaine,” he said, his hands inching up toward my neck. “Too bad you never got a chance to try my lamb. It’s really yummy.”
“Lance knows I’m here!” I cried out in desperation.
Which was a lie, of course. I hadn’t told Lance about my date with Peter. I didn’t want to make him feel bad. What a fool I’d been. If only I’d raced into his apartment and crowed in victory.
“When I’m missing,” I said, “you’ll be the first person they suspect.”
Peter looked down at me with that smile I’d come to loathe.
“But you never showed up for dinner. That’s what I intend to tell the cops, right after I dump your body in the nearest ravine.”
Before I knew it, his hands were around my neck.
“I thought about killing you with the butcher’s knife,” he said, still smiling that awful smile, “but on second thought, why get my carpet all bloody? Strangling’s so much tidier.”
Oh, God, I had to do something. I couldn’t let my life end at the hands of this miserable dirtbag.
And then I saw it. My salvation, peeking out from my purse:
The beheaded Buddha.
I reached out to grab it, but it lay maddeningly just beyond my grasp. Cursing myself for never taking a yoga stretch class, I reached out again, straining my arm till I thought it would come out of its socket. This time, I managed to grab hold of it.
And then, with every ounce of strength in my body, I pulled back my arm and plunged the Buddha’s jagged edge in Peter’s eye.
Bingo.
Yowling like a banshee, Peter released his hold on me to clutch his eye in agony.
Somehow I managed to shove him off me, and went hurtling through his house and out his front door, coughing and wheezing and hollering for help.
As I staggered down the street, I saw Lance rushing out from his apartment.
“Jaine, what’s wrong?” he asked, hurrying to my side.
“Quick! Call the police!”
But he didn’t have to bother. Amy Chang, who’d heard the ruckus in Peter’s house from her apartment, had interrupted a session of dipsy doodle with a tenured UCLA professor and called 911.
Within minutes, the squad cars were roaring up the street.
The police found Peter trying to burn Cryptes
sa’s manuscript. And a quick search under the floorboards in his service porch unearthed the ape suit he was foolish enough to have kept as a memento of his very first murder.
Lance and I were sitting on the curb in front of our duplex as the cops hauled him off to the criminal ward at the USC medical center.
“I always knew he was no good,” Lance clucked as they drove away. “Honestly, Jaine. I can’t believe you were silly enough to fall for him.”
Epilogue
I f you ever need your fortune told, you absolutely must go to Madame Vruska, aka Gidget the Surfer Psychic. The woman is amazing. Remember how she spoke with Cryptessa on her Soul Phone and told me to take care of Bela the bat?
Well, not three weeks after Peter was indicted for Cryptessa’s murder, I came home one day to discover Prozac clawing the stuffing out of poor Bela.
And you’ll never guess what was inside.
An emerald necklace, a diamond bracelet, and a Count Chocula decoder ring.
I was sorely tempted to keep the loot for myself, but I listened to my conscience and handed it over to Warren, the person I knew it was intended for.
Overcome with gratitude, Warren let me keep the decoder ring.
Remind me never again to listen to my buttinsky conscience.
It turns out the oil on Cryptessa’s property was coming from an abandoned well—abandoned because it contained only enough oil to fill a small Volkswagen. So the Moores’ efforts to buy Cryptessa’s house were all in vain.
The authorities soon discovered that Matt and Kevin were up to their eyeballs in shady real estate deals, and the larcenous couple were quickly stripped of their licenses. Last I heard, they were working for Warren at Falafel Land.
Much to my irritation, Mrs. Hurlbutt is still bragging about how she “solved” Cryptessa’s murder. She and Mr. Hurlbutt recently celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary with a cruise to Alaska, where I’m told she scared off quite a few grizzlies.
Kandi’s still dating the podiatrist dude she met in the museum parking lot. No diamond ring yet, but he did give her a pair of custom-fitted orthotics.
It took Lance exactly thirteen and a half seconds to get over Peter, and he’s now head over heels in love with a guy he met at a “German for Beginners” class.
Thank heavens word never got back to Emmeline about her husband’s affair with Cryptessa. She and Lana Turner are happy as can be with their new neighbor, a reference librarian with an arthritic cocker spaniel.
And guess what? It turns out I wasn’t the only one who knew about Lila’s fling with Ralph Mancuso. Apparently Mrs. Mancuso had been having Ralph tailed. (By that old coot who tried to pick me up at Belle Reve!) Armed with several incriminating photos, Mrs. M. was only too happy to bust her husband’s love nest wide open.
Needless to say, Lila lost the race for neighborhood council president. Unable to face her neighbors after her fall from grace, she moved to a tiny retirement village in the Dominican Republic, where last I heard she was running for mayor.
Finally, you’ll be happy to know that Amy Chang graduated with honors from UCLA and is now working as a congressional intern for one of her former clients.
As for Prozac, she’s as impossible as ever. Now that Halloween is over and the world is safe from painted pumpkins, she is girding her loins for the Invasion of the Diabolical Christmas Tree Ornaments.
What with Cryptessa, Peter, Lila, and the Moores gone, several young couples with children have moved onto the block. It’s nice to have children around after all these years.
In fact, I’m off to the market right now to stock up on Halloween candy.
(Okay, so I’m eleven months early. But who’s counting?)
PS. Almost forgot. According to the latest from Gidget’s soul phone, Cryptessa finally made it to heaven! Where, after only three days, several of her cloud-mates have already requested transfers to hell.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2012 by Laura Levine
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2012940003
ISBN: 978-0-7582-7960-6
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Copyright Page