Murder Has Nine Lives (17 page)

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Authors: Laura Levine

BOOK: Murder Has Nine Lives
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“Forget it,” I snapped.
By now I was so aggravated, I'd totally lost my appetite. Well, not totally. Somehow I managed to force down a lamb chop. And just the teensiest mouthful of pasta salad. And maybe a weensy dab of Swedish meatball—Okay. So I ate everything. Are you happy now?
As soon as we'd sat down, Jim had me open my purse so Arnold could poke his head out and check the scene.
“Wow, what a palace!” Arnold said. “Why can't we live in a joint like this, instead of that crappy retirement home?”
“We will someday,” Jim said in his own voice, “just as soon as I get myself established with Uncle Jim.”
“Way to go, bro! It'll be like the Playboy Mansion! With a grotto and plenty of hot chicks!”
Yeah, right. The only hot chicks showing up at Jim's grotto would be from the UCLA Psychiatric Nursing Department.
“Let's dance!” Arnold piped up as the deejay started playing a slow tune.
For a frightening instant I thought Jim was going to start dancing with the bear.
But, no. He pushed Arnold back down in my purse—with outraged squawks from Arnold—and held out his hand to me.
“Shall we?”
Oh, groan. The last thing I wanted to do was dance with the guy.
“I'm not really in the mood.”
“Please, Jaine,” he pleaded. “Just one?”
He looked at me with those gorgeous blue eyes of his, eyes that would, under normal circumstances, have me melted in a puddle on the grass, but tonight just gave me the heebie-jeebies.
“Okay,” I said, reluctantly getting up to join him.
“Don't forget your purse, Jaine. Arnold wants to dance, too.”
Of course he did.
We made our way to the dance floor, where Jim insisted on keeping my purse unzipped so Arnold could “hear the music.” Then he took me in his arms—arms that IMHO should have been tied up cozily in a straitjacket.
I tried to follow as he shuffled awkwardly, out of step with the music, but it wasn't easy, and I was constantly shooting nervous glances at my purse, hoping nearby dancers wouldn't notice Arnold inside.
I absolutely had to think of a way to get Arnold alone so I could sew him up.
“I think Arnold needs a potty break,” I said. “I'd be happy to take him.”
“Potty break?” Jim looked at me like I was the crazy one. “Arnold doesn't take potty breaks. He goes to the bathroom, and he doesn't need any help doing it.”
So much for Plan A.
We continued dancing, me trying desperately to come up with Plan B and avoid Jim's two left feet, when I heard a familiar high-pitched voice.
“Whoa, Jimbo. What a klutz! Who taught you how to dance—Larry? Moe? Or Curly?”
“Shut up, Arnold!” Jim hissed.
But Arnold wasn't about to shut up.
“Next dance, Jaine dances with me. And I'll show her how it's really done.”
I glanced around to see if anyone had heard Jim talking in Arnold's crazy voice, but thank heavens the music had drowned him out.
“If you step on her feet one more time,” Arnold continued, on a roll, “she's gonna lose a toe.”
“That's it!” Jim snapped, dragging me off the dance floor.
“This is why I never take you anywhere,” he said, hissing into my purse. “You always sabotage my dates.”
For a minute, I wondered if this was one of Jim and Arnold's phony fights, like the one they'd staged at the restaurant. But it couldn't be. For one thing, there was no bill to weasel out of. And for another, Jim looked really steamed.
“I'm sick of that selfish little brat always ruining things for me. And I'm sick of you, too!” he added, glaring at me. “Don't think I haven't noticed those come-hither looks you've been slipping Arnold, looking down at your purse every few seconds. You've got a thing for him, and don't deny it! Well, you can have him. I can do much better than you! In fact, there's a blonde over there who's a lot hotter than you!”
With that, he marched back onto the dance floor and asked a cute blonde to dance.
At last! I was alone with Arnold. My chance to sew him up.
Leaving Jim stomping on the poor blonde's feet, I quickly slipped into the house.
My plan was to sneak into an empty room, whip out my sewing kit, and do some emergency surgery on Arnold. But I hadn't got past the kitchen when I bumped smack-dab into Phil. And he wasn't looking happy.
“Hey, Jaine. I was just talking to Maria Sanchez. She said you insulted her at the buffet table, that you made some crack about her taking too much food.”
Damn that Arnold and his big mouth.
“I swear, Phil. I didn't say a word to her.”
“Then who did?”
Jim may have been a raging nutcase, but I wasn't about to throw him under the bus.
“I don't know, Phil. I just know it wasn't me.”
He thought this over for a bit and must have decided I was telling the truth.
“If you say so, hon.” Then, breaking out into a smile, he added, “By the way, I took a look at the Touch-Me-Not brochure. Nice job!”
“Thanks, Phil!”
At least something was going my way this god-awful night.
“If you'll excuse me,” I said, “I was just heading to the powder room.”
“Around the corner,” Phil instructed. “First door to your left. The toilet used to belong to W. C. Fields. I call it W. C.'s WC.”
I proceeded to trot around the corner.
I did not, however, pop in to admire Phil's celebrity toilet. I couldn't risk someone with an overactive bladder banging on the door in the middle of teddy bear surgery.
Instead I slipped into the next room, which looked like a guest bedroom, with a daybed and chest of drawers and fake ivy sprouting from a miniature bidet.
Taking a seat on the daybed, I fished Arnold out from my purse, along with my sewing kit.
As Arnold lay there in my lap, staring up at me with brown button eyes, I almost expected him to start yakking at me, demanding that I give him a local anesthetic and asking to see my medical degree. But, of course, without Jim at his side, he said nothing, the model patient.
Perusing the selection of threads in my sewing kit, I picked out a tan that was relatively close to the color of Arnold's fur, and—after undressing the patient and carefully removing his masking tape—I threaded my needle and began sewing.
All I can say is thank heavens for my mother, who'd taught me how to sew when I was a kid. My mom had been going through one of her “crafting” phases at the time and had sucked me up in her vortex of needlework, cross-stitching, and Simplicity Patterns.
(So, seeing as we're such good friends, if you ever need anything hemmed at the last minute, don't hesitate to ask my mom.)
In spite of my rigorous training, beads of sweat popped up on my brow as I sewed my first tiny stitches along Arnold's tummy seam. I soon began to relax, though, when I realized that because of Arnold's fuzzy nap, the patch job was practically invisible.
After that, my needle practically flew through the job.
I was feeling quite proud of myself and was just about to sew the final stitch when suddenly the door burst open and Jim came whooshing in.
“I've been looking all over for you—” Then, spotting the needle in my hand: “What are you doing to Arnold?”
“Um. Emergency appendectomy?”
“What???”
His face was now a dangerous red. Holy Moses. Something told me I was the one who'd soon be needing stitches.
But before Jim could do anything, Phil came hurrying in.
“Jim, I was just talking to Carole Sapin, one of my top plumbers, and she said you got fresh with her out on the dance floor.”
Jim blushed and dug his foot into the carpet.
“Gosh, Uncle Phil, all I did was ask if she was wearing panties.”
“Jim, Jim! What am I going to do with you?”
For the first time, Phil noticed me with Arnold on my lap.
“What are you doing with that teddy bear, Jaine?”
“She claims she's giving it an emergency appendectomy,” Jim sneered. “She's nuts! Arnold had his appendix out years ago!”
“Wait a minute,” Phil said with an aggrieved sigh. “Did you stop taking your meds?”
“I had to, Uncle Phil. They make my toes itch.”
“Your mom told me you gave up your fixation with your teddy bear.”
“I did. Charlie and I broke up last year. This is my new roommate, Arnold.”
Phil turned to me with an apologetic shrug.
“I'm so sorry, Jaine. I thought he was taking his meds.”
By now, I'd stitched my last stitch and snipped off the remaining thread.
“Here you go,” I said, handing Arnold over to Jim. “Good as new. It's been swell dating both of you. Now if you don't mind, I'll call myself a cab and get going.”
And without any further ado, I grabbed my purse and scooted out of there.
The last thing I heard as I headed down the hall was Arnold calling out to me:“You busy tomorrow night, babe? What do you say we give it a whirl? I'm much more fun than Jim!”
Clearly the patient had recovered from surgery and was doing just fine.
YOU'VE GOT MAIL!
 
 
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Crazy Morning!
 
What a crazy morning it's been, sweetheart. Today's the day of the Scrabble awards luncheon, and as bad luck would have it, Alex Trebek's driver never picked him up at the airport. So Lydia just dashed over to get him. Which means I've got to go to the clubhouse to take care of the floral arrangements. I was supposed to pick up the championship ring from the jewelers, where it's being sized for Lydia. But I'll never have time to do that now, so I've asked Daddy to go there for me. I felt awful asking him to do it after he came so close to winning the ring himself, but he's graciously agreed to go.
 
XOXO,
Mom
 
 
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Daddy to the Rescue!
 
Apparently there's been some snafu at the airport with Alex Trebek, and I've been assigned to pick up the championship Scrabble ring from the jewelers. Although by all rights the ring should be mine, I've resigned myself to the fact that Lydia Pinkus, the cheating gasbag, will be wearing it on her pudgy little finger.
 
All I can say is it's a lucky thing for your mom that I can be counted on in times of crisis.
 
Love 'n' stuff from
Your can-do
DaddyO
TAMPA TRIBUNE
 
Alex Trebek Attacked by
Local Tampa Vistas Man
 
The annual Tampa Vistas Scrabble Championship Awards Luncheon was disrupted today when internationally famed game show host Alex Trebek was tackled by local Tampa Vistas resident, Hank Austen.
 
“I was just about to eat my beef bourguignon,” Trebek said, “when this crazy man came out of nowhere and grabbed me by the chest.”
 
Mr. Austen claimed he was giving Mr. Trebek the Heimlich maneuver to dislodge a fourteen-karat gold ring he thought the game show host had ingested.
 
When asked to comment about the incident, Lydia Pinkus, Tampa Vistas Homeowners' Association president and incumbent Scrabble champion, said of Mr. Austen,
 
“The man is certifiable. Why, just last week, he was caught looting my garbage can in his underwear.”
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: I'm So Mad, I Could Spit!
 
I sent your father off on a simple errand to pick up a ring, and he wound up attacking Alex Trebek!
 
And PS! He had the gall to show up at the luncheon in those hideous Bermuda shorts!
 
XOXO,
Mom
 
 
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: I Can Explain Everything!
 
Dearest Lambchop—
 
I suppose your mom sent you that clipping from the
Tampa Tribune
. I know it doesn't look good, but I can explain everything.
 
Just as instructed, I went to the jewelers and picked up the ring. At first I wasn't even going to look at it, a cruel reminder of how close I'd come to winning the tournament. But once I got out in the parking lot, I couldn't resist. I opened the jewelry box, and there it was, winking up at me in all its fourteen-karat gold glory.
 
I kept thinking that if Lydia hadn't pulled that stunt and hid my Lucky Thinking Cap, the ring might very well have been mine. And before I knew what I was doing, I'd slipped the ring out of the box and on my pinkie finger. A perfect fit! I drove home, admiring it all the way.
 
But when I got home and tried to take it off, things started going haywire. I guess my pinkie must have swelled on the ride home, because I couldn't get the darn thing off!
 
I raced in the house (luckily your mom had already left for the clubhouse) and ran my pinkie under cold water. The ring still wouldn't budge. I tried loosening it with butter, olive oil, and finally WD-40. Still nothing!
 
A lesser man would have panicked. But not your daddy. Cool and collected. I did the only sensible thing and called 911. Would you believe they actually giggled and told me they had better things to do than remove championship Scrabble rings from pinkies? Really, as soon as this whole ruckus dies down, I intend to write a letter to the mayor about those 911 people.
 
Anyhow, by the time I got to the clubhouse, I was forty-five minutes late. Most people had already served themselves from the buffet and were tucking into their chow.
 
Needless to say, your mom was a tad peeved when she saw me, wondering what had taken me so long. Hiding my “ring” hand in my pocket, I mumbled something about traffic being a bear and handed her the jewelry box, which I'd cleverly tied with a bow so she wouldn't open it. Luckily she didn't seem to notice how light it was and, after shooting me one final dirty look, scurried off to put it on the awards dais.
 
I was standing there with my hand jammed in my pocket, pinkie hidden, wondering how the heck I was going to get the ring off my finger, when I looked over at the buffet table and saw a vat of creamy white ranch dressing near the salads. Hoping the oil in the dressing might do the trick, I casually sauntered over and—after checking to make sure no one was watching—plunged my pinkie into the goo and began rubbing it into my finger.
 
Eureka! The dressing was working its magic, and at long last the ring was coming loose! But my hands were so darn slick from the dressing, I lost my grip on the ring and watched in disbelief as it flew across the buffet table and landed plop in the beef bourguignon!
 
And it was at that very moment that Alex Trebek came back for seconds on the beef bourguignon. I gasped as he picked up the ladle and scooped up some stew from the exact same spot where the ring had landed!
 
I couldn't possibly let him eat it! So I started racing to his side. But just then a busboy showed up with refills for the scalloped potatoes and blocked my path. Before I could stop him, Trebek had scooped up the beef bourguignon and was headed for his table.
 
I tore after him but was unfortunately intercepted by your mom who'd peeked inside the jewelry box and discovered that the ring was missing. With no time for explanations, I hurried to Trebek, who by now was digging into his beef bourguignon. He took one bite and started coughing.
 
Oh, no! He'd swallowed the ring! So what else could I do but yank him up from his seat and give him the Heimlich maneuver? (Which I'd fortunately learned from a
Simpsons
episode where Homer almost chokes on a pork rind.)
 
But just as I was squeezing Alex's ribs and mentioning my prowess in the categories of Geography, Fifties Music, and People in the News, I heard somebody on the other side of the room shout out, “What's this ring doing in my beef bourguignon?”
 
Obviously, I'd made a mistake. Alex hadn't swallowed the ring, after all. Someone else had dished it out instead. In no time, I retrieved it, and after your mom washed it off in the ladies' room, the ring was as good as new.
 
A win-win situation as far as I'm concerned.
 
I don't see why everyone is making such a big fuss.
 
Love 'n' snuggles from
DaddyO
 
P.S. Alex was so understanding. After I explained to him what happened, he promised to send me tickets to watch a studio taping. Too bad he can't get me into his own show. But I'm sure
Wheel of Fortune
will be lots of fun.
 
 
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Monumental Gall!
 
Can you believe the nerve of your daddy? After practically cracking poor Alex Trebek's ribs, he actually had the monumental gall to ask him for tickets to his show! I may never speak to him again.
 
XOXO,
Mom
 
 
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: In the Doghouse
 
Looks like I'm in the doghouse with your mom, Lambchop. She's giving me the silent treatment. There's only one way to worm my way back into her good graces. It's the ultimate sacrifice, but I guess I'm going to have to make it.
 
 
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Can't Stay Mad Forever
 
Wonderful news, sweetheart! Daddy just threw away those hideous Bermuda shorts. I guess I can't stay mad at him forever, can I? Well, must run and shower. Daddy's taking me to Le Chateaubriand for dinner tonight.
 
See you soon in
L.A.
! Can't wait for a lovely, drama-free vacation.
 
XOXO,
Mom
 
 
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Don't Tell Mom
 
It was painful, but I had to do it. With heavy heart, I threw those fabulous Bermuda shorts in the garbage. But it was worth it to have your mom speak to me again.
 
On a happier note, guess what I just sent away for? A Make-It-Yourself Ukulele Kit! It'll be perfect for our trip to Hawaii. I can't wait to put it together and wow the gang at the luau!
 
Don't tell Mom, though. I want to surprise her!
 
Love 'n' snuggles from
DaddyO

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