Death by Tiara by Laura Levine Page A

cat carrier, Prozac meowed.
    How come Powder Puff gets toted around like a prince, while I’ve got to ride in this crummy cat carrier?
    Ignoring her protests, I approached the BMW.
    “Heather, I just wanted to thank you for picking up my hotel bill.”
    And indeed, I owed her a big debt of thanks.
    When I went to check out, I discovered Heather had paid my whole tab, including the nightly pet fee, and three hundred dollars in extra charges for Prozac-induced damages.
    Apparently my tattletale maid had felt the need to itemize every last cat scratch she’d observed.
    “Don’t worry about it, Jaine,” Heather said with a wan smile.
    “Are you guys okay?” I asked.
    “Of course we’re okay!” Heather said, trying valiantly to keep up her smile.
    “But, Mom,” Taylor protested, “they’re taking you down to police headquarters!”
    “Oh, honey. That kind of thing happens all the time. I’m not going to get arrested. Isn’t that right, Jaine?”
    “Right,” I lied, picturing Heather being hauled off to jail, shielding her face with Elvis.
    “Taylor tells me you’re a part-time private eye,” Heather said.
    “It’s just a hobby.”
    “But she’s really good, Mom,” Taylor piped up. “She’s actually tracked down some dangerous killers.”
    Heather looked me up and down.
    “Really? You? ”
    She shook her raven extensions in disbelief.
    I wasn’t surprised by her reaction. I get it all the time. Just goes to show you can’t judge a detective by her elastic-waist pants.
    “You think you can clear my name?” Heather asked.
    “I’ll certainly try.”
    “Thanks so much.” Were those tears of gratitude I saw welling behind her Pradas? “Naturally, I’ll pay you for your time.”
    “We’ll work that out later,” I said, feeling guilty for taking more money from her after she’d coughed up that extra dough for Prozac’s room rampage.
    I watched as they got in their BMW and drove off, then started over to my Corolla. I was trying to ignore Prozac’s whining when suddenly I heard a piercing, “Yoo hoo!”
    I turned to see Luanne sprinting to my side, Gigi in tow.
    “I heard on the grapevine that the police think Heather killed Amy,” Luanne said, breathless with excitement.
    “Is that so?”
    “It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving gal!” she beamed.
    I turned on my heels to go, feeling more than a tad irritated. I’d grown fond of Heather and resented this ferret of a woman who couldn’t wait to see my client locked up behind bars.
    “Wait!” Luanne cried, thrusting a scrap of paper in my hand. “Here’s my phone number. I really liked the lyrics you wrote for Taylor. And I thought you might want to write some for my Gigi.”
    She turned to her gum-chewing prodigy.
    “Wouldn’t that be nice, honey?”
    “Yeah, I guess,” Gigi shrugged.
    I shoved Luanne’s phone number in my pocket, murmuring something about having a lot on my plate.
    No way was I going to write for this woman. No way. No how. Never.
    Not unless, of course, she offered to pay me.

YOU’VE GOT MAIL
     
     
    To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: No Willpower Whatsoever
     
    Frankly, Lambchop, I don’t mind telling you that your mom has been driving me crazy. Ever since I changed the combination on the freezer lock, she’s been bugging me to open it so she can have a little “sweetie.”
     
    Your mother is a wonderful woman, and you know I love her dearly, but she has no willpower whatsoever. She could learn a thing or two about self-control from your iron-willed DaddyO.
     
    Well, time to work on Nellybelle. It’s been a bit tougher than I thought, but I’ve made great strides. I should have her up and running any day now.
     
    Love ’n’ snuggles from
Daddy
     
     
    To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: The Most Infuriating Man
     
    Your father is the most infuriating man. All I asked for was a teensy Oreo, and you’d think I’d asked him to break into Fort Knox. Yes, I know I told him