hundred dollars a week?”
Barely minimum wage, but it was better than the absolute zero I was currently earning.
“I’ll be right over.”
I threw on some clothes, fed Prozac her morning mackerel guts, and headed out the door, almost tripping over the L.A. Times on my front step.
Frenchie’s murder was headline news: Woman Slain in La Brea Boutique . According to the story, the cops hadn’t made an arrest, but had a suspect they were investigating. I checked to see if my name was mentioned in the article, but all it said was that an unidentified woman had discovered the body. Good. The last thing I needed was for my parents to get wind of my involvement in the murder.
I started down the path to my Corolla when Lance came bounding out of his apartment.
“So, did you take the case?” he asked.
“Yes. In fact I’m going over to Becky’s right now.”
“Wait! Before you leave, you’ve got to tell me all about discovering the body. Don’t leave out a single gruesome detail! Is it true what I read in the paper, that she was killed with a shoe?”
I nodded. “One of her Jimmy Choo knockoffs.”
“Wow,” he said, whistling softly. “Talk about your shoes to die for.”
I filled him in on the gruesome details of my discovery, then got in my Corolla and headed over to Becky’s.
I was tempted to stop off for an Egg McMuffin en route. But no way was I going to do it. Not after last night’s jelly donut fiasco. Instead, I had a hearty breakfast of three Wint-O-Green LifeSavers I found at the bottom of my purse.
So it was with minty-fresh breath that, fifteen minutes later, I rang Becky’s doorbell. Becky answered the door in shorts and a tank top, those absurd daisies still painted on her toenails. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and her hair was flat on one side of her head from where she’d slept on it.
“Oh, Jaine,” she said. “I’m so glad you came.”
I followed her into the living room, where she sunk down into the sofa. I sat across from her on one of her black Halloween chairs.
At which point her roommate, Nina, came bustling out of the kitchen in a sweatsuit, carrying a tray. Even the baggy sweats couldn’t hide her perfect little figure.
“Here, Beck,” she said. “I brought you some chamomile tea, and a gluten-free muffin.” She looked at the muffin and wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. These things are like cement with raisins.”
Becky took the tea and smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Nina.”
“I bought some cheese Danishes, too. Sure you don’t want one?”
Becky shook her head no.
“How about you, Jaine?” Nina held out a plate of plump cheese Danishes.
No way was I going to eat a Danish. Not with those jelly donuts already clinging to my thighs. For once, I was going to be strong and say no. Capital N. Capital O.
“Sure,” I said, grabbing one.
What can I say? I can’t take me anywhere.
Nina sat on the sofa next to Becky.
“So, Jaine,” she said. “I heard you found the body. How awful.”
“It sure was.”
“Stabbed in the neck. What a terrible way to die,” she said. “I once heard about a guy who was fatally stabbed by a shish kabob skewer. It was at an all-you-can-eat Iranian buffet, and the poor guy tripped on his way back to his table. Impaled himself on his own shish kabob.”
My God. First the story about the petrified poop. And now this. The woman was a walking encyclopedia of medical horror stories.
“Nina, please,” Becky said, shuddering.
“Sorry, hon. I’m such an idiot. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She put her arm around Becky and gave her a squeeze.
“Poor kid,” she said, turning to me. “She’s been crying all morning.”
As if to prove it, Becky’s eyes welled with a fresh batch of tears.
“It’s all so crazy,” Nina said. “Becky didn’t kill Frenchie. She couldn’t have. Becky wouldn’t hurt a fly. Really, she won’t even kill a spider. She picks them up with a paper towel and sets them free out front on the
Barely minimum wage, but it was better than the absolute zero I was currently earning.
“I’ll be right over.”
I threw on some clothes, fed Prozac her morning mackerel guts, and headed out the door, almost tripping over the L.A. Times on my front step.
Frenchie’s murder was headline news: Woman Slain in La Brea Boutique . According to the story, the cops hadn’t made an arrest, but had a suspect they were investigating. I checked to see if my name was mentioned in the article, but all it said was that an unidentified woman had discovered the body. Good. The last thing I needed was for my parents to get wind of my involvement in the murder.
I started down the path to my Corolla when Lance came bounding out of his apartment.
“So, did you take the case?” he asked.
“Yes. In fact I’m going over to Becky’s right now.”
“Wait! Before you leave, you’ve got to tell me all about discovering the body. Don’t leave out a single gruesome detail! Is it true what I read in the paper, that she was killed with a shoe?”
I nodded. “One of her Jimmy Choo knockoffs.”
“Wow,” he said, whistling softly. “Talk about your shoes to die for.”
I filled him in on the gruesome details of my discovery, then got in my Corolla and headed over to Becky’s.
I was tempted to stop off for an Egg McMuffin en route. But no way was I going to do it. Not after last night’s jelly donut fiasco. Instead, I had a hearty breakfast of three Wint-O-Green LifeSavers I found at the bottom of my purse.
So it was with minty-fresh breath that, fifteen minutes later, I rang Becky’s doorbell. Becky answered the door in shorts and a tank top, those absurd daisies still painted on her toenails. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and her hair was flat on one side of her head from where she’d slept on it.
“Oh, Jaine,” she said. “I’m so glad you came.”
I followed her into the living room, where she sunk down into the sofa. I sat across from her on one of her black Halloween chairs.
At which point her roommate, Nina, came bustling out of the kitchen in a sweatsuit, carrying a tray. Even the baggy sweats couldn’t hide her perfect little figure.
“Here, Beck,” she said. “I brought you some chamomile tea, and a gluten-free muffin.” She looked at the muffin and wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. These things are like cement with raisins.”
Becky took the tea and smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Nina.”
“I bought some cheese Danishes, too. Sure you don’t want one?”
Becky shook her head no.
“How about you, Jaine?” Nina held out a plate of plump cheese Danishes.
No way was I going to eat a Danish. Not with those jelly donuts already clinging to my thighs. For once, I was going to be strong and say no. Capital N. Capital O.
“Sure,” I said, grabbing one.
What can I say? I can’t take me anywhere.
Nina sat on the sofa next to Becky.
“So, Jaine,” she said. “I heard you found the body. How awful.”
“It sure was.”
“Stabbed in the neck. What a terrible way to die,” she said. “I once heard about a guy who was fatally stabbed by a shish kabob skewer. It was at an all-you-can-eat Iranian buffet, and the poor guy tripped on his way back to his table. Impaled himself on his own shish kabob.”
My God. First the story about the petrified poop. And now this. The woman was a walking encyclopedia of medical horror stories.
“Nina, please,” Becky said, shuddering.
“Sorry, hon. I’m such an idiot. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She put her arm around Becky and gave her a squeeze.
“Poor kid,” she said, turning to me. “She’s been crying all morning.”
As if to prove it, Becky’s eyes welled with a fresh batch of tears.
“It’s all so crazy,” Nina said. “Becky didn’t kill Frenchie. She couldn’t have. Becky wouldn’t hurt a fly. Really, she won’t even kill a spider. She picks them up with a paper towel and sets them free out front on the
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