me. Big deal. What’s it to you?”
Damn. Whatever goodwill I’d built had just gone sailing out the window.
“It’s just that the police stopped by to question me,” I said, putting on my tap shoes, “and I don’t know what to tell them if they ask me about you. I mean, I can’t lie and pretend I didn’t hear anything. So I was hoping you could explain what Joy meant when she said she was going to turn you in to the authorities.”
“Wait a minute. You don’t think I killed her to shut her up, do you?”
“No, of course not,” I lied. “But I’m afraid the cops might.”
“That’s crazy. For your information, Joy was threatening to report me to the DMV for driving without a license.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. I failed the written test a couple of years ago. I kept getting a blinking red light confused with a yellow light. Anyhow, I never went back to take the test again.”
“So you’ve been driving without a license all this time?”
“Yeah, and it drove Joy batty. I lied and told her I’d taken the test, and when she found out I hadn’t, she went ballistic. You know how she could get.”
Did I ever.
“So that’s it. That was her big threat. She was a crazy lady, but I loved her. And I would never dream of hurting her.”
And the tears welling in his eyes sure made it seem like he was telling the truth.
I was heading for my Corolla when a bright yellow VW Beetle came zooming into the parking lot and screeched to a halt in the spot next to mine.
Cassie sprang from the car, dressed head to toe in black leather, carrying a huge bouquet of dahlias.
“Did I miss the service?” she asked breathlessly.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Damn. I had to drive to three different flower shops before I finally found these dahlias.”
“How sweet of you, Cassie. They’re beautiful.”
“Joy hated dahlias,” she said with a sly grin. “I think I’ll go put them on her grave.”
And off she went, skipping along toward the graveyard.
Melts your heart, doesn’t it?
Chapter 12
“S eventeen dollars for a hamburger?!” I gasped, ogling the nosebleed expensive menu at Neiman Marcus’s fanciest restaurant.
Lance had taken me there for lunch to cheer me up, knowing that I was a tad down in the dumps over my status as an Official Murder Suspect.
All around us were stick-thin fashionistas pushing food around their plates, resting their Manolos, and garnering the energy for another round of kamikaze shopping.
I feared the fashion police were standing by in the kitchen, just waiting to arrest me for showing up in my L.L. Bean turtleneck.
“Don’t worry about the prices, hon,” Lance said with an expansive wave. “I’m using my employee discount. Order whatever you want. As long as it’s less than twenty bucks.”
That wiped out about two-thirds of the menu, but luckily, my burger still qualified.
“Okay, I’ll have the burger.”
A look of horror crossed his face.
“At nine hundred ninety calories?”
“How do you know how many calories it has?”
“It says so right on the menu.”
I looked down and saw that he was right. Underneath each item was a calorie count.
Talk about your guilt trips.
Well, it wasn’t going to work on me. When it comes to calories, my motto has always been, “The more, the merrier.” So when the waiter came to our table, I proudly ordered my burger, with extra ketchup.
Lance, after some severe tsk-tsking in my direction, ordered a sensible Mediterranean chopped salad (470 calories).
“I’m sorry I had to rush off the other day,” he said when our waiter was gone. “But I’m here for you now, sweetie. You have to fill me in on what happened with the police. Don’t leave out a single detail. Uncle Lance will hold your hand through this whole sordid ordeal.”
He reached across the table and took my hand in his.
“Well—” I began.
But before I could make it to Syllable Two, he gushed, “Aren’t they
Damn. Whatever goodwill I’d built had just gone sailing out the window.
“It’s just that the police stopped by to question me,” I said, putting on my tap shoes, “and I don’t know what to tell them if they ask me about you. I mean, I can’t lie and pretend I didn’t hear anything. So I was hoping you could explain what Joy meant when she said she was going to turn you in to the authorities.”
“Wait a minute. You don’t think I killed her to shut her up, do you?”
“No, of course not,” I lied. “But I’m afraid the cops might.”
“That’s crazy. For your information, Joy was threatening to report me to the DMV for driving without a license.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. I failed the written test a couple of years ago. I kept getting a blinking red light confused with a yellow light. Anyhow, I never went back to take the test again.”
“So you’ve been driving without a license all this time?”
“Yeah, and it drove Joy batty. I lied and told her I’d taken the test, and when she found out I hadn’t, she went ballistic. You know how she could get.”
Did I ever.
“So that’s it. That was her big threat. She was a crazy lady, but I loved her. And I would never dream of hurting her.”
And the tears welling in his eyes sure made it seem like he was telling the truth.
I was heading for my Corolla when a bright yellow VW Beetle came zooming into the parking lot and screeched to a halt in the spot next to mine.
Cassie sprang from the car, dressed head to toe in black leather, carrying a huge bouquet of dahlias.
“Did I miss the service?” she asked breathlessly.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Damn. I had to drive to three different flower shops before I finally found these dahlias.”
“How sweet of you, Cassie. They’re beautiful.”
“Joy hated dahlias,” she said with a sly grin. “I think I’ll go put them on her grave.”
And off she went, skipping along toward the graveyard.
Melts your heart, doesn’t it?
Chapter 12
“S eventeen dollars for a hamburger?!” I gasped, ogling the nosebleed expensive menu at Neiman Marcus’s fanciest restaurant.
Lance had taken me there for lunch to cheer me up, knowing that I was a tad down in the dumps over my status as an Official Murder Suspect.
All around us were stick-thin fashionistas pushing food around their plates, resting their Manolos, and garnering the energy for another round of kamikaze shopping.
I feared the fashion police were standing by in the kitchen, just waiting to arrest me for showing up in my L.L. Bean turtleneck.
“Don’t worry about the prices, hon,” Lance said with an expansive wave. “I’m using my employee discount. Order whatever you want. As long as it’s less than twenty bucks.”
That wiped out about two-thirds of the menu, but luckily, my burger still qualified.
“Okay, I’ll have the burger.”
A look of horror crossed his face.
“At nine hundred ninety calories?”
“How do you know how many calories it has?”
“It says so right on the menu.”
I looked down and saw that he was right. Underneath each item was a calorie count.
Talk about your guilt trips.
Well, it wasn’t going to work on me. When it comes to calories, my motto has always been, “The more, the merrier.” So when the waiter came to our table, I proudly ordered my burger, with extra ketchup.
Lance, after some severe tsk-tsking in my direction, ordered a sensible Mediterranean chopped salad (470 calories).
“I’m sorry I had to rush off the other day,” he said when our waiter was gone. “But I’m here for you now, sweetie. You have to fill me in on what happened with the police. Don’t leave out a single detail. Uncle Lance will hold your hand through this whole sordid ordeal.”
He reached across the table and took my hand in his.
“Well—” I began.
But before I could make it to Syllable Two, he gushed, “Aren’t they
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