Now all I had to do was dash across the reception area to Joy’s inner office.
But how? Joy had relinquished her grip on Greg, who was now surrounded by a gaggle of admirers. Which meant Joy was back on patrol duty, eyes in the back of her head on high alert. I couldn’t risk having her see me put down my tray and leave the room.
I continued to perform waitress duty for the next half hour or so. Every time I looked over at Joy, I saw her glaring at me.
Good Lord, did she have nothing better to do than make sure I didn’t eat one of her precious hors d’oeuvres?
I was beginning to think I’d never escape her eagle eyes when at last I got a break.
Having run out of hors d’oeuvres, I went to the kitchen to get a refill. But Carl was running behind, and the latest batch of goodies—spinach and cheese-filled filo dough—was still baking.
When Joy saw me coming out from the kitchen with an empty tray, she went ballistic.
“What the hell is wrong with that guy?” she exploded. “That’s the last time I ever hire an ex-con to cater a party.”
So Cassie was right. Carl was an ex-con!
As Joy took off to the kitchen to give him hell, I threw my empty tray down on the bar and charged out past the reception area into Joy’s office.
I practically wept with relief at the sight of her laptop on her desk.
Plopping my fanny in her antique desk chair, I typed her password into her e-mail account.
Bingo! I was in.
With trembling fingers, I clicked onto her e-mails. There it was. My Dates of Joy brochure.
I opened the e-mail and scrolled down to see E. Fudd, H. Lecter, and the rest of the gang smiling up at me.
“Sorry, guys,” I muttered. “You’re history.”
And then, with the greatest of pleasure, I zapped my slanderous brochure to oblivion.
Mission accomplished.
True, I would have to face the wrath of Joy for not getting the brochure in on time, but that was a small price to pay. In fact, if I hurried home from the party and re-sent the e-mail later that night, she’d probably never even know the difference.
I sat back, limp with relief, when I noticed Joy’s prized Godivas on her desk. I was just about to do the unthinkable and reach for one when I heard footsteps thundering toward Joy’s office.
Oh, crud. They sounded an awful lot like Jimmy Choos on a rampage.
“Shut up, Tonio!” cried an unmistakable voice.
It was Joy, all right.
I looked around for a place to hide and saw absolutely nothing.
So I hurled myself under Joy’s desk. Thank heavens it had a blocked front.
Curled up with my knees rammed into my chest, I looked around and saw that I was surrounded by dust bunnies the size of Chihuahuas—not to mention a moldy pair of slippers and an old M&M’s wrapper.
There I was, cowering amid the dust bunnies, breathing in the heady aroma of Joy’s foot funk, when the door banged open.
“Joy, honey!” Tonio was wailing. “I can explain everything.”
“Forget it, Tonio,” I heard Joy snarl in reply. “I know what you did, and I’m turning you in to the authorities.”
“But, sugarplum!”
“Don’t sugarplum me, you low-life greaseball!”
As I listened avidly to this heated exchange, wondering what on earth Tonio had done to stir up Joy’s wrath, I suddenly felt my nose begin to itch. Oh, hell. I was going to sneeze!
Damn those dust bunnies!
Quickly I pressed my finger under my nose, trying desperately to stem the explosion that was building up inside.
“Can’t we please just talk this over?” Tonio pleaded.
“Too late. We’re through. Finito. You’ll never go shopping at Barneys again!”
“But, Joy—”
“I can’t waste any more time talking about this. I’ve got to get back to the party.”
Yes! Go! Go back to the party!
I waited for the sounds of her designer-clad feet stomping out the door, but I waited in vain.
“No, wait,” she was saying. “I need an aspirin.”
An aspirin? Couldn’t she just suffer like everyone around her?
“Dealing with all those pathetic losers out there has given me a splitting headache.”
Then before I knew it, she was sitting at her desk, her Jimmy Choos just inches from my torturously itchy nose.
Please, Lord. Don’t let her look down and see me!
I sat there, crunched in a ball and staring at Joy’s toe cleavage as she rummaged around, slamming desk drawers, looking for her dratted aspirin.
By now the itch in my nose was unbearable.
Any minute now I’d be sneezing on her Jimmy Choos!
“Oh, here it is!” she finally said, music to my ears.
Rattling her aspirin bottle, she got up and headed for the door, but not before grabbing a Godiva for the road.
“Thank God for chocolate,” I heard her mutter, her mouth full of candy. “That’s one thing I can always count on.”
“But, honey bun,” Tonio cooed, “you know you can always count on me, too.”
“Don’t make me laugh.” Joy snorted.
And off she stomped, Tonio at her heels, begging for another chance to talk things over.
Finally, I was alone. Just me, the dust bunnies, and Joy’s stinky slippers.
I took my finger out from under my nose, prepared to let loose with a Vesuvius-sized explosion.
But wouldn’t you know?
Now that Joy was gone, I didn’t have to sneeze anymore.
After waiting a few minutes to make sure Joy and Tonio were not returning for an encore performance, I unfurled myself from my fetal position and crawled out from under the desk.
So eager was I to get the heck out of there that I foolishly raced into the reception area without checking to see if the coast was clear—only to bump smack dab into Greg Stanton.
Oh, foo. I couldn’t risk having him tell Joy I’d been skulking around in her office.
“Hi, there!” I chirped, trying my best to look wide-eyed and innocent. “I suppose you’re wondering what I was doing in Joy’s office.”
“Not really.”
“Just in case you were, I was looking for my purse. I thought I might have left it there. So that’s what I was doing. Just looking for my purse is all. You know how it is, you put your purse down one minute and the next you can’t remember where the heck it is. Then again, I guess you wouldn’t know. It’s a lady thing.”
I tend to babble when I’m nervous.
“Well, I hope you find it.”
“Find what?”
“Your purse.”
“Oh, right. My purse.”
He shot me a most skeptical look, and I could feel his gorgeous blue eyes boring into my back as I trotted off to the party.
In spite of my encounter with Greg, I returned to the mixer in remarkably high spirits.
I had, after all, deleted that godawful e-mail!
The clouds of doom had lifted. I saw sunshine! I saw rainbows! Oh, hell. I saw Skip Holmeier III.
There he was, toupee akimbo, scarfing down hors d’oeuvres from Cassie’s tray.
I prayed that somehow he’d developed a mad crush on her in my absence, but that was not to be.
As if guided by radar, he turned around and spotted me instantly. And before you could say “Your toupee looks like Shredded Wheat,” he was at my side.
“Jaine, my dear! I was hoping you’d be here. Let’s find a secluded corner and chat. I’ve brought pictures of Miss Marple!”
For the first time I was grateful that Joy had roped me in as her indentured servant. It was the perfect excuse to keep Skip at bay.
“Sounds like oodles of fun, Skip, but I can’t spend any time with you tonight. I’m afraid I’m on waitress duty.”
With a feeble wave good-bye, I grabbed my tray from where I’d left it on the bar and zoomed off to the kitchen t
o load up on hors d’oeuvres.
When I came back out, Skip was over in a corner, talking with a very shaken Tonio.
Once more I wondered what Tonio had done to make Joy so angry.
And as it happened, Joy was about to get a whole lot angrier.
Because just then Alyce Winters, swathed in a bright red spandex sheath, came slithering into the room, her raven extensions wriggling likes snakes on her shoulders.
She looked a hell of a lot tougher than the day I’d last seen her crying in the parking lot.
Strolling over to me, she plucked an hors d’oeuvre from my tray.
Nearby I could hear what sounded like a bull bellowing.
It was Joy, of course, her face almost as red as her dress.
Now she came roaring over to us.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” she hissed at Alyce. “I already told you. You’re banned from the club.”
“I spent my last ten thousand dollars on your worthless service,” Alyce replied, not bothering to lower her voice. “The least I can get out of it is a crummy hors d’oeuvre.”
She took a bite and wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“And I do mean crummy.”
“Get out of here!” Joy sputtered. “This instant!”
The veins on her neck were throbbing, and in spite of Joy’s attempt to keep her voice lowered, people were beginning to look.
“I want my ten thousand dollars back,” Alyce said, not moving an inch.
“Over my dead body!” Joy hissed.
“Sounds like a plan,” Alyce replied with a cool smile.
That did it. Alyce had pressed the right button. Now Joy was in fighting mode, swinging her arm back like she was going to slug Alyce Winters right in her nose job.
But after their set-to in the parking lot, Alyce knew what she was up against. Before Joy could make a move, Alyce reached out and grabbed Joy’s wrist, then twisted it behind her back.
Joy winced in pain.
“You can’t keep treating people the way you do, Joy. Not anymore. I’m going to put a stop to you.”
Then she dropped Joy’s wrist, turned on her heel, and walked out the door.
For once, Joy was at a loss for words. Was it my imagination, or did I see a flash of fear in her eyes? She stood there, rubbing her wrist, until she realized everyone was looking at her.
“Do forgive that ghastly intrusion,” she said, piling on her British accent with a trowel. “A former member of the club. Mentally disturbed. Most distressing. But we mustn’t let that upset us, must we? Let’s party on!”
Then she faked her brightest smile and plunged back into the crowd, in full-tilt damage control mode.
Out from under her radarscope, I headed to the bar to thank Travis for helping me with Joy’s password. And, not incidentally, to nab a wee sip of cheap champagne.
But when I got to the bar, Travis was nowhere in sight.
So I helped myself to the tiniest sip of Château Rite Aid, and thus fortified, continued making the rounds with my hors d’oeuvres—careful to avoid Skip, who had poor Tonio cornered, boring him senseless with anecdotes about his dearly departed Miss Marple.
By now I was starving. It had been ages since I’d wolfed down those two pot stickers at home (okay, four). I looked around the room and realized to my delight that Joy was nowhere in sight.
Hallelujah! I reached down for one of the hors d’oeuvres on my tray, a plump filo dough pastry bursting with cheese, and was about to pop it in my mouth when suddenly Joy came storming into the room, holding out her Godiva box.
“Who ate my chocolates?”
Her voice rattled the room like a sonic boom.
“Just a little while ago,” she shrieked, “there were twelve chocolates in this box. And now there’s only one!”
Omigosh. She was having another Godiva Meltdown!
She held up the empty Godiva box in one hand and the lone chocolate in the other.
“Who the hell ate my chocolates?” she screeched again.
Everyone just stared at her, too stunned to speak.
“Whoever did it,” Joy said, her massive bosom heaving, “is blackballed from Dates of Joy for life!”
With that, she popped the lone chocolate in her mouth.
For a brief instant, I allowed myself to hope that this small dose of chocolate would calm her down and make her see that life was worth living. I know it always works that way for me.
But that, alas, was not to be.
Seconds after she swallowed it, she clutched her stomach and fell to the floor, writhing in pain.
People began screaming and reaching for their cell phones. Everywhere I looked, desperate singles were calling 911.
“Joy, sweetheart!” Tonio cried, racing to her side. “Are you okay?”
“Of course not, you idiot,” Joy gasped.
As it turned out, those were her last words.
By the time the paramedics got there, Joy was dead.
Poisoned, as I would later learn, by a lethal dose of cyanide.
At long last, someone had taken the Joy out of dating.
YOU’VE GOT MAIL!
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Arby’s, Here We Come!
Would you believe Daddy forgot to make reservations at Le Chateaubriand? I only reminded him about 382 times. He insists he’ll be able to get us a table. Oh, sure. At the last minute on Valentine’s Day? Like that’s ever going to happen!
Arby’s, here we come.
XOXO,
Mom
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Oops!
With all the Sturm und Drang of dealing with Lester “The Gasbag Romeo” Pinkus, I forgot to make dinner reservations at Le Chateaubriand.
But fear not, Lambchop! I know how to grease a palm or two.
Love ’n’ snuggles from
Your ever-resourceful,
Daddy
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Worst Valentine’s Ever!
Of course there weren’t any tables available when we got to Le Chateaubriand. I knew there wouldn’t be. Daddy tried to slip the maître d’ some money to get us a table, but the maître d’ just flipped his quarter right back at him.
We were about to leave when Lydia Pinkus came running up to us. She and Lester had a lovely table by the window, and Lydia invited us to join them. I felt sort of funny about it, after those two dozen roses from my “Secret Admirer,” but Lydia insisted.
Daddy looked none too happy as we headed across the room, but I made him promise to behave himself.
I was a fool to think he’d keep his word. He spent the entire meal glaring at Lester and muttering under his breath. When Lester made a harmless reference to his days as an amateur boxer, Daddy began bragging about his “grueling victories” on his college Ping-Pong team.
Worse, he took out his new Belgian Army Knife, the one I was crazy enough to give him for Valentine’s Day, and kept talking about how the nose-hair trimmer could “kill a man” under the right circumstances.
He insisted on using the built-in corkscrew to open our bottle of wine and proceeded to shove the cork straight into the bottle. We spent the whole night picking pieces of cork off our tongues.
Daddy made a big show of giving me my Valentine’s gift at the table, which turned out to be a beautiful pink cubic zirconia ring. (Daddy insists it’s a diamond, but it sure looked like CZ to me.)
“From your not-so-secret admirer,” he said as he handed me the ring, giving Lester the evil eye.
Lydia, always gracious in any social situation, made a big fuss over my ring and tried to keep the conversation going, but it was tough sledding, what with Daddy shooting dirty looks at Lester every few seconds.
After a while, things got so tense that Lester excused himself and went to chat with Edna Lindstrom and Grace Vincent, who were sitting at a nearby table with som
e of the other Tampa Vistas gals. I only wished I were sitting there with them.
Eventually he came back, and I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room. I’m afraid I may have had a wee bit too much wine (so much stress!) and it just raced right through me.
When I came back, I could see Lydia was at her wit’s end, watching Daddy demonstrate the built-in callus remover on his Belgian Army Knife.
She excused herself and scooted off to the ladies’ room. Everybody except Daddy was using any excuse in the book to get away from that awful dinner table. I myself was so upset, I couldn’t eat a bite of the hot fudge sundae Daddy ordered for dessert. Well, okay, maybe I had a wee bit of ice cream. With a tad of fudge sauce. And maybe a few nuts. And a dollop of whipped cream. But that’s all. I swear.
And wouldn’t you know? I spilled fudge sauce on my brand new Georgie O. Armani jacket.
I swear, honey, it had to be the worst Valentine’s ever!
Mom
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Bit of a Disappointment
Well, Lambchop, I must confess Valentine’s Dinner was a bit of a disappointment. Your mom and I were forced to share a table with the Stinky Pinkuses—Lydia and her perfidious gasbag of a brother, Lester.
But I showed him a thing or two.
I’m sure he was impressed with the way I opened our wine bottle with my Belgian Army Knife. And I know I put the fear of God in him when I showed him the lethal power of my nose-hair trimmer.
Killing Cupid (A Jaine Austen Mystery) Page 7
