by Laura Levine
What was wrong, as it turned out, was the fatal dose of weed killer someone had slipped in Bunny’s martini.
But we didn’t know that then.
All we knew then was that she’d stopped breathing.
By the time the ambulance showed up, she was dead as last year’s fashions.
Chapter 12
The media called it The Dirty Martini Murder.
Traces of cyanide had been found in both Bunny’s stomach and her martini glass. The same kind of cyanide commonly found in weed killer.
Bunny’s drink was fine before she left for the patio with Lance. I’d seen her drink from it. So the way I figured it, whoever did it must’ve slipped the poison in Bunny’s martini while everyone was huddled around the guest bathroom gawking at me in The Great Guest Bathroom Fiasco.
It would have been easy enough to do. The weed killer was right there on the patio where the gardener had left it. Ready for the taking. And after that scene Bunny made with Lupe over her Marilyn Monroe glass, everyone at the party knew exactly which glass she’d been drinking from. How ironic. If only she hadn’t been so insistent on drinking out of that damn glass, she might never have been killed. Not that night, anyway.
Naturally, I was overwhelmed with grief. Not over Bunny’s death. I was sorry she was dead, of course, but it was hard to work up any real tears over such a dreadful woman.
No, the death I was mourning was the Mattress King account. Marvin would never hire me now, not after the havoc I’d wreaked in his guest bathroom.
It was back to toilet bowl ads for moi.
I was sitting on my sofa a few days later, eating peanut butter—one of nature’s most comforting comfort foods—straight from the jar. Prozac was sprawled out beside me, staring fixedly at her genitals, enjoying a brief siesta between naps.
“Oh, Pro,” I sighed. “It would’ve been so nice to get that account.”
Tearing her gaze away from her privates, she looked up at me with big green eyes that seemed to say:
Can I try some of that peanut butter?
This tender moment was interrupted by a loud pounding at my front door.
I got up to answer it and found Lance, breathless with excitement.
“Big news!”
“What?”
But he was not about to tell me.
“What are you eating?” he asked, catching sight of my Skippy jar.
Uh-oh. I felt a lecture coming on.
“Peanut butter. Extra chunky.”
“For breakfast?” A tsk of disapproval.
“Yes. I was all out of cold pizza.”
“Very amusing. But don’t come whining to me when you can’t fit into anything except elastic-waist pants.”
What did I tell you? A lecture.
“Lance, I happen to like my elastic-waist pants. You’re the only one who whines about them. Now are we are going to stand around discussing my eating habits, or are you going to tell me your news?”
“Oh, right,” he said, plopping down on my sofa. “I just heard it on the radio. The cops have someone they want to bring in for questioning in Bunny’s murder.”
“Who?”
“They didn’t say. But my money’s on Lupe. She probably did it when she went to get Bunny her drink.”
My heart sank at the thought of poor little Lupe being hauled off to jail.
“I don’t know, Lance. I just can’t picture Lupe as a killer. The woman is afraid of her own shadow.”
“Okay, then. What about Sarah? She detested Bunny. Remember that scene she made at the party? Frankly, I’m surprised she didn’t strangle her right then and there.”
It turned out it was neither Lupe nor Sarah. As we were about to discover not three seconds later when there was another knock on my door.
I opened it to find two guys in shiny suits standing on my doorstep.
“May I help you?” I smiled.
“Yes, ma’am,” replied one of them, a hulking bear of a guy, his gut just a millimeter away from popping a suit button.
He whipped out a badge from his wallet and introduced himself.
“Detective Perlmutter, L.A.P.D.”
Omigod! I was the one they were bringing in for questioning!
I was speechless. Part of it was the peanut butter stuck to the roof of my mouth, but most of it was sheer terror. The cops must’ve heard how I’d wrecked Bunny’s bathroom. Maybe they thought that I’d done it on purpose, that I was her enemy, out to annihilate not only her bathroom fixtures, but Bunny herself!
“I swear I didn’t do it!” I wailed, regaining my powers of speech. “I couldn’t have! I was in the bathroom the entire time Bunny’s drink was out on the patio! You can’t possibly suspect me.”
“Don’t worry, Jaine.” Lance hurried to my side. “I’ll get you the best attorney money can buy. I know a real barracuda, the guy who sued my chiropractor. We’ll take this thing all the way to the Supreme Court, if need be.”
“I’d hold that call to the Supreme Court if I were you,” Detective Perlmutter advised. “We’re not accusing you of anything, ma’am. Who are you, anyway?”
“You don’t know?” I blinked, puzzled.
“I think her name is Jaine Austen, Frank.”
Perlmutter’s partner, an only marginally thinner version of Perlmutter, checked a list of names on a clipboard.
“She’s on the guest list. The one who broke the bathroom sink.”
“I did not break the sink! I broke the faucet. And the mirror. And a jar of hand cream. But that’s all. And I swear, I didn’t kill anyone!”
“Okay, okay. Calm down. We’re looking for your neighbor. Lance Venable.”
Next to me, Lance gasped.
“We just rang his bell, but he’s not in. He hasn’t left town, has he?”
I shook my head.
“Do you have any idea where he is?”
“I’m Lance Venable,” Lance squeaked.
“We have a few questions we’d like to ask you.”
“No problem, fellas,” Lance said, pasting on a phony smile. “But right now I’m late for my Pilates class. Can we do this another time? Say next week? Why don’t you give me your card and I’ll give you a buzz.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, sir.”
The two detectives stood shoulder to shoulder, like twin rottweilers, blocking any possible escape.
“We need you to come with us to headquarters now.”
I stood there, speechless, as they carted him away.
Needless to say, I was beyond stunned. Why on earth were the cops interested in Lance? He had zero motive to kill Bunny. After all, she’d been one of his most valued customers at Neiman’s.
I got my answer when he staggered back to my apartment later that morning.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he said, slouching in my armchair, his normally tight blond curls wilted under the morning’s stress. “Bunny left me her Maserati in her will. Apparently it’s worth a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars.”
Let’s all pause for a moment of righteous indignation, shall we, at the thought of anyone spending a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars on a car when certain people were starving in Africa and certain other people’s orange walls needed desperately to be painted.
“The cops think I killed her to get my hands on the car.”
“But you didn’t even know she’d left it to you.”
“That’s what I told them,” he sighed. “But I don’t think they believed me.”
“Surely she left money to other people in her will.”
“Not really. She had no money of her own. It was all in Marvin’s name. All she owned of value was that car. And I got it.”
He slouched down farther in the chair.
“And it just gets worse. Apparently someone at the party saw me stay out on the patio after Bunny came inside.”
I gulped in dismay.
“You were alone out on the balcony with her drink?”
>
“I needed some peace and quiet. A little bit of Bunny goes a long way. I only stayed outside a minute or two. And I swear, I didn’t touch that drink.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“Oh, Jaine,” he moaned, raking his fingers through his hair. “They’re going to arrest me. I can just feel it. I don’t want to go to jail for a crime I didn’t commit!
“I know!” he exclaimed, jumping up. “I’ll grab a plane to Bora Bora and hide out in the jungle. Assuming they have jungles in Bora Bora. I can live off the fruit of the land. I’ve always wanted to live in the South Pacific. The weather’s nice and hot. And so are the guys. So what if I’m ten thousand miles from the nearest Barney’s? I’ll adjust.”
“Lance, don’t you think you’re overreacting just a tad?”
“You’re right. I can’t go running all the way to Bora Bora. That’s crazy. I’ll hide out closer to home. In the Amazon. Just me and the alligators. They’ll never find me there!”
“Lance! Get a grip! Just because the police brought you in for questioning doesn’t mean they’re going to arrest you! I’m sure they’re going to be questioning lots of people before this is all over.”
“You think so?”
“I know so,” I said, knowing no such thing. “In the meanwhile, why don’t I snoop around and see if I can come up with any juicy suspects?”
For those of you who don’t already know, snooping around and finding juicy suspects happens to be a hobby of mine. A dangerous one, to be sure, right up there with bungee jumping and bikini waxing. But it’s something to keep me occupied between toilet bowl ads.
“Oh, Jaine,” Lance said, a faint ray of hope shining in his eyes. “You are such a doll. I promise I will never lecture you about calories or clothing ever again.”
Poor guy had such a rough morning, I pretended to believe him.
Chapter 13
First on my list of suspects was Sarah, the seething stepdaughter. Having watched Bunny slither her way into Marvin’s life and destroy her family, had Sarah decided to get rid of her with a deadly martini? And yet, why make such a scene at the party and draw attention to herself if she’d just dropped a dose of cyanide in Bunny’s drink? Maybe she was so full of rage, she just couldn’t stop herself.
I tracked down her phone number at the UCLA chemistry department and left a message on her voice mail, telling her I needed to see her about an urgent matter.
She returned my call the next morning and said she could squeeze me in between chem labs early that afternoon.
And Sarah wasn’t the only one who called. I’m happy to report I also heard from the gang at Toiletmasters, who gave me a much-appreciated assignment. I got started on it right away and spent the next few hours churning out a stirring opus called You and Your Septic Tank. Then, after a nutritious lunch of Cheerios and halibut guts (Cheerios for me, halibut guts for Prozac), I got ready to head over to UCLA.
I was just slapping on some lipstick when Lance shuffled over to my apartment in his bathrobe, blond stubble on his unshaven face, his hair a rat’s nest of tangled curls. Not a good sign. This was a guy who usually mousses to answer the phone.
“My gosh, Lance. What’s wrong?”
“Horrible news,” he sighed, sinking down onto my sofa.
“Not the cops again?”
“No. Neiman’s. They found out about my little visit to police headquarters and they’ve put me on a temporary leave of absence.”
He looked up at me, misery oozing from every pore.
“Got any of that peanut butter?”
“Of course! You want some gherkins with that? They’re really quite yummy together.”
“I’m depressed, Jaine. Not pregnant. Just the peanut butter.”
I went to the kitchen to get him the peanut butter, and when I got back I found Prozac curled in his lap, nuzzling her head in the crook of his arm.
“Oh, Pro, sweetie,” Lance crooned. “You’re such a comfort to your old Uncle Lance.”
Why the heck couldn’t she do this loving angel routine with me? When I’ve got a problem, she’s about as comforting as an ingrown toenail.
“Here you go,” I said, handing him the peanut butter.
I watched as he took a listless spoonful.
“Please don’t worry, Lance. Everything’s going to be fine. I’ve got my investigation under way. In fact, I’m about to go question Sarah Cooper.”
“You are?” Suddenly he perked up. “Hey, I’ve got a great idea! Why don’t I go with you?”
“Gee, I dunno—”
“We’ll be partners. Like Spade and Archer! Nick and Nora! Charlie Chan and his Number One Son!”
“But you’ve got to know how to question people.”
“Sweetie, I’m a people person. I deal with people all day long. Besides,” he said, flashing me a pitiful puppy dog look, “I’m going out of my mind with boredom.”
“Okay,” I relented. “Why not?”
“Great!” He jumped up. “I’ll go get dressed. What are you wearing?”
“This.”
He eyed my elastic-waist jeans and L.L. Bean blazer ensemble with undisguised disdain.
“You’re wearing that to an investigation? Nora Charles wouldn’t be caught dead in that.”
“What happened to never nagging me about my clothes again?”
“Oh, please, sweetheart, we both knew that was never going to happen. You really intend to wear that ghastly outfit?”
“Yes, I intend to wear this perfectly serviceable outfit. I’m the boss of this team and I’ll wear what I want. And if you expect to tag along as my humble assistant, you’d better keep your lips zipped. Got it?”
“Okay, okay. You needn’t be so snarky to your dear friend who might soon be going to jail.”
He sure knew how to play the prison card, didn’t he?
“Just go get ready,” I said. “We don’t want to be late.”
Fifteen minutes later, he showed up at my apartment impeccably groomed and moussed to perfection, and the detective team of Austen & Venable started out on their very first case.
Stanley had an easier time finding Dr. Livingstone than most people have finding a parking spot at UCLA.
A helpful student at the information kiosk directed us to a lot somewhere between Sunset Boulevard and Outer Mongolia. And after forking over a hefty fee that in some schools would qualify as tuition, we found a spot deep in the bowels of the earth. From there we made the endless trek across campus to Sarah’s lab and showed up just as Sarah’s students were filing out.
As I gazed around the fluorescent-lit room, taking in the beakers and burners and cornucopia of chemicals, I realized how easy it would have been for Sarah to get her hands on a batch of deadly cyanide. Heck, I bet she could whip some up on her lunch hour.
She stood at the front of the room in a lab coat, talking with a lanky, dark-skinned guy in his late twenties. Seeing us standing in the doorway, she motioned us inside.
“Hi, guys!”
And for the first time since I’d met her, I saw a smile on her face. A big, bright, perky one. What a far cry from the angry woman who’d reamed into Bunny the night of the murder.
“This is Zubin, my teaching assistant,” she said.
The guy in the lab coat nodded hello.
“Just give me a few minutes with these people, Zubin, and then we can set up for the next lab.”
How comfortable and self-assured she seemed in this academic setting, away from the glitz and glitter of the party circuit.
“So what was this urgent matter you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked when Zubin had gone.
“Bunny’s murder,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am.” Lance stepped forward, suddenly channeling Detective Perlmutter. “We have some questions we’d like to ask you.”
He clamped his arms across his chest, much like Perlmutter had done before carting him off to police headquarters.
But if he expected to intimidate Sarah,
he was sadly mistaken. She looked up from the test tubes she’d been lining up on a tray.
“What do you mean, you have questions? Who died and made you two the police?”
It looked like Angry Sarah was alive and well, after all.
“Actually, Sarah,” I said, stepping in. “I do some private investigating on a part-time basis.”
“You? The woman who can’t even wash her hands without demolishing a bathroom?”
Okay, so she didn’t say that part about me demolishing a bathroom, but I could read the subtitles.
“And I’m her invaluable right hand man,” Lance preened.
Once more, she gawked in disbelief.
“But you’re the one they brought in for questioning.”
“That’s why we’re here,” I piped up, subtly shoving Lance aside. “We’re trying to clear Lance’s name. We’re wondering if you saw anyone loitering near Bunny’s drink the night of the party.”
“The only person I saw loitering near her drink was him,” she said, pointing to Lance. “Like I told the cops, he was out on the patio, all alone, while everyone else was gathered in the hallway.”
Lance’s eyes narrowed into angry slits.
“So you’re the one who ratted on me to the cops!”
“Yes, they asked me if I saw anyone out on the patio alone with Bunny’s drink, and I did. I saw you.”
“Well, how do we know you didn’t slip outside after I came in?” he huffed.
“Because I didn’t, that’s why.”
“Hearsay!” he cried, now channeling Perry Mason. “It’ll never hold up in court.”
“What are you talking about? That’s not hearsay.”
“She’s right, Lance,” I said. “It isn’t hearsay. So let’s just calm down and not make any rash accusations, shall we?”
But Lance was on a roll and was not about to stop.
“I submit that you saw me leave, and when the coast was clear, you crept outside and slipped the poison in Bunny’s drink.”
“I did not creep outside,” Sarah said with clenched jaw. “I followed everybody else to see what the commotion in the bathroom was all about.”
“I further submit that you’ve hated Bunny since the day she married your father, and that you took advantage of Jaine’s unfortunate plumbing mishap to get rid of Bunny once and for all!”
