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Authors: Laura Levine

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“Out walking,” I said.

Which technically was no lie. I had, after all, walked all the way from the deli to the pizza parlor.

“Is that so?” she asked, her voice dripping with skepticism.

She got up and took a step toward me.

Uh-oh. I felt a strip search coming on. But just then the phone rang. Olga stared at it longingly, torn between nabbing a diet scofflaw or a potential customer.

Thank heavens, the customer won.

“Oh, what the hell,” she said finally, waving me by to pick up the phone and trill a sugary hello to the caller.

One dragon down, one to go.

Needless to say, Prozac was more than a tad miffed when I got back to our room.

She looked up from where she’d been pacing and shot me a venomous glare.

What the heck took you so long?

“I’m so sorry I’m late, sweetheart. I was busy conducting an important investigation.”

She practically rolled her eyes at that one.

Oh, please. I can smell the sausage on your breath from here.

And without any further ado, she began yowling to be fed.

I reached into my cargo pockets, where I’d stashed several cans of Darryl’s gourmet cat food—along with a blueberry muffin, a turkey and swiss cheese sandwich, and a couple Almond Joys to get me through the next day.

“Look what Mommy got you, love bug!” I held up a can of cat food in triumph. “Hearty Halibut Entrails!”

Prozac swished her tail impatiently.

How many times do I have to tell you? You’re not my mommy. And don’t call me love bug! Just open the darn can before I start eating the carpet!

“I’m opening it right now!”

And that’s when tragedy struck.

When I looked down at the Hearty Halibut Entrails, I realized Darryl’s gourmet cat food didn’t come with a pop top.

And guess who forgot to buy a can opener?

Minutes later, I was frantically prowling the hallway, searching for Delphine. I found her in the supply closet, stocking her cart with M&N’s.

“Thank God you’re here!” I cried. “I need a can opener ASAP! Please tell me that you’ve got one!”

“This is your lucky day,” she said with a perky nod of her ponytail. “It just so happens I’m running a sale on can openers.”

She reached down into her cart and pulled out a rusty relic of a can opener, crusted with ancient food stains.

“How much?”

“For you, thirty bucks.”

“Thirty bucks?” I blinked in outrage. “For a used can opener?”

“Better make up your mind. Sale ends soon. Then it goes up to fifty.”

“That’s highway robbery!” I shrieked.

“So I’ve been told,” she smiled blandly.

I was all set to storm off in a huff and go back to Darryl’s, but then I remembered Darryl had closed up shop. Of course it was possible he’d opened again after I left him in the parking lot, but I couldn’t risk it. Heaven help me if the deli was closed and I came back without that can opener. Prozac would probably make me open the darn can with my teeth.

“Tick tock, tick tock,” Delphine said, pointing at her watch.

“Wait a minute,” I sighed. “I’ll get my checkbook.”

Thirty dollars later, Prozac was burying her little pink nose in a can of Hearty Halibut Entrails.

And I was writing a very nasty e-mail to Lance.

YOU’VE GOT MAIL

To: Jausten

From: DaddyO

Subject: The Great Debate

Fantastic news, lambchop! I’ve challenged the battleaxe to a debate! Not only that, it’s going to be televised live on Tampa Vistas’ closed circuit TV. At long last I’ll be able to expose Lydia Pinkus for the petty tyrant she really is.

I don’t care what your mom says—
PINKUS STINKS!

More later,

XXX

Daddy (aka “Mr. President”)

To: Jausten

From: Shoptillyoudrop

Subject: On the Warpath

I suppose Daddy’s told you about his debate with Lydia. Somehow he managed to talk Artie Myers into televising the debate live on Channel 99, Tampa Vistas’ closed circuit TV station. Artie’s the fellow in charge of Channel 99 programming. Which is mostly just a list of clubhouse activities and items for sale. But occasionally they do broadcasts. Last year, they shot George and Gloria Martin’s 50th wedding anniversary, which turned quite dramatic when the happy couple got into the most horrible fight about George’s habit of sucking his teeth which Gloria said had been driving her nuts for the past fifty years. But until Gloria threw that glass of champagne in George’s lap, it was really very sweet.

But I’m rambling, aren’t I? The fact is Daddy has insisted on debating Lydia, and I’m sure he’ll live to regret it. Why, Lydia is one of the most dynamic speakers I know. She’ll mop the floor with your father. Oh, well. It’ll serve him right for that
PINKUS STINKS
sign!

Right now he’s in the garage, making podiums of all things! Artie wanted to shoot the debate with the two candidates sitting at a table. But no, that wasn’t good enough for Daddy, who wants to stand behind podiums “just like they do on the real presidential elections.”

Oh, dear. All that hammering is giving me a headache.

More later, honey. I need an aspirin.

XXX

Mom

PS. You’re not going to believe this, but now Daddy expects me to call him “Mr. President.”

To: Jausten

From: DaddyO

Subject: Ta Da!

I finished my podiums, and if I do say so myself, they’re works of art!

Now I’m off to take them to the clubhouse. I just hope they fit in my “election-mobile.”

XXX

Daddy (aka “Mr. President”)

To: Jausten

From: Shoptillyoudrop

Subject: Cardboard Coffins

You should see the rickety boxes Daddy is calling podiums. He’s carting them over to the clubhouse right now. They’re sticking out from the trunk of his Camry like two cardboard coffins.

Oh, well. At least the hammering has stopped. Now I can concentrate on the Aztec & Incan history book Professor Rothman assigned us to read. Would you believe that the Aztecs invented both mandatory education
and
chewing gum! Imagine those poor Aztec janitors. Having to clean the first gum from the desks of the first kids forced to go to school!

Isn’t history just fascinating?

Love & kisses from,

Mom

To: Jausten

From: Sir Lancelot

Subject: How Exciting!

Sweetie, I just heard about Mallory’s murder. How exciting! And to think, you would have missed it all if it hadn’t been for me!

Crazy busy at work. Thank heavens I got a chance to unwind at dinner. Went to the most wonderful burrito joint in Culver City. The chimichangas were magnifico!

Hug hug, kiss kiss,

Lance

Chapter 16

“I
didn’t sleep a wink last night,” Cathy said as we struggled up Mt. Olga on our nature hike the next morning, lagging behind the others as usual.

I hadn’t had the most peaceful night myself, having once again read my parents’ e-mails right before going to sleep. The thought of Daddy debating Lydia Pinkus on live TV kept my worry genes bubbling for quite a while.

The last time Daddy was on camera was at my cousin Joanie’s wedding, when the videographer caught him eating one of the frosted flowers off the wedding cake before it had even been cut. The footage of him being escorted out by the security guards was particularly riveting.

Heaven knows what would happen when he hit the stage with Lydia.

“Honestly, Jaine,” Cathy was saying, yanking me out of my reverie, “I was so scared, I kept a can of mace under my pillow all night. What if someone is out to get me?”

“Why on earth would anyone be out to get you?”

Other than to put an end to her incessant yapping, I couldn’t think of a single reason.

“Because,” she replied, lowering her voice to an excited whisper, “I think I may have seen the killer.”

Hallelujah! A lead! With any luck, thanks to Chatty Cathy, we could all be going home by the end of the day.

“You actually saw someone going into Mallory’s spa cubicle?”

“No. It was earlier in the day. I’d just finished working in the organic garden. Frankly, I’m beginning to think Olga’s got a lot of nerve putting us to work like that. You should see the back of my neck. I forgot to put on sunblock and it’s red as a beet. Look.”

She turned to show me her red neck.

Was the woman impossible, or what? Here she was babbling about her sunburn when she’d possibly seen the Spa Strangler.

I tamped down my impatience and managed to summon a sympathetic
tsk
for her sunburn.

“Getting back to the killer . . . ?” I prompted.

“Oh, right. I was coming in the back door from the garden when I saw someone hurrying down the hallway from the kitchen. At the time I didn’t think anything of it, but now I’m beginning to wonder if the person I saw had been stealing some of Olga’s valium to drug our tea.”

“So who was it?” I said, eager to wrap up this case and be on my way to the nearest McDonald’s.

“That’s just the problem,” she sighed. “It was so bright outside and I’d forgotten my sunglasses along with my sunblock. So when I stepped inside, it took my eyes a while to adjust to the dim corridor.”

“You couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman?”

“It may have been a man, but I can’t be sure. It might’ve been a woman, too.”

“Do you remember what this person was wearing?”

“Not really. It could have been shorts. Or maybe a jog suit.”

Good heavens. Cancel that Quarter Pounder. Helen Keller would make a better eyewitness than Cathy.

By now we’d reached the top of Mt. Olga.

“It’s about time!” Olga clucked when she saw us.

The others, who were sitting on the ground taking a breather, looked up at us with thinly veiled impatience. Kendra had wasted no time in raiding her sister’s closet and was decked out in one of Mallory’s designer jog suits. How she and Harvy had managed to trot up Mt. Olga after their beer toot last night was beyond me.

“Okay, everybody.” Olga gave a shrill blast of her whistle. “Rest period is over.”

“But Cathy and I just got here,” I protested.

“That’s not my fault. Now it’s time to go back.”

Another blast of her whistle, and she was marching downhill, the “A” listers hot on her heels.

“She can blow her dratted whistle all she wants,” I muttered. “I’m not going back down till I catch my breath.”

“Well, I’m not going without you,” Cathy said, hovering at my side.

We stood in silence for the next minute or so, looking out at the ocean, when suddenly we heard a rustling in the woods behind us.

“Omigod!” Cathy whispered, clutching my arm. “It’s the killer come to get me!”

“Don’t be silly,” I said, “It’s probably just an animal.” I took her by the elbow. “Let’s go back down.”

“I can’t,” she said, frozen to the spot. “What if it’s the killer and he springs out from the trees and attacks me like Norman Bates in
Psycho
?”

If she kept this up, we’d be here until dinner.

“Look, I’ll go scout out the path and make sure nobody’s there, okay?”

“Okay.” She nodded doubtfully.

I started down the path, cursing Cathy for being such a drama queen, when I heard the sound of footsteps stomping through the brush. Now it was my turn to be scared. I told myself it was just some forest critter, that I was being utterly ridiculous, when someone came lurching out onto the path.

Not a forest critter—but a man, holding an axe!

Yikes. Cathy was right! It
was
just like Norman Bates in
Psycho
!

“Oh, hi, Ms. Austen.”

I blinked and realized it was Kevin, the teenage chef, now swinging the axe in a wide arc.

Omigosh! Was it possible? Was Kevin some sort of teen serial killer?

I could see the headlines now:

WOULD-BE APPLEBEE’S CHEF SECRET HOMICIDAL MANIAC!

“Kevin,” I gulped, “what are you doing here?”

“Olga sent me to pick mushrooms for lunch.”

“With an axe?”

“I’m supposed to get kindling wood for the fireplace, too.”

For the first time I noticed he was carrying a muslin sack in his other hand.

“Look,” he said, opening the sack, which I saw was stuffed with mushrooms. “They grow like wildfire here.”

He bent down to pick another from the ground.

“Although I keep forgetting which ones are poisonous. Don’t worry, though. Olga almost always knows the difference.”

“How comforting.”

“Well, see you later, Ms. Austen. Gotta get the kindling wood.”

As he waved good-bye and disappeared into the woods, I made my way back up to Cathy.

“Thank God you’re still alive!” she cried when she saw me. “What happened?”

“It was just Kevin, picking mushrooms and getting kindling wood.”

“How do you know he didn’t just say that? How do you know he’s not the killer?”

“Because if he were the killer, we’d be dead by now.”

“You’ve got a point,” she conceded.

“Try not to worry, Cathy. I’m sure everything’s going to be okay. Maybe whoever you saw running out of the kitchen wasn’t even the killer.”

“You think?” she asked, a ray of hope in her eyes.

“Of course!” I fibbed, not at all certain Cathy hadn’t witnessed the Spa Strangler on the run.

If only the impossible woman had worn her sunglasses!

When at last we’d staggered down from Mt. Olga, Cathy told the Diet Nazi she had a migraine and asked to be excused from the rest of the morning’s activities.

Amazingly, Olga gave her permission, and I filed away that handy dandy migraine excuse for future reference.

“Do you really have a headache?” I asked Cathy before she started back to her room.

“Nah. I just want to keep my distance from the killer. I’m going to lock myself in my room, and I don’t intend to answer the door for anyone. Not even that awful maid. Do you know she tried to sell me a Snickers bar for twenty-five dollars?”

“Wow. I didn’t know Delphine sold Snickers.”

“You’re not thinking of buying one, are you?” she asked, suddenly remembering her self-appointed role as my diet buddy.

“Of course not,” I lied.

She shot me a dubious look.

“Well, see you later,” I said, eager to avoid a diet lecture. “And try not to worry.”

“I’ll be okay,” she assured me with what I sensed was a bit of false bravado. “I’ve got my mace—and an exercise bar I stole from the gym.

“But if I’m not down for lunch,” she added, “call the police.”