Pampered to Death (16 page)

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Authors: Laura Levine

BOOK: Pampered to Death
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Why, oh, why hadn’t I shut the damn thing off?
I glanced down at the screen and saw Lance’s name on the caller ID.
All week, I’d been begging him to call, and
now
, of all times, he was getting back to me. Argggh. Is he impossible, or what?
Jamming the phone in my pocket, I took off like a bat out of hell, praying the love birds hadn’t heard anything.
No such luck.
Before long I heard footsteps thundering behind me.
“Catch her, Sven!” Shawna cried.
Thank goodness I’d picked up that rock earlier. Now I turned and hurled it at Sven.
“Damn!” he cried, as it clipped him on his shin.
He stumbled to his knees, and I charged ahead with hope in my heart. I wasn’t far from the main path to The Haven; just a few more yards and I’d be out in the open.
But then I felt a rush of wind as Shawna came charging at me and, with linebacker force, tackled me to the ground.
“You silly bitch,” she said, sitting astride my chest in her shorts and bikini top. “Why did you have to keep nosing around?”
“Now what are we going to do?” Sven asked, limping toward us, a helpless look on his face.
Clearly Shawna was the brains of this outfit.
“I told you you should have never stolen the damn emerald,” she lashed out at him. “I knew it would turn out to be a disaster.”
“I couldn’t help myself, hon,” he said, shamefaced, like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. “You know how I am.”
“Yeah, I know. And one of these days, you’re going to get us into trouble I won’t be able to fix.”
“But what are you going to do about her?” he asked, jerking his head in my direction.
What on earth
was
she going to do? I looked at those strong hands of hers, pinning my arms to the ground.
Any minute now, they’d be around my neck, choking the life out of me.
Oh, God. It was all over. The end. If only I hadn’t come to this stupid spa. If only I hadn’t gone walking down this stupid lane. If only I’d gone into town for that Sara Lee strawberry or cherry cheesecake—
It was then, just when I was certain I’d eaten my last cheesecake, that I looked up and saw the most beautiful sight in the world:
Chatty Cathy.
Yes, there she was, coming down the lane, my rescuing angel.
“Jaine!” she said, blinking at the tableau before her. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Call 911!” I cried. “Tell them to come quick! And run for your life!”
Cathy’s eyes widened in alarm, and as she started running off, Sven lunged after her. But with surprising strength, Cathy hauled off and whacked him aside. I guess all those years toting groceries at the Piggly Wiggly had toughened her up.
I watched her run away, praying Sven and Shawna wouldn’t kill me before the cops came.
My prayers were answered.
“C’mon, Sven!” Shawna said, climbing off me. “We gotta clear out—now!”
And before my grateful eyes, they raced back into the woods, leaving me to live another day.
I struggled to my feet and, knees trembling, started back to The Haven.
Thank heavens for Cathy. Who would have thought that jabbering dingbat would wind up saving my life?
How could I ever thank her? Maybe after dinner I’d make an effort to be friendly with her. Sit around and chew the fat about Mr. Muffin, the gang at Piggly Wiggly, her latest terrorist conspiracy theories . . .
Nah. That grateful I wasn’t.
Flowers and a thank you note would have to do.
W
hen Brangelina showed up, they found Sven and Shawna trying to flush Mallory’s emerald down the toilet, and wasted no time hauling them off to jail.
Needless to say, I was the center of attention in the aftermath of their arrest. Olga settled me down on a settee as my fellow guests hovered around me in the lounge.
“Tell us everything that happened,” Harvy urged, on the edge of his seat, eager for dirt. “Don’t leave out a single detail.”
“Give the poor thing a chance to catch her breath,” Olga said, fluffing a pillow behind my back. “Here, dear. Have a reduced-calorie wine. It’ll help you relax.”
I took a grateful sip of the wine she handed me, recoiling only slightly at its piquant bouquet of nail polish remover.
“So tell us what happened,” Harvy said.
He and Kendra and Clint shot me encouraging smiles. Now that I’d caught the killers, I guess they’d decided I wasn’t so bad after all.
And so I began my tale.
But I’d no sooner gotten two sentences out of my mouth, explaining how Sven and Shawna had caught me looking in the window, when Cathy jumped in.
“I knew it was them all along!” she said.
What??? What happened to her “Clint, The Terrorist” theory??
“If it hadn’t been for me,” she was blathering, “poor Jaine would be dead right now! Luckily I decided to go looking for her, and there she was, lying helplessly on the ground, seconds away from being murdered, I’m sure, when I came to her rescue.
“Seconds away!” she repeated for emphasis. “Not caring a whit for my own safety, I tore Shawna off her, and then when Sven attacked me I had to fight him off with my bare hands, which I never would have been able to do without all the exercises I’ve learned here at the Haven, which is sort of ironic when you come to think of it. I mean, Sven teaching me exercises that helped me practically knock him out cold.”
Wow, if she stretched the truth any further, her nose would start growing.
“Yes, indeed,” she said, glowing with pride. “If it weren’t for me, poor Jaine would be dead today, and Mallory’s killers would still be on the loose!
“Isn’t that right, Jaine?”
My cue to shower her with gratitude.
“Absolutely,” I said with a stiff smile. “Thank you so much for saving my life.”
“Aw, it was nothing,” she said, clearly expecting me to order up a ticker tape parade in her honor.
Oh, well, who cared? She
had
saved my life, so I tried my best to keep that smile plastered on my face.
In a burst of democracy, Cathy and I were promoted to the “A” table at dinner that night. Olga bustled around with our salads, thrilled to have Mallory’s murder cleared up at last.
“A toast,” Harvy said, holding up his lime water, “to Cathy and Jaine, for capturing the killers.”
Can you believe it? I was getting second billing to Ms. Yakety-Yak!
“And here’s a belated toast to Mallory,” Kendra added, raising her glass in a burst of vodka-enhanced goodwill. “I know I’ve said some pretty horrible things about her. But she was my sister, after all, and a human being—”
“That’s debatable,” I heard Clint mutter.
“Anyhow, here’s to Mallory,” Kendra said, “a beautiful woman and a perfectly competent actress who was kind to her dog and gave lots of money to charity even though she only did it for the tax writeoff. I mean, nobody’s perfect, right? So what if she tended to alienate everyone she worked with and stepped on a few backs to get ahead? So what if she fired a makeup lady for dropping a pair of false eyelashes and sent some poor guy out to buy mangoes in a hurricane? So what,” she said with a tight laugh, “if she treated me like dirt since the time we were toddlers and made me wash her damn pantyhose every goddamn day of her life—”
Whatever goodwill she’d started out with was now gone with the wind.
“Oh, who am I kidding?” she snapped. “She was a vicious bitch, and if you ask me, Sven and Shawna did the world a favor! So here’s to Sven and Shawna,” she said, slugging down her drink. “May they get time off for good behavior!”
That touching little Kodak moment was interrupted just then by Olga, who came bustling into the room with a dinner tray.
“Special treat, everybody!” she announced. “In honor of Cathy’s courageous actions this afternoon, I’m serving double portions of steamed zucchini.”
Oh, gaaack.
“And one more thing,” Olga added. “I just got off the phone with the police, and you’re all free to leave in the morning.”
Hallelujah! Suddenly the room was filled with sunshine. Figuratively of course. In fact, it was filled with the stench of steamed zucchini. But you get the idea.
My days in diet hell would soon be over.
At long last, I was going home!
 
Back in my room, I told Prozac the good news.
“Guess what, Pro? First thing tomorrow, we’re outta here!”
Brimming with gratitude, she hurled herself in my arms and licked me with crazed affection.
Okay, so what she really did was look up with a yawn from where she’d been napping.
It’s about time. Now how about a belly rub?
When her highness’ belly had been rubbed to her satisfaction, I got undressed and fell into bed, conking out the minute my head hit the pillow, exhausted from the day’s adventures.
A few hours later I felt a sharp pain in my chest.
No, it was not indigestion from Kevin’s ghastly steamed zucchini.
It was Prozac, clawing me awake.
I wanna snack.
And she wasn’t the only one. I’d eaten virtually nothing at dinner, so I was feeling a tad peckish myself.
I checked the bedside clock. Eleven thirty. Praying Darryl’s was still open, I leaped out of bed and threw on some sweats. I considered slapping on some lipstick and fixing my hair, but quickly nixed that idea, reminding myself that Darryl was simply a friendly deli owner, not my future ex-husband.
Besides, who knew if he’d even be working that night?
As it turned out, he was.
“Hey, there.” He grinned as I walked in the door.
I must admit, he looked awfully appealing in a chambray workshirt that brought out the green in his hazel eyes.
Right away I felt my heart go mushy.
Get a grip, Jaine
, I told myself. It was just a silly workshirt.
“Picking up some snacks for Grammy?” he asked.
There he was, asking about Grammy again. The guy seemed far more interested in Grammy Austen than he’d ever been in me.
I nodded stiffly and scooted down the aisle, making a beeline for the deli case.
Somehow I managed to perk up at the sight of all the goodies on display.
I chose a gorgeous pastrami and swiss on rye for myself and some extravagantly expensive smoked salmon for Prozac. And if you must know, a teensy weensy Dove Bar for dessert. I’d gathered my loot and was heading for the checkout counter when I stopped cold in my tracks.
There was Cathy, Ms. Goodie Two Shoes Dieter, with enough Snickers bars to feed a small army of chocoholics.
Why, the little hypocrite! After all that holier-than-thoulet’s-be-diet-buddies chatter, the woman was your garden variety cheater. And I’d caught her in the act!
Oh, what a wonderful moment! I intended to savor it to the hilt.
“Hi, there, Cath!” I said, strolling up to the checkout counter, all smiles.
She looked down at her stash of chocolate and blushed.
“Got the munchies?” I asked. Somehow I managed not to giggle.
“I may have been cheating just a tad,” she said, “what with the stress of Mallory’s murder.”
“Snickers are her favorite,” Darryl pointed out, ringing up her sale.
“You’re not going to tell Olga?” Cathy asked, eyes wide with concern. “She’d be so disappointed.”
I refrained from telling her that Olga, a woman who sucked cheesecakes straight from the tin, was in no position to pass judgment on anyone’s dietary lapses.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I assured her.
“Oh, thank you! And I swear I won’t tell her that you’ve been cheating, either,” she said, eyeing the goodies in my cart.
And that’s when disaster struck.
“Jaine hasn’t been cheating,” Darryl said. “She’s buying all this food for her grandmother.”
“Her grandmother?” Cathy blinked, puzzled.
“Sure. Grammy Austen.”
“That’s crazy. Jaine’s rooming with her cat, not her grandmother. Right, Jaine?”
Damn that Cathy and her big fat blabbermouth.
Darryl looked at me, confused. “You’re not rooming with your grandmother?”
Oh, Lord. I wanted to fall right through the floor.
“Well, gotta run,” Ms. Blabbermouth said, signing her sales receipt, no doubt eager to get started on her Snickers binge. “See you in the morning.”
And with that, she grabbed her bag of candy and dashed out the door.
I stared down at the floor, ashamed to face Darryl, and saw that in her rush to leave, Cathy had dropped her receipt. I picked it up and shoved it in my pocket, figuring I’d give it to her tomorrow. I was too damn angry with Ms. Blabbermouth to go chasing after her now.
Finally I got the courage to make eye contact with Darryl. “Okay,” I sighed. “There is no Grammy Austen. Well, there is, but she’s three thousand miles away in her assisted living home in Altoona, Pennsylvania. Cathy was right. My only roommate at The Haven is my cat. I lied because I didn’t want you to think I was the kind of woman who goes racing out for pastrami sandwiches and Dove Bars at eleven at night. But I am that kind of woman. I’m a confirmed carboholic, I mainline Ben & Jerry, and I’m on a first name basis with my pizza delivery guy.
“Thank God,” he sighed.
“You don’t mind?”
“Hell, no. When you didn’t eat your pizza the other night, I thought you were one of those women who picks at her food.”
“You don’t like dainty eaters?”
“Are you kidding? My last girlfriend was always on a diet, and it drove me nuts. I want a gal who appreciates food.”
“Oh, I’ve practically got a PhD in Food Appreciation.”
“So what’s your favorite?” he asked.
“Favorite what?”
“Ben and Jerry. Mine’s Chunky Monkey.”
Omigod. I swore I heard the sound of bells ringing. At last I had met my ice cream soul mate.
“Me, too!” I grinned.
“Listen,” he said, suddenly solemn. “I’ve got a confession to make. I haven’t exactly been honest with you, either. Remember that novel I told you I was writing?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve written exactly two words—‘Chapter One.’ ”
“That’s okay. Anyone who can make sandwiches like yours is a creative genius in my book.”
Oh, gosh. There was that killer smile again.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to go out with me the next time I come to L.A?”
Yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes!
“Sure,” I managed to gulp.
Then he came out from behind the counter in his chambray workshirt and faded jeans.
By now my heart was the consistency of chocolate pudding.
“I wanted to show you our special of the day.”
And with that, he took me in his arms and hit me with the smooch I’d been dreaming of.
All I can say is that when we finally came up for air, I was one satisfied customer.
 
I headed to my car, still basking in the glow of Darryl’s kiss. Reaching into my pocket for my keys, I saw Cathy’s sales slip fall out. I picked it up and was about to shove it back when I saw something that made me forget all about Darryl and his fabulous lips.
The name on the credit card receipt was not Cathy Kane but Lorraine Sandoval.
Had I picked up someone else’s receipt?
No, Cathy’s eight Snickers bars were listed right there.
So who the heck was Lorraine Sandoval?
It wasn’t until I was halfway back to The Haven that I remembered the Mexican guy who crashed his car getting mangoes for Mallory. Pablo, the assistant director. The night I ran into Kendra and Harvy at the Pizza parlor, Kendra said Pablo had been injured badly, that he’d wound up in a wheelchair.
Suddenly a scenario began to take shape in my mind.
What if Cathy/Lorraine was a relative of Pablo’s? After all, Sandoval was a Hispanic name. True, Cathy didn’t look Hispanic. But what if she was his wife? A wife who’d watched her husband lose the use of his limbs all because of Mallory’s idiotic obsession with mangoes.

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