Read Online Death of a Neighborhood Witch (Jaine Austen Mystery) by Laura Levine - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Levine
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admiring my almost-washboard tummy in the mirror, imagining myself as a Keira Knightley-esque waif in an Upstairs, Downstairs/English countryside/ Masterpiece Theater production when there was a knock on my door.
“Hey, Jaine, it’s me,” Lance called out.
He’d graciously offered to pick up our costumes on his way home from work, and now I slipped into my robe to let him in.
He stood there with a garment bag in one hand and a large plastic shopping sack in the other.
“Hand it over,” I said, reaching out for my adorable flapper costume.
“Tiny problemo, honey,” he said, an undeniably shifty look in his eyes.
“What tiny problemo?”
I didn’t like the sound of this.
“Estelle accidentally rented your flapper outfit to someone else.”
“What??!”
“But don’t worry. I got you something even better!”
He unzipped the garment bag, and to my horror took out a large hunk of matted black fur, reeking of mothballs.
“What on earth is that?” I asked, in shock.
“An ape suit!” he said, whipping a repulsive ape head out of the plastic sack. “Isn’t it a hoot? And the best part is, you won’t have to worry about wearing makeup!”
“You did this on purpose!” I said, advancing on him with fire in my eyes. “You switched my outfit so I’d look awful in front of Peter.”
“Why, Jaine,” he said lamely. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come off it, Lance. If you looked any more guilty, you’d be in a mug shot.”
“Okay, okay, I did it,” he said, sinking down onto my sofa with a heavy sigh, John Barrymore at his absolute hammiest. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m a terrible friend. I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again.”
He blinked his eyes furiously, in an unsuccessful attempt to work up some tears. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“No. Never.”
“I’ll make it up to you somehow, sweetie. I promise. I know! Want me to help you pick mothballs out of the ape’s fur?”
“No!” I shrieked. “Just go!”
I shoved him out the door, wondering how the hell I was going to get out of this mess. Maybe it wasn’t too late to drive over to the costume shop. But when I called the store, all I got was their answering machine. It was almost eight, and they were closed.
I considered going to the party in street clothes, but I didn’t want to be the only one there without a costume and have Peter think I was a poor sport. I also considered wrapping myself in a sheet and going as a ghost, but unfortunately all my sheets have Martha Stewart daisies on them, and that didn’t seem terribly ghostlike.
Oh, what the heck. I’d wear the damn ape suit. With any luck, Peter would think it was funny.
Wearily I tossed on jeans and a T-shirt. Then, taking a deep breath, I stepped into my costume. The stench of mothballs was overwhelming. I’m guessing the last time that ape suit had been worn was at the premiere of King Kong .
But I had to look on the bright side, to think positive thoughts.
If Peter really liked me, surely an ape suit couldn’t come between us. Somehow I’d dazzle him with my witty repartee. Peter would see beyond my moth-eaten exterior to the charming, intelligent woman in the C UCKOO FOR C OCOA P UFFS T-shirt beneath. And Lance, the traitor, in his werewolf togs, would watch me, wringing his hairy hands in jealousy.
Yes, I could make this thing work if I really tried.
And so it was with a spring in my step, hope in my heart, and an ape head under my arm that I headed up the street to Peter’s party.
The party was in full swing when I showed up, with lots of people milling about, drinks in hand, the “Monster Mash” playing in the background. Most of the guests seemed to be Peter’s friends and work colleagues, but sprinkled among them were a few of the neighbors.
Mr. and Mrs. Hurlbutt were there, decked out as Frankenstein and—in a perfect example of art imitating reality—the Bride of
“Hey, Jaine, it’s me,” Lance called out.
He’d graciously offered to pick up our costumes on his way home from work, and now I slipped into my robe to let him in.
He stood there with a garment bag in one hand and a large plastic shopping sack in the other.
“Hand it over,” I said, reaching out for my adorable flapper costume.
“Tiny problemo, honey,” he said, an undeniably shifty look in his eyes.
“What tiny problemo?”
I didn’t like the sound of this.
“Estelle accidentally rented your flapper outfit to someone else.”
“What??!”
“But don’t worry. I got you something even better!”
He unzipped the garment bag, and to my horror took out a large hunk of matted black fur, reeking of mothballs.
“What on earth is that?” I asked, in shock.
“An ape suit!” he said, whipping a repulsive ape head out of the plastic sack. “Isn’t it a hoot? And the best part is, you won’t have to worry about wearing makeup!”
“You did this on purpose!” I said, advancing on him with fire in my eyes. “You switched my outfit so I’d look awful in front of Peter.”
“Why, Jaine,” he said lamely. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come off it, Lance. If you looked any more guilty, you’d be in a mug shot.”
“Okay, okay, I did it,” he said, sinking down onto my sofa with a heavy sigh, John Barrymore at his absolute hammiest. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m a terrible friend. I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again.”
He blinked his eyes furiously, in an unsuccessful attempt to work up some tears. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“No. Never.”
“I’ll make it up to you somehow, sweetie. I promise. I know! Want me to help you pick mothballs out of the ape’s fur?”
“No!” I shrieked. “Just go!”
I shoved him out the door, wondering how the hell I was going to get out of this mess. Maybe it wasn’t too late to drive over to the costume shop. But when I called the store, all I got was their answering machine. It was almost eight, and they were closed.
I considered going to the party in street clothes, but I didn’t want to be the only one there without a costume and have Peter think I was a poor sport. I also considered wrapping myself in a sheet and going as a ghost, but unfortunately all my sheets have Martha Stewart daisies on them, and that didn’t seem terribly ghostlike.
Oh, what the heck. I’d wear the damn ape suit. With any luck, Peter would think it was funny.
Wearily I tossed on jeans and a T-shirt. Then, taking a deep breath, I stepped into my costume. The stench of mothballs was overwhelming. I’m guessing the last time that ape suit had been worn was at the premiere of King Kong .
But I had to look on the bright side, to think positive thoughts.
If Peter really liked me, surely an ape suit couldn’t come between us. Somehow I’d dazzle him with my witty repartee. Peter would see beyond my moth-eaten exterior to the charming, intelligent woman in the C UCKOO FOR C OCOA P UFFS T-shirt beneath. And Lance, the traitor, in his werewolf togs, would watch me, wringing his hairy hands in jealousy.
Yes, I could make this thing work if I really tried.
And so it was with a spring in my step, hope in my heart, and an ape head under my arm that I headed up the street to Peter’s party.
The party was in full swing when I showed up, with lots of people milling about, drinks in hand, the “Monster Mash” playing in the background. Most of the guests seemed to be Peter’s friends and work colleagues, but sprinkled among them were a few of the neighbors.
Mr. and Mrs. Hurlbutt were there, decked out as Frankenstein and—in a perfect example of art imitating reality—the Bride of
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