Read Online Killing Cupid (A Jaine Austen Mystery) by Laura Levine - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Levine
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I decided to read over the brochure copy I’d e-mailed Joy the night before.
I clicked on the file and cringed to read my gloppy words of praise. If anyone on the planet didn’t deserve them, it was Joy. I was about to log off when suddenly I noticed a splotch of color down at the bottom of the page.
I scrolled down, and to my horror, I saw the puffy-cheeked face of Elmer Fudd!
Omigod! I’d been in such a rush last night, I never deleted the joke copy I’d originally written, the zinger-laden manifesto where I’d called Joy a “Psycho Cupid.”
If Joy saw this, I could kiss my paycheck good-bye.
No doubt about it. My poop had landed. And I was knee deep in the stuff.
I drove over to the party like Dale Earnhardt on uppers, my heart racing almost as fast as my engine. I prayed that Joy hadn’t yet read my e-mail and that Travis would know her password so that I could delete it.
The mixer was well under way when I showed up at the Dates of Joy photo studio, now festooned with streamers and discount balloons. Desperate singles were wandering around with glazed looks in their eyes, wondering no doubt what happened to all the stunning people they’d seen in Joy’s date book.
Cassie, her purple hair striped red for the occasion, was working the room as a waitress, serving hors d’oeuvres from a tray. Travis, in a white shirt and bow tie, stood behind a makeshift bar, pouring phony Dom Pérignon into champagne glasses.
I was just about to hurry to his side when Joy came bursting out from the kitchen, dressed head to toe in Valentine’s red: Red tent dress, red designer shoes, even a red bow in her hair. Pinned to her ample bosom was a huge button that read I ME .
At last. Truth in advertising.
She took one look at me and came charging at me like a rhino in Jimmy Choos.
Damn. It was too late. She’d read my e-mail.
I braced myself for the volcano that was about to erupt.
“Where the hell have you been?” she hissed. “I’ve been looking all over for you. The idiotic caterer didn’t bring any waitstaff, and I need you to help Cassie serve the hors d’oeuvres.”
Thank heavens! I was safe! For the time being, anyway.
“Of course, Joy. Anything you say.”
She sent me to the kitchen, where her caterer, a burly guy named Carl, handed me an apron emblazoned with the logo FRUGAL FIXIN’S. Carl took great pride in informing me that he was the former executive chef at Coachella Prison. Although, as Cassie had said, he did indeed look like he could have been one of the inmates.
“Here you go,” he said, handing me a tray of delicious stuffed mushrooms. I happened to know they were delicious, because I popped one in my mouth as I headed back to the party.
I hadn’t taken two steps into the room when suddenly Joy materialized at my side.
“No eating on the job!” she snapped.
So much for my plan to snack my way through her party.
But who cared? Just as long as I was able to delete that dratted e-mail.
I wandered around with my tray, waiting for my opportunity to approach Travis and ask him for Joy’s password. But Joy was eyeing me like a hawk. If she saw me standing around talking to Travis, she’d be on me like hot fudge on a potato chip.
(You’ve never tried it? It’s delicious.)
Not even the arrival of Tonio was enough to distract Joy. Clad in his usual tight leather pants and chest-baring shirt, Tonio sidled over to give Joy a peck on her cheek. Much to my surprise, I saw her body stiffen. Through gritted teeth, she said something to him—something that made his face turn ashen. Then she turned and stalked off in a huff.
Uh-oh. I smelled trouble in paradise.
By now the room was crowded with lonely singles, still looking in vain for the gorgeous soul mates Joy had promised them.
“Where are all the handsome men I saw on her Web site?” I heard one mousy brunet moan to another.
“Omigosh,” her friend replied. “Here’s one of them now!”
I followed her gaze.
Standing in
I clicked on the file and cringed to read my gloppy words of praise. If anyone on the planet didn’t deserve them, it was Joy. I was about to log off when suddenly I noticed a splotch of color down at the bottom of the page.
I scrolled down, and to my horror, I saw the puffy-cheeked face of Elmer Fudd!
Omigod! I’d been in such a rush last night, I never deleted the joke copy I’d originally written, the zinger-laden manifesto where I’d called Joy a “Psycho Cupid.”
If Joy saw this, I could kiss my paycheck good-bye.
No doubt about it. My poop had landed. And I was knee deep in the stuff.
I drove over to the party like Dale Earnhardt on uppers, my heart racing almost as fast as my engine. I prayed that Joy hadn’t yet read my e-mail and that Travis would know her password so that I could delete it.
The mixer was well under way when I showed up at the Dates of Joy photo studio, now festooned with streamers and discount balloons. Desperate singles were wandering around with glazed looks in their eyes, wondering no doubt what happened to all the stunning people they’d seen in Joy’s date book.
Cassie, her purple hair striped red for the occasion, was working the room as a waitress, serving hors d’oeuvres from a tray. Travis, in a white shirt and bow tie, stood behind a makeshift bar, pouring phony Dom Pérignon into champagne glasses.
I was just about to hurry to his side when Joy came bursting out from the kitchen, dressed head to toe in Valentine’s red: Red tent dress, red designer shoes, even a red bow in her hair. Pinned to her ample bosom was a huge button that read I ME .
At last. Truth in advertising.
She took one look at me and came charging at me like a rhino in Jimmy Choos.
Damn. It was too late. She’d read my e-mail.
I braced myself for the volcano that was about to erupt.
“Where the hell have you been?” she hissed. “I’ve been looking all over for you. The idiotic caterer didn’t bring any waitstaff, and I need you to help Cassie serve the hors d’oeuvres.”
Thank heavens! I was safe! For the time being, anyway.
“Of course, Joy. Anything you say.”
She sent me to the kitchen, where her caterer, a burly guy named Carl, handed me an apron emblazoned with the logo FRUGAL FIXIN’S. Carl took great pride in informing me that he was the former executive chef at Coachella Prison. Although, as Cassie had said, he did indeed look like he could have been one of the inmates.
“Here you go,” he said, handing me a tray of delicious stuffed mushrooms. I happened to know they were delicious, because I popped one in my mouth as I headed back to the party.
I hadn’t taken two steps into the room when suddenly Joy materialized at my side.
“No eating on the job!” she snapped.
So much for my plan to snack my way through her party.
But who cared? Just as long as I was able to delete that dratted e-mail.
I wandered around with my tray, waiting for my opportunity to approach Travis and ask him for Joy’s password. But Joy was eyeing me like a hawk. If she saw me standing around talking to Travis, she’d be on me like hot fudge on a potato chip.
(You’ve never tried it? It’s delicious.)
Not even the arrival of Tonio was enough to distract Joy. Clad in his usual tight leather pants and chest-baring shirt, Tonio sidled over to give Joy a peck on her cheek. Much to my surprise, I saw her body stiffen. Through gritted teeth, she said something to him—something that made his face turn ashen. Then she turned and stalked off in a huff.
Uh-oh. I smelled trouble in paradise.
By now the room was crowded with lonely singles, still looking in vain for the gorgeous soul mates Joy had promised them.
“Where are all the handsome men I saw on her Web site?” I heard one mousy brunet moan to another.
“Omigosh,” her friend replied. “Here’s one of them now!”
I followed her gaze.
Standing in
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