Chapter 11
“Prozac, honey. I’m begging you. Just have a teeny bite.”
I was sitting in bed with Prozac later that afternoon, trying to hand-feed her freshly sautéed chicken tenders. But she was lost in another world.
“Fatty.” He called me “fatty.” I may never eat again.
“You’ve got to eat something, honey. Or you’ll waste away.”
If only I had a working index finger, I could be a bulimic.
“Yummy chicken!” I crooned, taking a bite. “Yummy, yummy, yummy!”
And indeed it was yummy. Before I knew it, I’d scarfed down three tenders.
Roused from her reverie, Prozac lobbed me a look of stern disapproval.
Clearly, I’ve learned all my bad eating habits from you.
Turning away, she gazed at the TV just in time to see a cat food commercial. She watched in disgust as a computer-generated cat did the cha-cha.
Feh. You call that acting?
“Oh, Pro,” I moaned. “What am I going to do with you?”
I’d called Dr. Madeline earlier that afternoon, thinking maybe she’d give Prozac a kitty antidepressant. But Dr. M. explained that antidepressants are used to treat anxiety in animals, not depression. So there’d be no Prozac for Prozac.
Dr. M. advised me to lavish Prozac with even more attention than I was already giving her, which hardly seemed possible. That cat gets more attention than a stripper at a bachelor party.
Now I thought about Emmy, Deedee’s Reiki healer. Deedee said she worked with animals. I sincerely doubted Prozac would respond to any New Age mumbo jumbo, but I had nothing to lose. Besides, it would be a good excuse to meet Emmy and check out Deedee’s alibi.
I made a mental note to call her and was just about to bite into another chicken tender when there was a knock on my door.
Leaving Prozac glaring at the TV, I shuffled off to get it.
It was Lance, who came sailing in like an extra from West Side Story, in tight jeans and a black leather jacket.
“What do you think?” he asked, whirling around. “I’m going for the bad boy look.”
“If you’re going for bad boy, I’d lose the ascot.”
“Don’t be silly, Jaine,” he said, fluffing a foulard ascot around his neck. “I’m a bad boy with impeccable taste. I thought I’d wear this outfit to Mamie’s Brad Pitt movie audition. I have a feeling Brad is into black leather.
“I can see it now,” he said, gazing off into an imaginary future. “I walk into the room, and Brad and I lock eyeballs. Cupid shoots his arrow, and before you know it, it’s pffft to ‘Brangelina’ and hello to ‘Brance’!”
“I hate to bust your bubble, Lance, but Brad Pitt isn’t gay.”
“Maybe not in your fantasies.”
“And besides,” I pointed out, “he probably won’t even be there.”
“Don’t be such a Debbie Downer. Even if Brad doesn’t show up, you never know who will be there. I’ve always wanted to date someone in the movies. Other than an usher, of course. And who knows? Maybe I’ll get discovered. Frankly, I’ve always thought I’d make a fabulous actor.”
The next thing I knew, he’d be nominating himself for an Academy Award.
“I saw Deedee today,” I said, trying to tether him back down to earth. “She’s terrified she’s going to be arrested for Dean’s murder.”
“I know,” Lance said. “I spoke to her earlier. I’ve been worried sick.”
Whaddaya know? A little empathy from Mr. Moi.
“You think she can work on my contract from jail?”
So much for empathy.
“Lance, for once in your life, can you think of somebody other than yourself?”
“What’re you talking about? I’m always thinking of others. Why, just last week I donated an old tuxedo to a homeless shelter.”
“How very thoughtful.”
“Anyhow,” he said, plopping down on my sofa, “I just hope this whole murder thing gets wrapped up soon. Do you have any idea who might have done it?”
“I hate to say it, but so far, my leading suspect is Deedee. She had motive, and a can of Raid.”
“Your leading suspect? Don’t tell me you’re doing your PI impersonation again.”
“It’s not an impersonation, and yes, I’m doing it.”
“For crying out loud, Jaine. You almost got bumped off last year, tracking down the killer at that beauty pageant. Did you not learn anything from that whole experience?”
“How to tape a bathing suit to your tush so you don’t get a wedgie.”
“Seriously, Jaine,” he said, his eyes wide with concern. “You’ve got to promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I promise.”
“Do you want my help? I could come along and protect you. Along with my impeccable fashion sense, I’ve got remarkably keen powers of deduction.”
Oh, glug. The last thing I needed was Lance playing Poirot at my side.
“Thanks, Lance. But I can handle this.”
“Just don’t get yourself hurt. I don’t know what I’d do without you, sweetie.”
With that he took me in his arms and wrapped me in a fuzzy bear hug.
See? Moments like these are why I put up with the guy.
“Oops. I’m crushing my ascot,” he said, breaking away from our embrace. “Must run. I’m off to the salon to add more highlights to my hair. I can’t decide which color to go with: Sun Kissed or Ash Blond. What do you think?”
“Ash Blond.”
“Sun Kissed, it is!”
And off he sailed, my aggravating bestie.
I headed back to the bedroom where I found Prozac staring at the bedspread, her chicken tenders still untouched.
New Age or not, I really had to give that Reiki healing thing a shot.
As I settled down next to Pro, scratching her behind the ears, the phone rang.
I picked it up to hear:“Hey, Jaine. It’s me. Jim Angelides.”
Omigosh. Phil’s cutie pie nephew. I’d just about given up on him.
“I know it’s the last minute, but I was wondering if you’re free for dinner tomorrow.”
Forget about it. Absolutely not. I knew the rules. I couldn’t possibly let him think I was available at such short notice. I’d play it cool and tell him I was sorry but I had other plans.
You know where this is going, right?
“Pick me up at seven,” were the words I actually uttered.
Maybe when the Reiki healer showed up, she could work on my backbone.
YOU’VE GOT MAIL!
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Still Missing
Dearest Lambchop—
Your diligent daddy has been hard at work trying to memorize the Scrabble dictionary, but it’s just not the same without my Lucky Thinking Cap, which, I’m sorry to say, is still missing.
I know Lydia has it stashed away somewhere, but so far I’ve had no opportunity to retrieve it. Unfortunately the battle-axe has recently installed a high-tech security system, thwarting my efforts to bust into her stronghold and do a thorough search of the premises.
But today, at last, I got a lucky break. As I was driving back from the market with a fresh supply of gherkins, I passed Lydia’s townhouse and saw her taking out her trash. And she had a mighty shifty look in her eyes when she was doing it.
Dollars to doughnuts my thinking cap is sitting there in her garbage, along with her prune pits, dental floss, and empty Metamucil jars.
And I intend to rescue it ASAP!
Love ’n’ snuggles from
DaddyO
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Good heavens!
Daddy thinks Lydia has tossed his Lucky Thinking Cap in her garbage can. Did you ever hear of anything so idiotic?
XOXO,
Mom
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: A Tad Disappointed
Dearest Lambchop—
For some unfathomable reason, your mother is being very unsupportive. She thinks the battle-axe walks on water, and refuses to believe Lydia had anything to do with the disappearance of my Lucky Thinking Cap. Moreover, she says she refuses to cook me dinner if I go looking for my cap in Lydia’s garbage.
I must admit I’m a tad disappointed in her.
Oh, well. Mom’s planning to make meat loaf tonight, and you know how I feel about your mother’s meat loaf. So I’ll just wait until after she’s asleep to go out on my garbage raid.
Love ’n’ hugs from
Your determined
DaddyO