Jaine Austen Mystery: Killing Cupid Part 11

"Can't we please just talk this over?" Tonio pleaded.

"Too late. We're through. Finito. You'll never go shopping at Barneys again!"

"But, Joy-"

"I can't waste any more time talking about this. I've got to get back to the party."

Yes! Go! Go back to the party!

I waited for the sounds of her designer-clad feet stomping out the door, but I waited in vain.

"No, wait," she was saying. "I need an aspirin."

An aspirin? Couldn't she just suffer like everyone around her?

"Dealing with all those pathetic losers out there has given me a splitting headache."

Then before I knew it, she was sitting at her desk, her Jimmy Choos just inches from my torturously itchy nose.

Please, Lord. Don't let her look down and see me!

I sat there, crunched in a ball and staring at Joy's toe cleavage as she rummaged around, slamming desk drawers, looking for her dratted aspirin.

By now the itch in my nose was unbearable.

Any minute now I'd be sneezing on her Jimmy Choos!

"Oh, here it is!" she finally said, music to my ears.

Rattling her aspirin bottle, she got up and headed for the door, but not before grabbing a G.o.diva for the road.

"Thank G.o.d for chocolate," I heard her mutter, her mouth full of candy. "That's one thing I can always count on."

"But, honey bun," Tonio cooed, "you know you can always count on me, too."

"Don't make me laugh." Joy snorted.

And off she stomped, Tonio at her heels, begging for another chance to talk things over.

Finally, I was alone. Just me, the dust bunnies, and Joy's stinky slippers.

I took my finger out from under my nose, prepared to let loose with a Vesuvius-sized explosion.

But wouldn't you know?

Now that Joy was gone, I didn't have to sneeze anymore.

After waiting a few minutes to make sure Joy and Tonio were not returning for an encore performance, I unfurled myself from my fetal position and crawled out from under the desk.

So eager was I to get the heck out of there that I foolishly raced into the reception area without checking to see if the coast was clear-only to b.u.mp smack dab into Greg Stanton.

Oh, foo. I couldn't risk having him tell Joy I'd been skulking around in her office.

"Hi, there!" I chirped, trying my best to look wide-eyed and innocent. "I suppose you're wondering what I was doing in Joy's office."

"Not really."

"Just in case you were, I was looking for my purse. I thought I might have left it there. So that's what I was doing. Just looking for my purse is all. You know how it is, you put your purse down one minute and the next you can't remember where the heck it is. Then again, I guess you wouldn't know. It's a lady thing."

I tend to babble when I'm nervous.

"Well, I hope you find it."

"Find what?"

"Your purse."

"Oh, right. My purse."

He shot me a most skeptical look, and I could feel his gorgeous blue eyes boring into my back as I trotted off to the party.

In spite of my encounter with Greg, I returned to the mixer in remarkably high spirits.

I had, after all, deleted that G.o.dawful e-mail!

The clouds of doom had lifted. I saw suns.h.i.+ne! I saw rainbows! Oh, h.e.l.l. I saw Skip Holmeier III.

There he was, toupee akimbo, scarfing down hors d'oeuvres from Ca.s.sie's tray.

I prayed that somehow he'd developed a mad crush on her in my absence, but that was not to be.

As if guided by radar, he turned around and spotted me instantly. And before you could say "Your toupee looks like Shredded Wheat," he was at my side.

"Jaine, my dear! I was hoping you'd be here. Let's find a secluded corner and chat. I've brought pictures of Miss Marple!"

For the first time I was grateful that Joy had roped me in as her indentured servant. It was the perfect excuse to keep Skip at bay.

"Sounds like oodles of fun, Skip, but I can't spend any time with you tonight. I'm afraid I'm on waitress duty."

With a feeble wave good-bye, I grabbed my tray from where I'd left it on the bar and zoomed off to the kitchen to load up on hors d'oeuvres.

When I came back out, Skip was over in a corner, talking with a very shaken Tonio.

Once more I wondered what Tonio had done to make Joy so angry.

And as it happened, Joy was about to get a whole lot angrier.

Because just then Alyce Winters, swathed in a bright red spandex sheath, came slithering into the room, her raven extensions wriggling likes snakes on her shoulders.

She looked a h.e.l.l of a lot tougher than the day I'd last seen her crying in the parking lot.

Strolling over to me, she plucked an hors d'oeuvre from my tray.

Nearby I could hear what sounded like a bull bellowing.

It was Joy, of course, her face almost as red as her dress.

Now she came roaring over to us.

"What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing here?" she hissed at Alyce. "I already told you. You're banned from the club."

"I spent my last ten thousand dollars on your worthless service," Alyce replied, not bothering to lower her voice. "The least I can get out of it is a crummy hors d'oeuvre."

She took a bite and wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"And I do mean crummy."

"Get out of here!" Joy sputtered. "This instant!"

The veins on her neck were throbbing, and in spite of Joy's attempt to keep her voice lowered, people were beginning to look.

"I want my ten thousand dollars back," Alyce said, not moving an inch.

"Over my dead body!" Joy hissed.

"Sounds like a plan," Alyce replied with a cool smile.

That did it. Alyce had pressed the right b.u.t.ton. Now Joy was in fighting mode, swinging her arm back like she was going to slug Alyce Winters right in her nose job.

But after their set-to in the parking lot, Alyce knew what she was up against. Before Joy could make a move, Alyce reached out and grabbed Joy's wrist, then twisted it behind her back.

Joy winced in pain.

"You can't keep treating people the way you do, Joy. Not anymore. I'm going to put a stop to you."

Then she dropped Joy's wrist, turned on her heel, and walked out the door.

For once, Joy was at a loss for words. Was it my imagination, or did I see a flash of fear in her eyes? She stood there, rubbing her wrist, until she realized everyone was looking at her.

"Do forgive that ghastly intrusion," she said, piling on her British accent with a trowel. "A former member of the club. Mentally disturbed. Most distressing. But we mustn't let that upset us, must we? Let's party on!"

Then she faked her brightest smile and plunged back into the crowd, in full-tilt damage control mode.

Out from under her radarscope, I headed to the bar to thank Travis for helping me with Joy's pa.s.sword. And, not incidentally, to nab a wee sip of cheap champagne.

But when I got to the bar, Travis was nowhere in sight.

So I helped myself to the tiniest sip of Chateau Rite Aid, and thus fortified, continued making the rounds with my hors d'oeuvres-careful to avoid Skip, who had poor Tonio cornered, boring him senseless with anecdotes about his dearly departed Miss Marple.

By now I was starving. It had been ages since I'd wolfed down those two pot stickers at home (okay, four). I looked around the room and realized to my delight that Joy was nowhere in sight.

Hallelujah! I reached down for one of the hors d'oeuvres on my tray, a plump filo dough pastry bursting with cheese, and was about to pop it in my mouth when suddenly Joy came storming into the room, holding out her G.o.diva box.

"Who ate my chocolates?"

Her voice rattled the room like a sonic boom.

"Just a little while ago," she shrieked, "there were twelve chocolates in this box. And now there's only one!"

Omigosh. She was having another G.o.diva Meltdown!

She held up the empty G.o.diva box in one hand and the lone chocolate in the other.

"Who the h.e.l.l ate my chocolates?" she screeched again.

Everyone just stared at her, too stunned to speak.

"Whoever did it," Joy said, her ma.s.sive bosom heaving, "is blackballed from Dates of Joy for life!"

With that, she popped the lone chocolate in her mouth.

For a brief instant, I allowed myself to hope that this small dose of chocolate would calm her down and make her see that life was worth living. I know it always works that way for me.

But that, alas, was not to be.

Seconds after she swallowed it, she clutched her stomach and fell to the floor, writhing in pain.

People began screaming and reaching for their cell phones. Everywhere I looked, desperate singles were calling 911.

"Joy, sweetheart!" Tonio cried, racing to her side. "Are you okay?"

"Of course not, you idiot," Joy gasped.

As it turned out, those were her last words.

By the time the paramedics got there, Joy was dead.

Poisoned, as I would later learn, by a lethal dose of cyanide.

At long last, someone had taken the Joy out of dating.

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!