Free Killing Cupid (A Jaine Austen Mystery) by Laura Levine Page B

hors d’oeuvres from Cassie’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 hell 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 hell 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 button. 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 password. 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 Château 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