Free Death of a Neighborhood Witch (Jaine Austen Mystery) by Laura Levine Page B

waiting to use the john.
    “What’s going on in there?” he asked, tapping his feet impatiently.
    “Um. Plumbing emergency.”
    “I’ll go tell Peter.”
    “No!” I practically shrieked. “He already knows. You’ll have to use the other bathroom.”
    “What other bathroom?”
    I had no idea if there was another bathroom in the house. But I wasn’t about to let that stop me.
    “Down there.” I pointed vaguely at the other end of the hall.
    And as Tarzan stomped away, I grabbed my jeans and sprinted out into the hallway, praying he wouldn’t turn around and see me.
    Thank heavens, he didn’t.
    I scooted into Peter’s office, which, like his living room, was a sleek, black leather-and-chrome affair. If I hadn’t been trapped in my Tummy Tamer, I’d have been sorely tempted to snoop around for more pictures of would-be lovers, but I had no time for that. Shoving the door shut with my shoulder, I began my search.
    And for the first time all night, lady luck seemed to be on my side. Inside the very first desk drawer I pulled open was a bright shiny pair of scissors.
    Unfortunately they were the teeny tiny manicure kind. But they were all I could find.
    So slowly, agonizingly, I began snipping my way to freedom. The minutes ticked by like decades as I hacked through the ironlike spandex.
    By now I looked back fondly on the good old days of Lila’s campaign speech.
    At last I had snipped my way to the topmost, tightest band of elastic. A few more hacks, and then finally there was just a smidgeon of Tummy Tamer left.
    This was it. Freedom was just a snip away!
    My fingers stiff from the effort, I snipped my last snip—and sprong! The Tummy Tamer sprang free.
    But to my horror, it sprang clear across the room to Peter’s bookcase.
    My heart sank as I heard the sound of glass breaking.
    Oh, hell.
    I dashed over to the bookcase, where I discovered that the Tummy Tamer had decapitated a porcelain figurine of Buddha. Poor Buddha’s belly was sitting on the shelf, while his head smiled serenely up at me from the carpet.
    When I checked the base of the figurine, I saw it was a Limoges. Holy Moses. It must have cost a fortune.
    Carefully I balanced Buddha’s head back on his belly and shoved the figurine behind a thesaurus, praying Peter wouldn’t discover it until I’d had a chance to replace it.
    And replace it I would. No way was I going to tell Peter about this unfortunate mishap.
    Shuddering at the thought of how much a replacement Buddha would cost, I quickly donned my jeans and went back out into the hallway, where I promptly bumped into Mr. Tarzan.
    “There’s no other bathroom at the end of the hall,” he informed me, loincloth aquiver.
    “Really?” I replied, all wide-eyed innocence. “I could’ve sworn there was. Anyhow, the plumbing problem’s all fixed.”
    Ignoring his dagger gaze, I strolled back into the living room, whistling casually, affecting an air of “What, me, worry?” nonchalance.
    But I needn’t have bothered. No one was paying the least bit of attention to me.
    All eyes were riveted across the street, where police sirens were wailing.
    I hurried to the window to see what the commotion was all about when Mrs. Hurlbutt came bursting in the front door.
    “Omigod!” she announced with breathless excitement. “Cryptessa Muldoon’s just been murdered!”
    “No!” Mr. Hurlbutt gasped.
    “Yes!” Mrs. Hurlbutt assured him. “Stabbed in the heart with her own D O N OT T RESPASS sign!”

Chapter 9
    M rs. Hurlbutt’s news triggered a minor stampede out the front door, and I raced across the street with the others to get a glimpse of the crime scene. Sure enough, if I peered over the heads of the rapidly swelling crowd, I could see Cryptessa’s body sprawled in her doorway, the stake from her D O N OT T RESPASS sign protruding from her heart. A pool of blood was already beginning to clot on her sweat suit.
    Emmeline Owens stood nearby in her bathrobe and slippers, her hair in