Free Murder Has Nine Lives by Laura Levine Page B

eyes, he added, “But don’t worry, sweetie. I’m sure they’ll find the real killer. And besides, you’ve got to look on the bright side.”
    â€œWhich is?”
    â€œI was nowhere near the studio at the time of the murder and have an airtight alibi!”
    â€œYeah, that’s the bright side, all right.”
    â€œWell, here’s something that’ll really cheer you up.”
    â€œYou’re leaving me alone and going back to your apartment?”
    â€œNow, now, we mustn’t be bitchy just because we’re a suspect in a murder case. Guess where I just came from? Lunch with Deedee! She signed Mamie on as a client! She says she’s going to make her the most famous show biz dog since Lassie. And she practically guaranteed her a costarring role in a new Brad Pitt movie! Is that unbelievable, or what?”
    â€œIt truly is unbelievable,” I said, with the brightest fake smile I could muster. “So you had lunch with her, huh?”
    â€œAt the Peninsula. It was absolutely glorious!”
    â€œShe stick you with the check?”
    â€œAs it happened, she forgot her wallet, so I picked up the tab. But she assured me she’d pay me back with my first paycheck. Well, must dash and tell Mamie the good news. She’ll be so excited. And try not to worry about that murder thing, hon. Once Mamie lands this part with Brad Pitt, I’ll get you the finest lawyer money can buy. Ciao for now!”
    And off he dashed, with three of my Oreos.
    I was just reaching into the bag to grab one for myself when I flashed back on what the cops said right before they left. Those three miserable words:
    â€œDon’t leave town.”
    This murder could take months to solve. If I couldn’t leave town, I’d have to kiss my Hawaiian vacation good-bye.
    No way was that going to happen.
    Somehow, someway, I would find the killer in time to soak up the Maui sun.
    In the meanwhile, I did the next best thing and soaked up some Oreos.

Chapter 9
    A s luck would have it, I got a chance to start my investigation the very next day.
    While leafing through the L.A. Times , I saw there was to be a memorial service for Dean that morning at St. Paul’s Church in Westwood.
    And so, after an hour cranking out ideas for the Touch-Me-Not toilet (“Look, Ma! No hands!”), I gussied myself up in my funereal best: black slacks, black tee, black blazer, and my one and only pair of Manolos. True, the T-shirt, a Home Shopping Channel gift from my mom, sported the slogan “Crazy Cat Lady,” but nobody need know about that if I kept my blazer buttoned.
    After wrestling my mop of curls into a sedate bob, I popped on a pair of silver hoop earrings, grabbed my purse, and headed for the door.
    â€œSee you later, hon,” I called out to Prozac.
    She didn’t even look up from where she was sprawled out on the sofa, next to a pair of panty hose I’d left for her to play with. Normally, they’d have been in ribbons by now, but today she’d totally ignored them.
    Poor thing was still deep in her funk.
    I got in the Corolla and drove over to St. Paul’s, ruing the day I’d ever gotten her involved in that damn Skinny Kitty commercial.
    * * *
    Trying to find a parking spot in Westwood is like panning for gold in the Sahara. After circling around for what seemed like eons, I finally managed to nab a spot about six blocks from St. Paul’s and clomped over to the church, cursing my Manolos every step of the way.
    I headed inside and was surprised to find the large, wood-beamed chapel almost full.
    Somehow I hadn’t pictured Dean as the kind of guy with friends.
    All the mourners were seated toward the front of the church, leaving the last few rows empty.
    I spotted Linda up front, with Zeke at her side, his shoulder almost touching hers. I bet he was one happy camper, sitting so close to his heartthrob.
    A few rows behind Linda, the Pink Panther was