Death by Pantyhose (26 page)

I looked over and saw, to my disgust, that Pete
had taken off his jeans and was sitting beside me
in a pair of Hot Lips boxer shorts.

Oh, puke. I had to get that tape, and get out
of there-fast!

"Actually," I said, lowering my eyes, geisha
style. "I'm sort of shy. I don't usually rush into
things like this."

"Don't worry, doll," he leered. "You're gonna
love it. I've never had any complaints before."

That's because inflatable dolls don't talk.

"You know what really gets me in the mood?"
I said.

He lit up with interest.

"What?"

"This may sound strange, but do you have any
tuna fish?"

"Yeah. You want me to rub some on you?
Sounds kinky!"

"No, no. Could you make me a tuna sandwich?"

"You're kidding, right?" He scratched his
underarms, puzzled.

"I know it sounds crazy, but it turns me on."

"You're nutty, you know that?" Then he
winked. "Lucky for you, I like nutty. You sit right
there and finish your martini. I'll go make you
that sandwich."

The minute he was gone I dashed over to the
VCR to take Sugar Buns out of the machine.

Just as the machine was spitting it out, I
heard:

"Hey, babe, I'm all out of bread. All I got's
hot dog buns."

I looked up and saw Pete standing in the
doorway.

Damn. I was hoping that sandwich would
keep him busy for at least five minutes.

"That's okay," I stammered. "A hot dog bun's
fine."

"Hey"-he looked down at the tape in my
hands-"what're you doing?"

His hooded eyes narrowed in a suspicious
squint, and a frisson of fear shot down my spine.

To be perfectly honest, Pete, Sugar Buns isn't
doing it for me. I thought we could try Sex Vixens from Outer Space. That looked really hot."

f was thisclose to needing a barf bag, but I tried
my best to sound seductive.

He fell for it.

"Anything that turns you on, babe. I'll go get
it.

"No, I'll get it. You go get that sandwich."

The minute I heard him back in the kitchen,
I grabbed Regan's Sugar Buns. Then I got my
own buns in gear and bolted out the front door.

-was halfway down Laurel Canyon when I realized Regan couldn't be the killer. She was on
the red-eye to New York at the time of the murder.

Then again, maybe she wasn't on that plane.
Just because Vic dropped her off at the airport
didn't mean she actually got on board. Maybe
she got a flight early the next morning-one
that landed her in New York just in time for a
late-afternoon network meeting.

These were the thoughts rattling around my
brain as I lumbered home, exhaust clouds spewing behind me. That trek up Laurel Canyon had
taken its toll on the Mercedes. It was belching
and coughing as bad as Wheezy. If the cops didn't
find my Corolla soon, I really had to start looking for a new car.

When I got back to the apartment I found
two more messages on my machine from Andrew, asking me to call him. But I didn't. Because I knew if I did, I'd just weaken and go out with him again, and eventually wind up checking into Heartbreak Hotel.

Instead I put in a call to Allison.

"Hey, Jaine. How's the investigation going?"

"Actually, I think I'm onto something."

I told her about Regan, and her colorful past
as a porn star.

"Regan Dixon?" she gasped. "I don't believe it."

"It's true. And I think Vic may have been
blackmailing her."

"That's not so hard to believe," she said, with
a sigh.

At last, the scales were falling from her eyes.
And not a moment too soon.

"Look, Allison, do you happen to know if Vic
was into pornography?"

"As a matter of fact, he was. Hank and I found
a whole stash of the stuff when we were cleaning
out his closet."

"You did? Do you remember seeing a tape
called Sugar Buns?"

"No, but the tapes are out back in the trash.
Want me to take a look?"

"That would be great."

She put me on hold and went off to rummage through the trash. A few minutes later,
she came back on the line, breathless.

"I found it!"

Bingo! Clearly Vic had seen Sugar Buns and
recognized Regan. And from there-for a scuzzball like Vic-it was just a hop, skip, and a jump
away to blackmail.

I told Allison I'd keep her posted on future
developments and was just about to hang up
when I heard a piercing scream at the other end
of the line.

"Allison, what's wrong?"

"Oh, it's just Hank."

"Stop making such a fuss, Hank," she called
out. "It's only a water bug. I'll kill it as soon as I
get off the phone.

"He's such a character," she said, with an affectionate laugh.

I smiledas I hung up. It was good to hear Allison laugh. I bet she hadn't done that in quite a
while. I had a feeling she was falling for Hank.
At least I hoped she was. So what if he wasn't
Mr. Macho? He'd probably make her very
happy. Heaven knows, she deserved it.

And Allison wasn't the only happy camper in
town. At last, this case was coming together. I
was heading to the kitchen to celebrate with an
Eskimo Pie when the phone rang.

It was Dorcas.

"Hello, Jaine," she said, in a flat, listless voice.
Quite a change from the last time I'd spoken
with her, when she'd been bubbling with enthusiasm, practically planning her HBO special.

"Dorcas, what's wrong?"

"Ginnie Rae read my cards again, and the
news isn't good. A scary skeleton in a black cape
kept popping up. Anyhow, I just wanted to let
you know I'm accepting a plea bargain."

"What?"

"My lawyer says that with time off for good behavior, I'll be out in ten years."

"Dorcas, don't do it. Trust me on this. Everything's going to be okay."

"Really?" she said, hope creeping into her
voice.

"Really. Just hang in there."

I hung up and called the Opie of Mayberry lookalike who was passing himself off as her attorney.

"You can't let Dorcas plead guilty," I wailed.
"I've got evidence that proves she's innocent."

"Hang on just a minute," he said. "I'm on another call."

Then he put me on hold. At least he thought
he did.

"Mom," I heard him say, "I have to hang up
now. I've got another call. It's that annoying private eye."

"It's still me, Opie."

Okay, I didn't call him Opie. But I came awfully close.

He got rid of his mom and came back on the
line with me.

"Sorry about that `annoying private eye'
thing. "

"That's okay." Who cared what he called me,
as long as I got Dorcas off the hook?

I told him my theory about how Regan was
the killer and how she never got on the red-eye,
but caught a later flight to New York.

"Forget it, Jaine. The cops finally returned
my call. I know for a fact they checked out
Regan's alibi. After all, she was Vic's fiance. And
the partner of a murder victim is the first person the cops suspect."

I guess they were a lot smarter than I was.

"They checked the airline manifest, and there's
no doubt about it Regan was on a plane to
New York at the time Vic was killed. Three flight
attendants will swear to it. Oh, wait. Hold on, it's
my mom again."

But I didn't hold. I hung up in a disappointed daze.

So much for my brilliant theory.

Poor Dorcas. I'd gotten her hopes up only to
be dashed.

It looked like Spiro was my number one suspect again. But by now my confidence was shattered. If I was so wrong about Regan, who's to
say I wasn't wrong about Spiro, too?

In fact, the more I thought about it, the less
convinced I was of his guilt. Maybe he'd been
telling me the truth. Maybe all he'd done to Vic
the night of the murder was write him a check
for ten grand. Besides, if he were the murderer,
he probably never would have let me leave the
Laff Palace alive.

I headed off to the kitchen to drown my frustrations in that Eskimo Pie. But when I looked
in my freezer, all I found was an ice pack and a
bagel with freezer burn.

Sucking on the bagel, I called Domino's and
ordered a medium pepperoni pizza, with extra
anchovies for Prozac.

While I waited for the pizza delivery guy to
show up, I hopped in the shower. I wanted to
scrub away every lingering molecule from Pete's
cabin. But no matter how much I scrubbed, I
couldn't erase the image of Pete in his Hot Lips
boxer shorts.

And then suddenly I remembered the Sugar
Buns tape. I'd stolen Pete's prized "collector's
item." Sooner or later he'd discover it was missing. No way was I going to return it to him in
person. I'd just drop it in the mail with a phony
excuse about how it must've fallen into my bag
by accident.

Prozac and I had our pizza in bed, watching
North by Northwest on TV. Well, Prozac was watch ing (she loves Cary Grant). But I couldn't stop
thinking about Regan. My gut kept telling me
that she was the killer, although the facts were
telling me she couldn't possibly be.

As much as I tried, I couldn't concentrate on
the movie. Just when Gary and Eva Marie Saint
were hanging by their fingernails from Mount
Rushmore, I got up from bed and started getting dressed.

"I'll be back soon, Pro. I'm going out for a
walk. "

Oh, please. We both know you're going for ice
cream.

"It shows how much you know, smarty. I am
not going for ice cream."

And I didn't.

I went for frozen yogurt.

I was sitting at my local Penguins, slurping a
chocolate-and-vanilla-swirl cone and wondering
how I was going to tell Dorcas she'd been a fool
to have faith in me, when my cell phone rang.

It was Kandi.

"Oh, Jaine. I'm so mad I could spit. That silly
actress I hired to play me flunked traffic school."

"I don't get it.- I thought you said she was so
smart."

"She got a call to go on an audition in the
middle of the class. And she went! She never
even took the final test. So they flunked me!"

"Well, I hope you learned your lesson."

"I certainly have. I will never hire an out-ofwork actress to pretend to be me again."

"Good."

"They're so unreliable. Next time I'll try an
out-of-work writer."

"Kandi, you're missing the point. You can't go around hiring someone to do your dirty
work for you."

And that's when the lightbulb went off over
my head.

"Omigosh!" I shrieked. I was so excited I almost dropped my cone.

"What is it?"

"I know how Regan killed Vic!"

"Who's Regan?"

"I'll call you back later," I said, snapping the
phone shut.

Yes, I finally figured out how Regan got rid of
Vic. It was all so simple. Like Kandi, she hired
someone to do her dirty work for her. Didn't
Manny say he thought the murder was the work
of a hit man? Well, he was right. Only it wasn't
the mob who paid for the kill. It was Regan. She
hired somebody to bump off her blackmailer.
And carefully planned the murder for when
she'd be on a red-eye to New York, giving herself an airtight alibi.

Then suddenly my elation turned to terror.

What if that hit man was Pete? Right from the
start, I thought he looked like an extra from The
Sopranos. I shuddered to think that I'd been
alone with him in that deserted cabin of his.
Maybe he had orders to kill me, too. Maybe I
was never supposed to have left his cabin alive.

By now I was so scared I couldn't even finish my
cone. Okay, I finished it, but I hardly tasted a
thing.

I raced out of Penguins into the parking lot
and checked the backseat of the Mercedes, terrified I'd find Pete with a garrote at the ready.
But the car was free of hit men, so I got in and
drove back home.

I had to get that tape from my apartment and
bring it to the cops.

As the car trudged along, spewing smoke, I
kept checking the rearview mirror to see if anyone was following me. As far as I could tell, nobody was.

At last I pulled up in front of my duplex. I was
just about to get out of the car when I saw someone getting out of a van across the street.

Oh, Lord. What if it was Pete, come to finish
what he'd started that afternoon?

But no, it was a much smaller guy.

With a sigh of relief, I got out of the Mercedes. Just as I did, the guy at the van turned to
face me, and I saw that it was Hank.

What on earth was he doing here?

I took another look at his van and had the
strange feeling I'd seen it somewhere before.
And then I recognized it. It was the same beatup yellow van I saw parked outside Regan's house
the day I went to visit her. I remembered how
grateful I'd been to see I wasn't the only low-rent
driver on the block.