Part 21 (1/2)

Wonderful news, Lambchop! It looks like I won't have to tunnel my way into Stinky Pinkus's townhouse, after all. Lydia's throwing a party and has invited the neighbors for a slide show presentation of The Gasbag's recent trip to Nepal. What a snore fest that's going to be. But luckily, I won't be around to see it. When they dim the lights, I plan to sneak out and conduct a thorough search of the premises.

Somewhere in that den of iniquity I know I'll find your mother's diamond ring. I just hope I get there before The Evil Axis has sold it on the black market.

Love 'n' snuggles from

Your Crime-fighting,

Daddy

To: Jausten

From: Shoptillyoudrop

Subject: Come to His Senses

Lydia's just called. She's invited us over to see slides from Lester's recent trip to Nepal. (That man has led such an interesting life!) I thought for sure Daddy would make a big fuss about going. But on the contrary, he seems quite enthused. Says he's always wanted to learn more about Nepal. He even apologized for his accusations against Lydia and Lester. Says he was wrong to think they'd stolen my ring, that he jumped to a foolish conclusion.

Thank heavens, he's come to his senses.

XOXO,.

Mom

To: Jausten

From: DaddyO

Dearest Lambchop-Did I tell you my Belgian Army Knife comes with a miniature crowbar? Perfect for jimmying open Stinky Pinkus's locked drawers!

Chapter 18.

I barely slept a wink that night, tossing and turning and dreaming I was being chased by a squirrel with a machete.

The next morning I woke up drenched in sweat, Prozac clawing at my chest for her breakfast.

With a pained moan, I staggered to the kitchen.

”I'm a fool to be worried about going to jail, aren't I, Pro?” I asked, desperate for rea.s.surance.

She looked up at me with big green eyes that could mean only one thing.

Minced Mackerel Guts again? How come I never get any steak tartare?

Somehow I managed to force down my own breakfast. I was so nervous, I could barely finish my second cinnamon raisin bagel.

Checking my e-mails, I shuddered to read about Daddy's plan to ”search the premises” of Lydia Pinkus's town house. But I couldn't waste time worrying about Daddy. Not with Detective Adam's Apple on his way over.

Desperate to make a good impression, I dressed with care, choosing fresh-from-the-cleaners khaki pants, brown suede boots, and a simple black silk pullover sweater.

Then I blew out my mop of curls and slapped on some makeup, checking every few minutes to make sure I hadn't forgotten to put on my pants.

I still had about fifteen minutes till my nine a.m. appointment, so I wisely used the time to straighten my apartment, hoping that neatness counted when it came to avoiding homicide arrests.

I was just clearing my breakfast dishes from the dining room table when tragedy struck. The knife I'd use to spread strawberry jam on my cinnamon raisin bagels-slick from the b.u.t.ter I'd also slathered on-suddenly slipped from my fingers. I watched in horror as it landed smack dab on my fresh-from-the-cleaners khaki pants. Oh, foo. Now I had a big red blob on my khaki crotch!

Das.h.i.+ng to the kitchen, I immediately started dabbing out the stain with water from the sink.

The good news is the stain came out in no time.

The bad news is that my big red blob was now a big wet blob.

Just as I was about to race to the bedroom to change, there was a knock on my door.

Oh, h.e.l.l. It had to be Detective Adam's Apple.

I stood frozen in panic, debating whether or not to keep him waiting while I changed pants.

Another knock.

”Ms. Austen?” It was Adam's Apple's voice, all right. ”Are you there?”

Dammit. I couldn't leave him standing outside. I just hoped he wouldn't notice a stain the size of Rhode Island on my crotch.

Reluctantly I opened the door.

”Detective Adam's ... I mean, Detective Willis. Come in, won't you?”