Part 23 (2/2)

She gave me her address, and after just two more Valentine's chocolates-okay, four more, but I was skipping lunch, so don't give me any grief-I was on my way to Faith's apartment in the San Fernando Valley community of Tarzana.

Faith lived on a leafy street crammed with low-rise apartment buildings. A lone bungalow stubbornly clung among them, a reminder of what the street had undoubtedly looked like a half a century ago.

I found a parking s.p.a.ce outside Faith's building, Tarzana Gardens. As far as I could see, the ”gardens” consisted of a row of wilted impatiens bordering a patch of balding gra.s.s.

Faith buzzed me in on the building's rusty intercom, and minutes later, she was opening the door to her apartment, clad in an eye-popping floral muumuu and a paper clip necklace. Once again I was struck by her remarkable resemblance to Joy. The same chubby bod, the same thick blond hair, the same turned-up nose and blue eyes.

But then she smiled a broad, welcoming smile, and all similarity to Joy faded away.

Aunt Faith was either a very friendly gal, or she knew how to fake it.

”Come in, come in,” she said, ushering me into her living room, a rather shabby avocado and gold affair straight out of a Sears catalog, circa 1972.

”This is my husband, Bert,” she said, pointing to a florid sixty-something guy napping on a recliner, an open racing form splayed across his belly.

”Wake up, Bert!” she shouted.

He jolted awake with a snort.

”Say h.e.l.lo to Ms. Austen. She's here to buy my jewelry!”

Oh, h.e.l.l. I was hoping to window shop on this trip and not actually have to part with any cash.

”Hi there,” Bert said, waving a feeble finger.

Faith led me past him to her dining room table, where she had a whole bunch of her Trash to Treasures jewelry spread out. Some of the pieces, I'm afraid, looked like they hadn't quite made it past the trash stage.

”Here's that piece I was telling you about,” she said, holding up a heavy hunk of metal. ”My lug nut bracelet! Can't you just see yourself in it?”

Only if I was changing a tire.

”And it's just thirty-five dollars!”

Thirty-five dollars for a bunch of lug nuts???

”And how about these?” she gushed. ”Zipper earrings!” She held up two miniature zippers dangling from earring posts. ”So on trend, aren't they?”

All I could think was that somewhere some leprechaun was missing his fly.

”Or how about this? My toothbrush bracelet!”

Now she was holding up a pink plastic toothbrush that had somehow been molded into a circle, the bristles painted chartreuse.

”Only forty-five dollars,” she said, waving the bristles in my face.

No way was I paying forty-five dollars for a used toothbrush.

I was desperately trying to think of a way out of buying any of this junk when I glanced down at one of the dining room chairs and saw a stack of real estate spec sheets-the kind they hand out at open houses.

”You guys house hunting?” I asked.

”Yes!” Faith beamed. ”I got a call from Joy's attorney, and it turns out she died without a will, so I'm her sole beneficiary!” She clapped her hands like a kid who'd just learned she'd won a giant teddy bear at the fair. ”What a surprise! I thought for sure she'd have left everything to that greaseball boyfriend of hers. Or her other significant other, her plastic surgeon.”

From the recliner, Bert piped up: ”That gal had her face lifted so many times, she had nothing left in her shoes.”

”I can't decide what to do with the money,” Faith was musing. ”Buy a new condo in the city, or open my own jewelry store.”

”I vote for a condo!” Bert said. ”I'm sick of living in the valley.”

”It's poetic justice, that's what it is!” Faith rambled on, ignoring the vote from the peanut gallery. ”After all Joy put me and her mother through, she owes me. Big time.

”I only hope the police don't think I had anything to do with her death. They were here questioning me the other day. There was no love lost between me and Joy, but I certainly didn't kill her. After all, she was my sister's child.”

At last. The conversation was right where I wanted it-on the murder.

”I don't see how the police could possibly suspect you,” I said. ”I'm sure you were nowhere near Joy's party on Valentine's night. Right?”

If she had an alibi, now was her chance to use it.

”Absolutely not,” Faith said. ”I've never once stepped foot in that office of hers. Not after the way Joy pulled the rug out from under her mother and me. No, Bert and I were here all night having a romantic Valentine's evening. Weren't we, Bertie?”

Over in his recliner, Bert squirmed, clearly uncomfortable.

”Um . . . right,” he said. ”We were home all night.”

Hmm. Very interesting.

I couldn't tell if he was embarra.s.sed at the memory of the high jinks involved in their ”romantic evening.” Or if he was uneasy because his wife was lying about being home all night.

”Yes,” Faith was saying, ”after a lifetime of treachery and abuse, I'm finally getting my just rewards. First thing tomorrow I'm going to put all Joy's designer shoes on eBay and have that Cupid statue in her office appraised. I'm pretty sure it's bronze with gold leaf detail. Should be worth a few grand.”

Hold on a sec.

If I wasn't mistaken, I'd just caught Aunt Faith in a bit of a lie.

”But I don't understand,” I said. ”If you've never set foot in Joy's office, how did you know about the Cupid?”

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