Death of a Neighborhood Witch (Jaine Austen Mystery) by Laura Levine
Authors: Laura Levine
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insisted.
“Liar!” cried Emmeline. “I can see the chocolate on your chin.”
And indeed there was a faint swath of chocolate across Cryptessa’s chin.
“Oh, go fly a kite,” Cryptessa snapped, swiping at her chin with the back of her hand.
Okay, that’s not what she really said, but this is a family novel so I’ll spare you the real four letter words involved. “How do you know it wasn’t a possum who ate the chocolates? How do you know it wasn’t your dog?” She pointed at me and added, “How do you know it wasn’t her ? I wouldn’t put anything past her. She killed my bird, you know.”
I was this close to hurling a few colorful four-letter words of my own in her direction when Cryptessa’s balding nephew came hurrying up the front path.
“Aunt Eleanor! What’s going on?”
“Look, Warren!” Emmeline wailed, showing him the chocolate box. “She ate my chocolates!”
“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Not again.”
“She’s done this before?” I whispered.
“Don’t ask.” Warren shook his head, exasperated. “Last time it was a Junior’s cheesecake.”
Excited to see a new face in the crowd, Lana let out a welcoming yip.
“If that mongrel barks at me one more time,” Cryptessa snarled, “I’m calling animal control.”
“Go ahead,” Emmeline said, sweeping Lana up in her arms. “Call them. And I’ll call the FBI. For your information, eating somebody’s mail happens to be a federal offense!”
“I’m so sorry,” Warren said to Emmeline. “We’ll buy you another box.”
“Oh, we will, will we?” Cryptessa whirled on her nephew with fire in her eyes. “The last time I checked, buster, you were dead broke. I’m the one with the bucks around here, not you. And if you think I’m giving you money to buy that falafel franchise you wanted, forget about it. Not when you keep siding with my enemies.”
With that, she turned on her heels and stomped into the house.
“Aunt Eleanor!” Warren cried, running after her, tiny beads of sweat sprouting on his brow. “Let’s not be hasty!”
The door slammed behind them, leaving me alone with Emmeline. I watched as she led her dog over to the D O N OT T RESPASS sign.
“Go ahead, darling,” she prompted.
Eager to please, Lana squatted down and left her calling card.
“Good girl!” Emmeline said, her eyes beaming pure malice.
Nope, there was just no making peace with a woman like Cryptessa.
Chapter 7
“O migod!” Lance said, surveying the backseat of my Corolla. “So this is where old fast-food wrappers come to die.”
Lance and I were headed over to Hollywood to rent costumes for Peter’s Halloween party. I’d offered to drive, and already I was beginning to regret it.
“My car’s not so bad,” I said.
“Are you kidding? I think I see a ketchup packet from King Tut’s Tomb.”
“Okay, so it’s been a while since I’ve cleaned. I’ve been very distracted. I’ve had a lot of things on my plate.”
“Most of them with fries,” he said, holding up an empty McDonald’s bag.
“Hardy-har-har,” I said, my voice dripping icicles.
“Lucky for me, I never travel without moist towelette sanitizers.”
I reined in my annoyance as Lance ripped open a towelette and made a big show of sanitizing his hands.
“So how’d Peter like your ‘library’?” I asked, determined to get off his car cleanliness kick.
“Slight snafu,” he sighed. “Unfortunately, the only books my set decorator friend could get a hold of were a bunch of medical texts. In German. So if Peter ever asks, remember: I went to medical school in Heidelberg and dropped out to pursue my love of fashion.”
Oh, man, this guy deserved the Pulitzer Prize in Whoppers.
“It was a magical evening,” Lance gushed. “I looked divine, if I do say so myself. And I was the perfect host. I served Brie and crackers, washed down with a 1989 Châteauneuf-du-Pape.”
“Châteauneuf-du-pape? Doesn’t that stuff cost an arm and a
“Liar!” cried Emmeline. “I can see the chocolate on your chin.”
And indeed there was a faint swath of chocolate across Cryptessa’s chin.
“Oh, go fly a kite,” Cryptessa snapped, swiping at her chin with the back of her hand.
Okay, that’s not what she really said, but this is a family novel so I’ll spare you the real four letter words involved. “How do you know it wasn’t a possum who ate the chocolates? How do you know it wasn’t your dog?” She pointed at me and added, “How do you know it wasn’t her ? I wouldn’t put anything past her. She killed my bird, you know.”
I was this close to hurling a few colorful four-letter words of my own in her direction when Cryptessa’s balding nephew came hurrying up the front path.
“Aunt Eleanor! What’s going on?”
“Look, Warren!” Emmeline wailed, showing him the chocolate box. “She ate my chocolates!”
“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Not again.”
“She’s done this before?” I whispered.
“Don’t ask.” Warren shook his head, exasperated. “Last time it was a Junior’s cheesecake.”
Excited to see a new face in the crowd, Lana let out a welcoming yip.
“If that mongrel barks at me one more time,” Cryptessa snarled, “I’m calling animal control.”
“Go ahead,” Emmeline said, sweeping Lana up in her arms. “Call them. And I’ll call the FBI. For your information, eating somebody’s mail happens to be a federal offense!”
“I’m so sorry,” Warren said to Emmeline. “We’ll buy you another box.”
“Oh, we will, will we?” Cryptessa whirled on her nephew with fire in her eyes. “The last time I checked, buster, you were dead broke. I’m the one with the bucks around here, not you. And if you think I’m giving you money to buy that falafel franchise you wanted, forget about it. Not when you keep siding with my enemies.”
With that, she turned on her heels and stomped into the house.
“Aunt Eleanor!” Warren cried, running after her, tiny beads of sweat sprouting on his brow. “Let’s not be hasty!”
The door slammed behind them, leaving me alone with Emmeline. I watched as she led her dog over to the D O N OT T RESPASS sign.
“Go ahead, darling,” she prompted.
Eager to please, Lana squatted down and left her calling card.
“Good girl!” Emmeline said, her eyes beaming pure malice.
Nope, there was just no making peace with a woman like Cryptessa.
Chapter 7
“O migod!” Lance said, surveying the backseat of my Corolla. “So this is where old fast-food wrappers come to die.”
Lance and I were headed over to Hollywood to rent costumes for Peter’s Halloween party. I’d offered to drive, and already I was beginning to regret it.
“My car’s not so bad,” I said.
“Are you kidding? I think I see a ketchup packet from King Tut’s Tomb.”
“Okay, so it’s been a while since I’ve cleaned. I’ve been very distracted. I’ve had a lot of things on my plate.”
“Most of them with fries,” he said, holding up an empty McDonald’s bag.
“Hardy-har-har,” I said, my voice dripping icicles.
“Lucky for me, I never travel without moist towelette sanitizers.”
I reined in my annoyance as Lance ripped open a towelette and made a big show of sanitizing his hands.
“So how’d Peter like your ‘library’?” I asked, determined to get off his car cleanliness kick.
“Slight snafu,” he sighed. “Unfortunately, the only books my set decorator friend could get a hold of were a bunch of medical texts. In German. So if Peter ever asks, remember: I went to medical school in Heidelberg and dropped out to pursue my love of fashion.”
Oh, man, this guy deserved the Pulitzer Prize in Whoppers.
“It was a magical evening,” Lance gushed. “I looked divine, if I do say so myself. And I was the perfect host. I served Brie and crackers, washed down with a 1989 Châteauneuf-du-Pape.”
“Châteauneuf-du-pape? Doesn’t that stuff cost an arm and a
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