Death of a Neighborhood Witch (Jaine Austen Mystery) by Laura Levine Page B

red.
    “I love it!” Lance exclaimed. “I’ll take two.”
    “Two?” I asked. “Why do you need two?”
    “One for me and one for you.”
    “I don’t want a skeleton’s skull.”
    “Of course you do, Jaine. If any car was screaming out for a skull, it’s your Corolla. It’s practically haunted by the ghosts of dearly departed Quarter Pounders.”
    And before I could stop him, he was buying the darn things.
    “C’mon,” he said when we got out to the parking lot. “Let’s put one on your car.”
    “I am not putting a skeleton skull on my car.”
    “What’s wrong with you, Jaine?” He tsked in disapproval. “Where’s your Halloween spirit?”
    “Oh, all right,” I caved.
    Maybe it would be fun to get into the Halloween spirit for a change. And besides, it was actually sort of sweet of Lance to buy it for me.
    He clamped the skull onto my front bumper and turned on its blinking red eye sockets. It was beyond tacky, but what the heck? When it comes to gifts, it’s the thought that counts.
    I got in the car in a much better mood than when we started out.
    “Thanks for the ride, hon,” Lance said as we pulled out of the parking lot.
    “And thanks for the skeleton skull.”
    “Oh, it was nothing. That’s what friends are for. You can pay me back when we get home.”
    “Pay you back??”
    “Omigod!” he gasped. “Is that a pizza crust in your glove compartment?”
    And out came the moist towelette.
    I squeezed the steering wheel as hard as I could, pretending it was Lance’s neck.
     
    Still fuming over my “gift” from Lance, I stomped into my apartment.
    Talk about no good deed going unpunished. Here I’d been kind enough to drive him across town in LA traffic and what did I get for it? A tacky skeleton skull, hurtful slurs about my trusty Corolla, and a massive dose of moist towelettes.
    Of course, he had a point about the Corolla. Maybe my car did need a bit of a pick-me-up. So as much as I hated to admit he might be right, after a calming dose of Reese’s Pieces, I headed back outside to clean up the litter.
    I’d parked my car in front of the Hurlbutts’ house, and as I walked across the street, I saw Mrs. Hurlbutt out on her front lawn, hacking away at her flower bed with a hoe.
    “Damn that Harold,” she was muttering. “He never turns the soil right. Does a lick and a promise and then it’s back to the Weather Channel.”
    “Hi, Mrs. Hurlbutt,” I called out.
    “Oh, hello, Jaine.” She eyed my trash bag. “Come to clean out your car? It’s about time, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
    Of course, I did mind her saying so, but I just slapped on a phony smile and restrained myself from telling her that her rusty old Camry with the Garfield bobblehead in the backseat was not exactly a painting in the Louvre.
    “So are you going to Peter’s Halloween party?” she asked, her eyes lighting up with excitement.
    “Yes, I’m going as—”
    “That Peter!” she gushed, clearly not interested in my choice of costume. “What a looker! If I were twenty years younger . . .” She sighed with longing.
    Oh, for heaven’s sake. Was there no one on the block who didn’t have a crush on the guy?
    But then Mrs. Hurlbutt forgot all about Peter.
    “Goddamn slugs!” she shouted, glaring down at the upturned earth at her feet. “Stop eating my impatiens!”
    And with that, she took her hoe and began stabbing at the critters with a vengeance.
    Leaving her to her killing spree, I returned to the chore at hand and began cleaning out my car.
    I must say I was quite surprised to see how quickly my few measly wrappers managed to fill up a rather large trash bag.
    On the plus side, I found an earring I thought I’d lost two years ago.
    I had just finished tossing the trash into the garbage can when my cell phone rang. It was Kandi.
    “Meet me for lunch at Century City,” she said without preamble. “I’ve got the most amazing news.”
    No way could I meet Kandi for lunch. I’d