Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(74)

The fun starts at seven. See you there!

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Laura Levine

Seven? Holy mackerel. It was already 6:45.

Kissing my bath goodbye, I showered and dressed with Indianapolis 500 speed.

Then I grabbed Angel’s gift and headed for the door.

“Bye, Pro!”

She didn’t look up from where she was snoring on my computer keyboard. Now that she’d gotten what she wanted, she had no more use for me.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was my exhusband.

I drove over to the party, humming an off-key version of “Frosty the Snowman,” not the least bit tired from my eight grueling hours at the mall.

On the contrary, I was feeling quite perky at the thought of seeing Tyler. How nice of him to call and remind me about the party. I couldn’t help thinking that he was interested in me. And not just as a volunteer.

I pulled into the parking lot of St. Philomena’s, a beautiful old church out in Santa Monica where the party was taking place, and checked my hair in the rearview mirror. Not a pretty picture. There’d been no time to blow it straight, and now I was stuck with the ever-popular Finger in the Light Socket Look.

Oh, well, I thought, getting out of the car, there was nothing I could do about it. At least I’d managed to throw together a decent outfit: jeans, a red cashmere turtleneck, and a yummy pair of high-heeled suede boots I’d bought on sale at Nordstrom.

Pulling my sweater down over the dreaded hip/tush zone, I sucked in my gut and headed inside.

The unmistakable aroma of Swedish meatballs greeted me like an old friend when I walked in the door. The party was in full swing, L.A. Girlfriends milling about, filling their plates from a buffet table groaning with goodies.

A Christmas tree was set up in a corner of the room. And THE DANGERS OF CANDY CANES

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in an ecumenical nod to the minorities, a Hanukah menorah and Kwanzaa candleholder were both aglow with candles.

I was relieved to see that most of the Girlfriend Volunteers were pleasant, average-looking gals, much like Yours Truly, hovering in the non-threatening Middle to Upper Middle of the 1-10 scale.

When it came to Tyler Girard, I didn’t need any competition, thank you very much.

“Hey, Jaine. I was afraid you weren’t going to make it.”

Speak of the darling devil, there he was at my side, smiling that endearing smile of his. I’d been so busy scoping the competition, I hadn’t seen him come up behind me.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, thinking how nice he looked in his chinos and crew neck sweater.

“Oh, I understand. Traffic’s a bear. Sister Mary Agnes just called. She’s going to be late, too.”

“How nice,” I murmured.

Uh-oh. That hadn’t been the right thing to say, had it? I’d been staring at Tyler’s eyes, trying to decide if they were brown or hazel, and hadn’t really been paying attention.

“I meant, how nice that I’ll finally get a chance to meet her.”

“She’s really looking forward to meeting you, too.” Then he glanced down at my Hot Stuff package. “I see you brought a present for Angel.”

“Who?”

“Angel. Your Girlfriend.”

Drat. I really had to stop staring at him and concentrate.

“Oh, right.”

“It looks expensive. I hope you didn’t go over the twenty dollar limit.”

“Actually, I did. I know I shouldn’t have, but it’s something Angel had her heart set on.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Well, Angel and I really bonded on our date.”

At that moment I caught a glimpse of Angel at the buffet 254

Laura Levine

table, and the sight of her skinny arms reaching out to fill her plate brought on a fresh wave of sympathy for the kid.

Maybe we hadn’t bonded on our date. But I knew we would, eventually.

“I’m so glad it worked out,” Tyler said. “I was afraid she might be a handful.”

“Oh, no,” I fibbed. “Not at all.”

“Well, now that you’re here, let’s go get you some dinner.

You hungry?”

“A little,” I said, trying not to look like the kind of person who can pack away a dozen Swedish meatballs in a single seating.

“We’d better grab your chow before the festivities begin.”

“Festivities?”

“Yes, after dinner, we open the presents and then Sister Mary Agnes gives a little speech. And then we wrap things up with dessert and coffee.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Oh, it will be.”

He beamed me another heart-melting smile which I beamed right back at him. And then, just as we were establishing meaningful eye contact, a willowy blonde came sashaying over to his side—one of the few 9’s in the crowd—and grabbed him by the elbow.

“Tyler, honey,” she cooed. “I’m going to steal you away.”

I glared at her, fuming.

“Beat it, blondie.”

Okay, I didn’t really say that. I just stood there, faking a stiff smile, fighting my impulse to strangle her.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” she said. “I want to introduce you to my husband!”