Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(75)

With that my smile turned genuine, and my homicidal urges subsided. This harmless woman was married.

Tyler shrugged helplessly.

“Catch you later,” he called out to me as she pulled him away.

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I stood there for a dreamy minute wondering what it would be like to be caught by Tyler, preferably in the Honeymoon Suite of the Four Seasons Hotel.

Then I headed over to the Christmas tree. This whole L.A.

Girlfriends thing had worked out wonderfully well. True, my initial date with Angel was a bit of a disaster, some might say of Titanic proportions, but that was bound to change. Gradually she’d open up to me, and we’d form a bond that would no doubt last all our lives.

I put Angel’s gift under the tree, lost in a reverie of Angel all grown up and graduating from Berkeley, valedictorian of her class, thanking the woman who changed her life, Jaine Austen Girard, when I heard someone calling my name.

I turned and saw Kevin Cavanaugh, in a frayed sport coat that hung loosely on his thin frame.

“I’m so happy to see you here,” he said. “I thought maybe you’d given up on Angel, the way you raced off the other day.”

“Oh, that. I had an emergency with my cat. A dental problem. Abscessed tooth. Had to be pulled. You don’t know what it’s like trying to find a cat dentist on a weekend.”

What was wrong with me? Couldn’t I just tell a fib without writing a novel about it?

“I’m just glad you’re here. You don’t know how much this means to Angel. I realize she can be difficult, but she’s had a pretty rough time of things.”

“Oh, I know,” I nodded sympathetically. “What with her asthma and all.”

“Asthma?” Kevin blinked, puzzled. “Angel doesn’t have asthma.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me that’s what she told you.”

“Well, actually—”

“No, I mean it. Don’t tell me. If I hear that kid has told one more lie, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He shot me a pleading look, his pale eyes watery with de-256

Laura Levine

spair. The guy was just a step away from jumping off a cliff into a mental breakdown. And I wasn’t about to push him over the edge.

“Oh, no!” I assured him. “She never said that. I must’ve misunderstood. I’ll go have a little talk with her now and straighten everything out.”

I gave him a cheerful wave goodbye, hoping he couldn’t see the vein in my neck that was throbbing with fury, and marched over to Angel, who was still at the buffet table.

I thought of all the trouble I’d been through to get those jeans, the hours stuck in traffic, the horrible battle with Ms.

Fireplug. All because I felt sorry for the poor little asthmatic waif. I was so mad, I was surprised steam wasn’t coming out of my ears.

I found Angel in front of the Swedish meatballs, poking another little girl in the chest.

“But I can’t afford to pay you protection money,” the other kid wailed.

Stepping between them, I took the other kid by the shoulders and knelt down so we were face to face.

“Don’t pay Angel a dime, sweetheart,” I told her. “If she threatens you again, call me. I’ll take care of it.”

I gave her one of my business cards, then got up and turned to Angel, breathing fire.

“Did you bring my present?” she had the nerve to ask.

“Yes,” I snarled, “I brought your present.”

“Good. I’m gonna get it right now and make tracks outta here. This party’s nothing but a bunch of dorks.”

“Not so fast, kiddo,” I said, grabbing her by the elbow.

“We need to talk. In private.”

My hand a vise around her wrist, I dragged her to a small pantry behind the buffet. Inside was a table laden with the desserts that were to be served after the gift-opening ceremonies. I was glad to see that nobody else was there.

“Whaddaya want?” she whined, as I yanked her inside and shut the door behind us.

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“The truth. I know you don’t really have asthma.”

She shot me a defiant stare.

“So?”

“So, you lied to me.”

“And you fell for it.”

And then she smirked. The little monster was actually proud of herself.

“What about that inhaler?”

“I found it in the garbage.”

Still smirking.

“I’m really angry, Angel.”

“Oh, wow. I’m shaking in my shoes.”

“Do you have any idea how much I paid for those jeans?”

“Yeah. $79.99. Plus tax.”

And then, with that smirk planted firmly on her face, she said one more word that pushed me over the edge: “Sucker.”

“That’s what you think, kiddo,” I hissed.

I turned and started for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To get my gift back.”

“You can’t do that!” she wailed.

“Oh, yeah? Watch me.”

I’d just made it to the door and was about to reach for the knob when I felt something soft and squishy hit me in the neck.