Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(80)

“Here are the jeans,” she said, taking them out of the bag.

“You shouldn’t have spent so much money.”

This time, I could tell her heart wasn’t in it.

“That’s okay,” I said. “You keep them.”

“Thanks!” She grabbed them back so fast, she almost got whiplash. “Can I go put them on?”

“Sure. You can change in my bedroom,” I said, pointing down the hall.

“I can’t tell you how much those jeans mean to her,” Kevin said when she’d dashed off. “Angel doesn’t get very many THE DANGERS OF CANDY CANES

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gifts. I’m all the family she’s got. And, as you can imagine, she doesn’t make friends very easily.”

I could imagine, all right. In Technicolor and Dolby stereo.

“We’ve tried other mentoring programs, and you’re the first person who ever stuck it out for more than an hour.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish. That’s why I’m so grateful to you. Anyhow, I called L.A. Girlfriends and explained how Angel lied to you about having asthma, and how she goaded you into the food fight. Which, incidentally, she loved. She said she hadn’t had so much fun since the time she fingerpainted on our living room walls.” He shuddered at the memory. “It took three coats of paint to cover that mess.

“Anyhow, Sister Agnes has agreed to take you back. That is, if you want to see Angel again.”

He looked at me like a puppy begging for a bone.

Acck. The thought of a date with Angel without intravenous Valium was daunting, to say the least.

But before I could fumpher an excuse, Angel came bouncing back into the room in her new jeans.

“They’re great!” she beamed, a radiant smile lighting up her pinched face. “Thank you so much.”

At the sight of that smile, my heart melted again.

“I was just telling Jaine the good news about L.A. Girlfriends.”

“Yeah,” Angel said. “They want you back. So how about it, Jaine?”

Angel smiled shyly. “Will you be my Girlfriend?”

By now my heart was the consistency of a pint of Chunky Monkey in the microwave.

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll be your Girlfriend.”

“Great! They’re having a sale at The Limited. Wanna go?”

“Forget it, Angel.”

“Hey,” she shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

Okay, so it wasn’t going to be easy.

But like the kid said, it was worth a shot.





Epilogue


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You’ll be glad to know that Ethel Cox got her wish. She never has to cook another meal as long as she lives. The state is providing her with three meals a day at a prison for the criminally nutsy.

At first Willard visited her regularly, in spite of the fact that she refused to see him. After a while, though, he gave up.

Last I heard, he was dating a woman he met in the Christmas decorations department of Home Depot.

Peter Roberts and Prudence Bascomb (aka Brandy Alexander) are still practicing law, and frankly I’m glad I never got around to telling the cops about what I’d discovered in Garth’s file. So what if they’ve got dark secrets in their pasts?

What attorney doesn’t?

And remember Peter’s secretary, Sylvia Alvarez? I saw her wedding picture in the paper not long ago. She and Hector finally tied the knot. I only hope the priest managed to get a word in edgewise during the ceremony.

Even more good news: Seymour Fiedler and his merry band of Fiedlers are back in business, plying their trade on the roofs of Los Angeles. In fact, they just finished Libby Brecker’s place.

Speaking of Libby, I saw her the other day when I took a sentimental spin over to Hysteria Lane. She was out front, buffing her door knocker. She congratulated me for my work THE DANGERS OF CANDY CANES

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on bringing Ethel to justice (the police were kind enough to mention my name in their account of Ethel’s arrest) and told me that Cathy Janken had sold her house and was living in an apartment in Van Nuys. Contrary to Cathy’s expectations, Garth left her saddled with debt, which may have been the reason Jimmy the mailman dumped her for the UPS delivery gal he’d been seeing on the side.

Angel and I “dated” for a few months, until her dad got transferred to Sacramento. It was tough sledding at first (I wanted to throttle her when she threw her house keys into the La Brea Tar Pits to see if they’d sink), but gradually she stopped acting out, and I grew quite fond of her. We never bonded in the lovey-dovey way of my fantasies. But we definitely Scotch Taped.

Things were never the same between me and Tyler. Maybe because it’s hard to have romantic feelings for a woman once you’ve seen her with chocolate mousse up her nose. But mainly because Tyler and Sister Mary Agnes (who, as the authorities discovered, wasn’t really a nun) ran off to Acapulco with the proceeds from an L.A. Girlfriends fund-raiser. I should’ve known there was something fishy about a nun who’d go mano a mano for a pair of Hot Stuff jeans.

Finally, I’m happy to report I had a very merry Christmas that year.

Daddy and Uncle Ed got into a big fight over a Monopoly game, and when Daddy threw Uncle Ed’s hotels—along with his toupee—in the Tampa Vistas pool, Uncle Ed got so mad, he checked his whole family into a Ramada Inn.