Jaine Austen Mystery: Killing Cupid Part 23

"Unfortunately Uncle George had enclosed a photo of himself with the painting, and Joy never threw it out. Then, when I made my big splash on the art scene, she saw a picture of me in the paper with one of 'my' paintings. Joy knew I didn't paint it, because she had a picture of Uncle George holding it-date stamped three years before I claimed to have finished it."

Ouch.

"That was all the blackmail ammunition she needed. And so for the past five years I've been paying her a small fortune to keep her mouth shut. I didn't mind the money so much. It was having to constantly show up at her stupid parties, never able to form a relations.h.i.+p because I had to stay single for Joy."

So I'd been right all along about Greg's dubious members.h.i.+p in Dates of Joy.

"Joy claimed she had Uncle George's photo stashed away in a safe deposit box. So I thought I was trapped. Until a few weeks ago when Tonio told me the truth. He and Joy had just had one of their many fights, and he was p.i.s.sed. He'd always felt sorry for me and confessed that Joy had made up the story about the safe deposit box. She was too cheap to rent one. Uncle George's photo was in a file cabinet in her office.

"I made up my mind to get it. When I b.u.mped into you outside of Joy's office the night of the murder, I was on my way to bust into her file cabinet. Which I did. I found the d.a.m.n picture. I was free at last."

"So you didn't touch her chocolates?" I asked.

"No, I'm not the one who poisoned her chocolates. But after all Joy put me through, I'm very grateful to whoever did." Then, with a weary sigh, he added: "So how much is it going to cost me to keep you quiet?"

"Nothing."

"Really?" He blinked in disbelief.

"Your uncle left you those paintings. As far as I'm concerned, they're yours to do with as you wish."

And it was true. It was none of my business what Greg Stanton did with his uncle's paintings. All I cared about was whether or not he killed Joy. And at that moment, I have to confess, I believed him when he said he was innocent.

(Then again, I believed The Blob when he promised to cherish me forever, so I'm not exactly infallible.) "I'm very grateful," Greg said, at last making eye contact with me. "I just hope you won't change your mind."

"I won't change my mind," I a.s.sured him. "You don't owe me a thing. Except maybe one of those chocolates over there," I said, nodding to the box of Valentine's chocolates still on his coffee table.

"Of course," he said, hurrying over to get the box. "Here. Keep the whole box."

"Oh, no, one's enough," I said, reaching for a candy.

"You're not really writing a story for the L.A. Times, are you?" Greg asked as I bit into a caramel creme.

"No," I confessed with a sheepish smile.

"So what are you up to, anyway?"

"Just poking around, asking questions, trying to find the killer and clear my name. You were right about me being a suspect. The cops think I may have killed Joy."

"If you want to find the real killer," he said, "I suggest you check in with Joy's aunt."

"Aunt Faith?"

"Some old dame who sells wackadoodle jewelry."

"That's Aunt Faith. I met her at Joy's memorial service."

"Tonio tells me that Joy died without a will and that the old lady was her only living relative. Which means she inherits everything. And gives her plenty of reason to want Joy dead, don't you agree?"

I did, indeed.

Chapter 20.

I headed for my car with a spring in my step and a box of Valentine's candy under my arm.

(Okay, so I took the whole box.) It had been quite a productive meeting. I'd confirmed the truth about Greg's paintings and got a lead about Aunt Faith to boot.

It was definitely time to pay Joy's not-so-loving relative a visit.

She'd had nothing but nasty things to say about Joy in her "eulogy," and for all I knew, she'd knocked off her niece to get her hands on a juicy inheritance.

I rummaged around in my purse and fished out the business card she'd given me at the memorial service.

Printed in elegant calligraphy were the words:

FROM TRASH TO TREASURE.

RECYCLED JEWELRY FOR THE HIP AT HEART.

FAITH COOPERMAN, DESIGNER IN CHIEF.

I called the number on the card, and a cheery voice at the other end trilled, "Faith Cooperman here!"

"Hi. I'm Jaine Austen. I don't know if you remember me. We met at Joy's memorial service."

"How could I forget? It's not often I see someone in a CUCKOO FOR COCOA PUFFS T-s.h.i.+rt at a memorial service."

Oops. I'd been hoping no one had noticed it under my blazer.

"Anyhow," I said, plowing past my fas.h.i.+on faux pas, "I was hoping I could stop by and see your jewelry."

Not true, of course. I had no interest whatsoever in her baubles, but it was a good excuse to get some face time with her.

"I just need the address for your shop."

"I don't have a shop, honey. I do most of my sales on eBay. But come on over to my apartment, and I'll be happy to show you what I've got. I just finished a fabulous bracelet made out of lug nuts!"

"Can't wait to see it," I lied.

She gave me her address, and after just two more Valentine's chocolates-okay, four more, but I was skipping lunch, so don't give me any grief-I was on my way to Faith's apartment in the San Fernando Valley community of Tarzana.

Faith lived on a leafy street crammed with low-rise apartment buildings. A lone bungalow stubbornly clung among them, a reminder of what the street had undoubtedly looked like a half a century ago.

I found a parking s.p.a.ce outside Faith's building, Tarzana Gardens. As far as I could see, the "gardens" consisted of a row of wilted impatiens bordering a patch of balding gra.s.s.

Faith buzzed me in on the building's rusty intercom, and minutes later, she was opening the door to her apartment, clad in an eye-popping floral muumuu and a paper clip necklace. Once again I was struck by her remarkable resemblance to Joy. The same chubby bod, the same thick blond hair, the same turned-up nose and blue eyes.

But then she smiled a broad, welcoming smile, and all similarity to Joy faded away.

Aunt Faith was either a very friendly gal, or she knew how to fake it.

"Come in, come in," she said, ushering me into her living room, a rather shabby avocado and gold affair straight out of a Sears catalog, circa 1972.

"This is my husband, Bert," she said, pointing to a florid sixty-something guy napping on a recliner, an open racing form splayed across his belly.

"Wake up, Bert!" she shouted.

He jolted awake with a snort.

"Say h.e.l.lo to Ms. Austen. She's here to buy my jewelry!"

Oh, h.e.l.l. I was hoping to window shop on this trip and not actually have to part with any cash.

"Hi there," Bert said, waving a feeble finger.

Faith led me past him to her dining room table, where she had a whole bunch of her Trash to Treasures jewelry spread out. Some of the pieces, I'm afraid, looked like they hadn't quite made it past the trash stage.

"Here's that piece I was telling you about," she said, holding up a heavy hunk of metal. "My lug nut bracelet! Can't you just see yourself in it?"

Only if I was changing a tire.

"And it's just thirty-five dollars!"

Thirty-five dollars for a bunch of lug nuts???

"And how about these?" she gushed. "Zipper earrings!" She held up two miniature zippers dangling from earring posts. "So on trend, aren't they?"

All I could think was that somewhere some leprechaun was missing his fly.

"Or how about this? My toothbrush bracelet!"

Now she was holding up a pink plastic toothbrush that had somehow been molded into a circle, the bristles painted chartreuse.

"Only forty-five dollars," she said, waving the bristles in my face.

No way was I paying forty-five dollars for a used toothbrush.

I was desperately trying to think of a way out of buying any of this junk when I glanced down at one of the dining room chairs and saw a stack of real estate spec sheets-the kind they hand out at open houses.

"You guys house hunting?" I asked.

"Yes!" Faith beamed. "I got a call from Joy's attorney, and it turns out she died without a will, so I'm her sole beneficiary!" She clapped her hands like a kid who'd just learned she'd won a giant teddy bear at the fair. "What a surprise! I thought for sure she'd have left everything to that greaseball boyfriend of hers. Or her other significant other, her plastic surgeon."

From the recliner, Bert piped up: "That gal had her face lifted so many times, she had nothing left in her shoes."

"I can't decide what to do with the money," Faith was musing. "Buy a new condo in the city, or open my own jewelry store."

"I vote for a condo!" Bert said. "I'm sick of living in the valley."

"It's poetic justice, that's what it is!" Faith rambled on, ignoring the vote from the peanut gallery. "After all Joy put me and her mother through, she owes me. Big time.

"I only hope the police don't think I had anything to do with her death. They were here questioning me the other day. There was no love lost between me and Joy, but I certainly didn't kill her. After all, she was my sister's child."

At last. The conversation was right where I wanted it-on the murder.

"I don't see how the police could possibly suspect you," I said. "I'm sure you were nowhere near Joy's party on Valentine's night. Right?"

If she had an alibi, now was her chance to use it.

"Absolutely not," Faith said. "I've never once stepped foot in that office of hers. Not after the way Joy pulled the rug out from under her mother and me. No, Bert and I were here all night having a romantic Valentine's evening. Weren't we, Bertie?"

Over in his recliner, Bert squirmed, clearly uncomfortable.

"Um . . . right," he said. "We were home all night."

Hmm. Very interesting.

I couldn't tell if he was embarra.s.sed at the memory of the high jinks involved in their "romantic evening." Or if he was uneasy because his wife was lying about being home all night.

"Yes," Faith was saying, "after a lifetime of treachery and abuse, I'm finally getting my just rewards. First thing tomorrow I'm going to put all Joy's designer shoes on eBay and have that Cupid statue in her office appraised. I'm pretty sure it's bronze with gold leaf detail. Should be worth a few grand."

Hold on a sec.

If I wasn't mistaken, I'd just caught Aunt Faith in a bit of a lie.

"But I don't understand," I said. "If you've never set foot in Joy's office, how did you know about the Cupid?"