Death of a Neighborhood Witch (Jaine Austen Mystery) Read Free Page A

honorary membership in the Braille Institute. So I couldn’t understand why she was so upset.
    “He didn’t attack you or anything?” I asked, beginning to get alarmed.
    “Oh, no. Leonard was a perfectly pleasant if somewhat boring accountant from Pasadena.”
    “Then what was so depressing?”
    “From the minute we met,” she said, nibbling another millimeter off her chip, “there was something familiar about him. He said the same about me. And then, when he ordered us blueberry pie for dessert, I remembered how we knew each other. He was my very first blind date when I first moved to L.A. ten years ago. That’s what he ordered ten years ago.”
    “Wow, what a coincidence.”
    “A coincidence? It’s a tragic commentary on my life. Don’t you see? Leonard’s been married and divorced twice since our date. And I still haven’t been anywhere near an altar. I’ve made absolutely no progress in ten whole years of dating. I’m back to square one.”
    “Yes, but on the plus side,” I reminded her, “you had blueberry pie for dessert.”
    “Jaine, please!” she said, shooting me a wounded look.
    “Oh, honey,” I said, reluctantly abandoning the chips to take her hand, “you mustn’t let it get to you.”
    “Easy for you to say,” she sulked. “At least you’ve been married.”
    “To The Blob? That hardly counts. The man—and I use the term loosely—showed up at our wedding in flip-flops and watched ESPN during sex—with himself.”
    Our waiter, a skinny guy with enormous brown eyes, who had sidled up to take our orders, tsked in sympathy.
    I get that a lot when people hear about The Blob.
    “What’ll it be, señoritas?” he asked.
    We ordered our usual: tostada salad for Kandi, chicken chimichangas with refried beans and rice for moi .
    “Look, Kandi,” I said as the waiter walked off. “You try harder than anyone I know to get out there and make things happen. I’m certain that someday you’re going to meet your special somebody.”
    “That’s exactly what Madame Vruska said.”
    For the first time since I’d walked into the restaurant, I saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
    “Madame Vruska?”
    “The most amazing new psychic I went to. I drove past her place on my way home from my date with Leonard. There was her sign, right next to the place where I get my nails done. Madame Vruska, Palm Reader . Like a beacon shining in the wasteland of my dating life. The very next day, I went in for a consultation.”
    “What did she say?”
    “First, how much she loved my nails. And then she read my palm and told me I’d soon be meeting the love of my life. Someone in the arts. Oh, Jaine!” she said, licking a grain of salt from the rim of her margarita glass. “Doesn’t that sound exciting? A painter or a musician. Or maybe a tango dancer. I’ve always wanted to date a tango dancer.”
    And just like that, she sloughed off her depression and took a whole bite of her chip.
    That’s what makes Kandi a kamikaze dater. No matter how many knocks she takes, she’s constantly rising from the ashes of her bad dates, ready once again to meet Mr. Right.
    The woman can go from storm clouds to silver linings in the time it takes me to polish off a bowl of chips. Which by now I had pretty much done.
    “So what’s new with you, hon?” she asked.
    I told her about Peter Connor and my bet with Lance.
    “I thought Peter was flirting with me, but Lance is probably right. Chances are, Peter’s gay.”
    “Don’t be silly. Lance thinks everyone’s gay. Didn’t he once say Karl Marx was gay?”
    “No, Groucho.”
    “Whatever. Lance has no idea what he’s talking about. I’ll bet Peter was flirting with you. Now you just have to be cute and flirty right back at him.”
    Sad to say, Cute and Flirty are subjects I flunked long ago in adolescence. (Although I did get outstanding grades in Awkward and Tongue Tied.)
    “Next time you see him,” Kandi said, “you’re going to be a lean, mean flirting