Death by Pantyhose Read Online Free PDF Page B

bought
the darn thing! When Daddy found out, he went
ballistic. He insisted that they give him the name
and address of the buyer. The ladies tried to tell
him they don't keep those kind of records, but
Daddy didn't believe them. He even suggested
that one of them might have kept the shirt for
herself. Did you ever hear of anything so ridiculous? Why would one of those sweet thrift shop
ladies want his silly Hawaiian shirt?
    He stormed out of the store, threatening to report
them to the Better Business Bureau! After all
Daddy put those poor ladies through, I didn't
want to leave the store without buying anything.
So I wound up getting an oil painting of dogs
playing poker. It's a very cute painting but we
simply don't have any room for it. I think I'll send
it to you, darling. I'm sure it'll look lovely in your
living room.
    Much love from,
    Mom
     
    To: Jausten
    From: DaddyO
    Subject: Jinxed!
    Dearest Lambchop,
    I may never forgive your mother. Because of her,
my lucky shirt is gone forever. Without it, I'm in
big trouble. I can feel it in my bones. Bad things
are going to happen.
    Your jinxed,
    Daddy
    To: Jausten
    From: Shoptillyoudrop
    Subject: Jinxed?
    Daddy's convinced that without his lucky shirt
he's jinxed. Did you ever hear of anything so
silly?
    Wait a minute. Now he's shouting about something. I'll be right back....
    Oh, dear. You won't believe what just happened.
Daddy's computer crashed! You don't suppose
he's right about being jinxed, do you?
     

Chapter 5
    )rozac was still in a snit the next morning,
wriggling out of reach when I tried to give
her her morning back massage. The minute she
finished inhaling her breakfast, she leapt up on
top of my bookcase, as far away from me as possible.
    Yes, she was in major prima donna mode, but
I didn't care. All I could think about was my
lunch date with Andrew. I'd forgotten all about
yesterday's disastrous events and was floating
around the apartment on a cloud of unrealistic
expectations. By the time I'd nuked my morning coffee, I was mentally ordering flowers for
our wedding.
    Nothing could bring me down off my Andrew
high. Not even those ominous e-mails from my
parents.
    I smelled trouble ahead. When it comes to
Daddy, there's always trouble ahead. Daddy attracts trouble like white cashmere attracts wine
stains. Not that I believed he was actually `jinxed." The only person jinxed in that relationship was
Mom.
     
    True, Mom could never remember Prozac's
name and was constantly bombarding me with
unwanted gifts. But she's a darling woman. And
now Daddy would drive her crazy for weeks, if
not months to come, over his "lucky" Hawaiian
shirt.
    But for once, I wasn't bothered by the scent
of impending disaster. Nor was I troubled by the
prospect of a sequined shorts set and dogs playing poker showing up at my doorstep.
    Que sera, sera. That was my motto du jour.
    After checking my e-mails, I took a deliciously
long bath, up to my neck in strawberry-scented
bubbles. By the time I got out, Andrew and I
had just bought our first house in the suburbs.
    Then I blow-dried my curly mop till it was
smooth as silk and floated into the bedroom to
get dressed for my date. I tried on several outfits
before going with jeans, an Ann Taylor blazer,
and a fabulous pair of high-heeled suede boots
I'd bought on sale at Bloomie's.
    I surveyed myself in the mirror and saw, to my
delight, that yesterday's monstrous zit was barely
noticeable. After a dab of makeup and a spritz
of hair spray, I was ready to go.
    Out in the living room, Prozac was still
perched on top of my bookcase.
    "Bye, darling!" I called out to her as I headed
for the door. "You still mad at me?"
    She glared at me through slitted eyes and
began clawing the paint off my bookcase.
    I took that as a yes.

     
    I was heading down the path to my car when
I saw my neighbor Lance stretched out in a
lounge chair outside his apartment. Lance and I
share a quaint 1940s