Killing Cupid (A Jaine Austen Mystery) by Laura Levine

realized to my delight that Joy was nowhere in sight.
    Hallelujah! I reached down for one of the hors d’oeuvres on my tray, a plump filo dough pastry bursting with cheese, and was about to pop it in my mouth when suddenly Joy came storming into the room, holding out her Godiva box.
    “Who ate my chocolates?”
    Her voice rattled the room like a sonic boom.
    “Just a little while ago,” she shrieked, “there were twelve chocolates in this box. And now there’s only one!”
    Omigosh. She was having another Godiva Meltdown!
    She held up the empty Godiva box in one hand and the lone chocolate in the other.
    “Who the hell ate my chocolates?” she screeched again.
    Everyone just stared at her, too stunned to speak.
    “Whoever did it,” Joy said, her massive bosom heaving, “is blackballed from Dates of Joy for life!”
    With that, she popped the lone chocolate in her mouth.
    For a brief instant, I allowed myself to hope that this small dose of chocolate would calm her down and make her see that life was worth living. I know it always works that way for me.
    But that, alas, was not to be.
    Seconds after she swallowed it, she clutched her stomach and fell to the floor, writhing in pain.
    People began screaming and reaching for their cell phones. Everywhere I looked, desperate singles were calling 911.
    “Joy, sweetheart!” Tonio cried, racing to her side. “Are you okay?”
    “Of course not, you idiot,” Joy gasped.
    As it turned out, those were her last words.
    By the time the paramedics got there, Joy was dead.
    Poisoned, as I would later learn, by a lethal dose of cyanide.
    At long last, someone had taken the Joy out of dating.

    YOU’VE GOT MAIL!
    To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Arby’s, Here We Come!
     
    Would you believe Daddy forgot to make reservations at Le Chateaubriand? I only reminded him about 382 times. He insists he’ll be able to get us a table. Oh, sure. At the last minute on Valentine’s Day? Like that’s ever going to happen!
     
    Arby’s, here we come.
     
    XOXO,
Mom
     
     
    To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Oops!
     
    With all the Sturm und Drang of dealing with Lester “The Gasbag Romeo” Pinkus, I forgot to make dinner reservations at Le Chateaubriand.
     
    But fear not, Lambchop! I know how to grease a palm or two.
     
    Love ’n’ snuggles from
Your ever-resourceful,
Daddy
     
     
    To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Worst Valentine’s Ever!
     
    Of course there weren’t any tables available when we got to Le Chateaubriand. I knew there wouldn’t be. Daddy tried to slip the maître d’ some money to get us a table, but the maître d’ just flipped his quarter right back at him.
     
    We were about to leave when Lydia Pinkus came running up to us. She and Lester had a lovely table by the window, and Lydia invited us to join them. I felt sort of funny about it, after those two dozen roses from my “Secret Admirer,” but Lydia insisted.
     
    Daddy looked none too happy as we headed across the room, but I made him promise to behave himself.
     
    I was a fool to think he’d keep his word. He spent the entire meal glaring at Lester and muttering under his breath. When Lester made a harmless reference to his days as an amateur boxer, Daddy began bragging about his “grueling victories” on his college Ping-Pong team.
     
    Worse, he took out his new Belgian Army Knife, the one I was crazy enough to give him for Valentine’s Day, and kept talking about how the nose-hair trimmer could “kill a man” under the right circumstances.
     
    He insisted on using the built-in corkscrew to open our bottle of wine and proceeded to shove the cork straight into the bottle. We spent the whole night picking pieces of cork off our tongues.
     
    Daddy made a big show of giving me my Valentine’s gift at the table, which turned out to be a beautiful pink cubic zirconia ring. (Daddy insists it’s a diamond, but it sure looked like CZ to me.)
     
    “From your