Death by Pantyhose by Laura Levine Read Free Book Online Page A

guys on the
freeway. "
    In Los Angeles, there are always poor souls
standing on freeway off-ramps selling flowers
and fruit. I dread to think how little they're paid
to stand in the blazing sun breathing in carcinogens all day. Most drivers just zoom past them,
but every once in a while, some kind soul will
stop and buy their wares.
    It heartened me to think that Andrew was
one of those souls.
    "Aren't you going to have one?" I said when
he didn't take any.
    "No, I'm allergic to strawberries."
    "You mean you bought the strawberries even
though you can't eat them?"
     
    He nodded. "The guy looked so sad I couldn't
say no.
    At that moment, any doubts I had about Andrew flew out the window. He was obviously the
warmhearted softie of my dreams.
    I wanted nothing more than to linger in the
BMW with him, trading life stories and running
my fingers through his curls. But that was not to
be. Not three minutes after Andrew offered me
that strawberry, the Triple A guy came roaring
up and with lightning speed had Wheezy
hooked up and ready to tow.
    "I'll call you soon," Andrew said, beaming me
a megawatt smile, "and we'll set up our dinner
date."
    I came thisclose to hurling myself across the
stick shift and into his lap for a torrid good-bye
kiss, but you'll be happy to know I restrained
myself.
    Instead, I hoisted myself into the cab of the
tow truck (treating Andrew to another scenic
view of my tush) and headed off to vent my
spleen on Crazy Dave.
    "One of my cars is broke? Impossible!"
    Crazy Dave AKA Vladimir polished off the
piece of baklava he was eating and shook his
bald head, incredulous.
    "Crazy Dave's cars never break!"
    Yeah, right. Crazy Dave probably had a place
of honor in the Tow Truck Hall of Fame.
    "Maybe you just need change of oil," he said.
    "How about I keep the oil and change the
car?"
     
    "No! No!" he insisted. "Nothing wrong with
car.
    After wiping his sticky fingers on his jeans, he
opened the engine hood and peered inside.
    "Aha!" he exclaimed, with all the solemnity of
Einstein discovering the Theory of Relativity. "I
see problem! The fan belt snapped. Happens all
the time. To fix is easy-sneezy, one two three!"
    He went scurrying into his office and minutes later came out waving a dirty fan belt.
    "Practically brand new," he exclaimed.
    And true to his word, in no time at all he'd
changed the fan belt. I got in the car, started the
engine and Wheezy sputtered back to life.
    "See?" Crazy Dave beamed. "Nothing wrong
with car. Good as new!"
    Wheezy belched a huge cloud of exhaust.
    "Still purring like kitten," he said, stroking
her hood.
    "Right," I sighed, then started to pull out of
the lot. I hadn't gone very far when I looked in
my rearview mirror and saw Crazy Dave running
after me, holding something in his hand.
    "Wait!" he cried.
    He caught up to the car, breathless.
    "I have something for you."
    He held out a gooey hunk of baklava
wrapped in waxed paper.
    "A present," he beamed, grinning. "To make
up for your troubles."
    I looked down at the baklava in his greasy
hands. This was his idea of making amends?
Well, if he thought he could buy me off with a
measly piece of baklava-he was absolutely
right. I scarfed it down at the first traffic light.
    So much for venting my spleen.
     

Chapter 6
    she last thing I wanted to do that night was
see Dorcas's comedy act, but she was my one
and only client, and so, after a nutritious dinner
of peanut butter and pretzels, I got in Wheezy
and headed over to the Laff Palace.
    The club was on a busy street in the heart of
West Hollywood, where parking spaces at night
are as scarce as straight men.
    I drove around searching for a spot for about
ten minutes. Finally, I gave up and handed
Wheezy over to the Laff Palace's valet parking
guy, a skinny teenager in a red jacket and black
bow tie.
    He looked at the ancient VW in disdain.
    "You want me to park it-or shoot it and put
it out of its misery?"
    Obviously, a