Murder Has Nine Lives by Laura Levine Read Free Book Online Page B

smell. Hasn’t tasted food in decades.”
    â€œLet’s take a short break,” Dean said, “while our cameraman and lighting director set up the first shot.”
    Two burly guys, whose names I’d already forgotten but would come to think of as Big and Bigger, thumped off to do their job.
    â€œWhile everything’s getting set up,” Dean announced, “Camille and I will be in my dressing room, tweaking the Skinny Kitty ad campaign.”
    Just as Deedee was rolling her eyes and betting that the only things Dean and the Panther would be tweaking would be each other, a woman’s voice came blaring out over the PA system. Will the owner of a crummy white Corolla with bird poop on the windshield please move their car immediately. You’re parked in the owner’s spot.
    Okay, so she didn’t really call my Corolla crummy and she didn’t mention the bird poop on the windshield, but the annoyance in her voice was palpable.
    â€œOh, dear. That’s me,” I said, thrusting Prozac into Deedee’s arms. “Watch her, will you, while I go move my car?”
    â€œMy pleasure!” Deedee cooed. “Deedee will take good care of your precious cargo.”
    Grabbing my purse, I sprinted down the hallway, past the receptionist, who looked up from her magazine and gave me the stink eye. Out in the lot, I quickly moved my Corolla from its coveted spot near the front entrance—I should’ve known it was too good to be true—to a far less enviable location next to the studio dumpster.
    When I returned to the studio, the receptionist was busy applying press-on nails.
    And to think, some people actually have to work for their money.
    Heading back down the hallway, I happened to glance into one of the small offices and saw that it was a kitchen. Standing there at a prep table was Nikki, the food stylist, arranging cat food in a bowl. Written on the bowl were the words Brand X . Hadn’t the script said something about the Before Cat turning up her nose at ordinary diet cat food? This was no doubt the stuff that Prozac would refuse to eat.
    Nikki was carefully sculpting it with a spoon, standing back to admire the effect, much like Rodin must have looked as he was putting the finishing touches on The Thinker . Pleased with the final result, she then absentmindedly reached for a spray can. Just as she was about to give a spritz, I realized it was a can of Raid.
    â€œStop!” I cried. “That stuff is poison!”
    Nikki looked at the insecticide in her hand and gasped. “Gosh!” she cried. “It looked just like the lemon oil I spray on the Brand X cat food to make it unpalatable for the cats.”
    She pointed to a spray can of lemon oil, which did indeed bear a striking resemblance to the pest killer. “Thank God you were passing by. What if I’d sprayed the Raid by mistake and your poor kitty ate it? She could have died.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” I assured her. “You didn’t spray it. All is well.”
    But I have to admit, I was shaken. I shuddered at the thought of Prozac, hungry from no breakfast, digging into Brand X, laced with Raid.
    â€œThe studio’s been having troubles with ants,” Nikki said, putting the Raid aside on a shelf. “I should have never kept it on the prep table.”
    Then she picked up the lemon oil and sprayed the Brand X cat food.
    â€œAre you sure that stuff really keeps cats away?” I asked. “I hardly gave my cat any breakfast this morning, and I’ll bet she’s starving. What if she tries to eat it?”
    â€œNo worries,” Nikki assured me. “Cats hate lemon oil. Once she smells it, she’ll never touch the food.”
    I had my doubts. After all, we were talking about a cat who’s been known to nibble on rancid gym socks.
    â€œVoilà!” Nikki said, holding up the bowl. “Brand X, destined to be rejected.”
    It was then that