Foul Play - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,38

her hand to her mouth.

“Is that the article about the clinic?” Mrs. Boyd asked. “Isn’t that a clever headline?”

“Clever,” Jake said numbly. He read it aloud. “Doc Loses Cock.” It sounded as if he’d been emasculated. The story itself was innocuous enough. More human interest and humor than criminal, but obviously it was damaging. Nine o’clock in the morning and they’d had four cancellations.

“This is crazy,” he said to Amy. “This calls for drastic action.”

Amy nervously twisted a pencil in her hand. “What did you have in mind?”

“Jelly doughnuts.”

“Pardon?”

“There’s a great bakery in the supermarket across the street.” He reached into his pocket and handed Amy a twenty-dollar bill. “Some men smoke. Some men drink. I eat jelly doughnuts. I always feel better after a jelly doughnut. Get some for yourself, too. And don’t forget Mrs. Boyd.”

“I like the kind with cinnamon sugar,” Mrs. Boyd said.

Amy trudged over to the bakery. This was all her fault. Jake had turned to jelly doughnuts because of her. What would be next? Boston creams? Another week of this and he’d be hooked on Napoleons and eclairs.

She pushed through the barkery door and took a number. This chicken stuff was only newsworthy because Lulu was implicated, she thought bitterly. She’d been hardly noticed as a clown, important to just a few hundred children, but as a chicken thief she was infamous, a scandalous joke. If it continued she’d ruin Jake’s business. People didn’t want to leave their beloved pets in the hands of a woman accused of eating her competition for lunch.

She stepped up to the counter and chose a dozen doughnuts. Why couldn’t she have gotten a job in a bakery? Bakeries were cozy and smelled great, and if you were accused of cannibalizing the doughnuts nobody cared too much.

The girl behind the counter stared at Amy. “Do I know you?”

Amy shook her head vigorously. “Nope. I’m new in town …”

“I know! You’re Lulu. Your picture’s in the paper.” She handed Amy the bag of doughnuts and winked. “Having a change of menu today, huh?”

By midafternoon Amy had covered her bright yellow sweater with a blue lab coat, hoping to be less conspicuous. Most of the clients had stared at their toes or buried themselves in magazines. A few had good-naturedly flapped their wings and clucked at her. One woman asked for her autograph.

At five o’clock Amy had a splitting headache and was almost happy when the last two appointments of the day canceled. She wanted to go home and hide. She wasn’t usually one to run from a problem, but this wasn’t the sort of thing she could easily confront. If she said nothing at all, it implied guilt. And if she tried to explain, it smacked of guilt.

Jake perched on the corner of her desk, a stethoscope dangling from his neck. “Why so glum?”

“Never in a million years did I think it would come to this. People actually believe I took that bird.”

Jake made a face. “Nah. They’re just confused. Once they have the time to sort it out, everything will be fine. In a week this whole thing will have been forgotten, and we’ll be sitting around having a good laugh out of it.”

“I think you’re being optimistic.”

“You bet,” Jake said, hopping off her desk. “This is a special day for me. I got engaged today, and I’m taking my wife-to-be out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Maybe we should keep a low profile for a while …”

Jake pulled her to her feet. “We’ll be discreet. I’ll wear my glasses with the nose attached, and no one will recognize us. You go home and get all dressed up in something pretty. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

She wondered if Jake was right. Would it all go away in a week? What if it didn’t? Everything he’d worked for would be ruined. She turned onto Ox Road, solemnly noting the twenty-minute men close behind. They must be getting tired. Didn’t they need a shower? Why didn’t they just go out and get a respectable job like everybody else … selling shoes or shampooing carpets. She parked in her driveway, and the newsmen parked half a block away.

“How subtle,” she said, sarcastically rolling her eyes.

Not even a bubble bath could wash away the feeling of foreboding. She should be ecstatically happy she thought. She was in love, and she was engaged. Her lawn had gotten cut. What more could a woman want? She lethargically