Pocketbooks and Pistols

by Dorothy Howell

  I hoped this theme wouldn’t carry over into the women’s spring clothing line. No way did I want to see Jeanette dressed in those colors. I might really have to quit.

  There’s only so much I can take.

  “How’s it going?” I asked, grabbing a stack of tablecloths from one of the packing boxes.

  “Quiet,” Bella told me. “This place has been like a morgue lately. Just because that girl went and got herself killed behind our building, that’s no reason for customers to think—”

  She gazed past me, completely enthralled with something, then sighed and moaned, “Lord, have mercy.”

  I turned and saw Jack walking toward us.

  Oh my God.

  He looked smoking hot dressed in jeans, a dark shirt, and a leather jacket. His hair was slightly tousled and he had a hint of a beard.

  Maybe it was my imagination, but I swear he was doing that slow-motion walk like in those men’s cologne commercials.

  “You got a brother?” Bella asked.

  Jack grinned and shook his head. “No brothers.”

  “Damn.”

  He turned to me. “You called.”

  I had? Oh, yes, I had.

  I headed for the stockroom. Jack followed me through the double doors. We stopped in the bedding section, which, I swear, was simply because it was a convenient spot.

  “I went by an auto repair place and—”

  “You really don’t remember what happened that night?” Jack asked.

  Good grief. Not this.

  He moved closer. I backed up and bumped into the shelving unit stuffed with pillows.

  “Nothing? Nothing at all?” he asked.

  Oh my God, he was using his Barry White voice. I’m totally helpless against a Barry White voice.

  Jack braced his arm against the shelf by my head and leaned down. Heat rolled off of him.

  “Maybe I can jog your memory.”

  He touched his lips to my cheek.

  Wow, that felt great.

  “Does this seem familiar?” he whispered and brushed his fingers across the back of my neck.

  It didn’t—but who cares?

  “Maybe this will bring back something.”

  Jack kissed me. I mean, he really kissed me. Just when I thought I might melt into a puddle on the floor, he stepped back. The playful look I’d seen on his face a minute ago was gone.

  He left the stockroom.

  I collapsed against the shelves of pillows.

  Oh my God, what had just happened?

  It took a few minutes for me to pull myself together and realize I hadn’t asked Jack about going to Wright’s Auto Works with me. Great. Now what was I going to do?

  Bella stood by the U-boat unloading boxes when I walked out of the stockroom. Jack was nowhere to be seen.

  “What did you do to him?” Bella demanded.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “He looked none too happy leaving here,” she told me. “You should have made out with him.”

  I kind of did—but only kind of.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “You’re acting weird. What’s the matter with you?”

  Good question.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” I said, and headed across the store.

  By the time I reached the breakroom, I still hadn’t calmed down. I couldn’t figure what the heck had gotten into Jack.

  Then I decided it was better if I didn’t think about him anymore tonight.

  I called Shuman. His voicemail picked up so I left a message asking him to meet me later tonight after my shift ended. I needed somebody to go with me to Wright’s Auto Works, and since no way was I calling Jack again, Shuman was it.

  As I left the breakroom, Jeanette came out of her office. I was still so rattled after being with Jack in the stockroom I wasn’t even fazed by the black and brown color-blocked pantsuit she had on.

  That’s how rattled I was.

  “I’d like to hire you,” she told me.

  Obviously, I wasn’t the only one who was whacked-out tonight.

  “You already did,” I said.

  “Come into my office.”

  I followed and we sat down at her desk.

  “The marketing department at the corporate office has come up with a brilliant idea to draw customers back to our shopping center,” Jeanette said.

  I braced myself.

  “We’re going to have a festival in the parking lot,” she told me. “I’ve already proposed it to the other business owners, and everyone is onboard. There will be deep discounts on merchandise, and special promotions. We’ll have entertainment, food, and fun things for kid and adults.”

  Corporate had come up with that? I was surprised.

  I wondered if Ty knew about the problems at the shopping center. Would he have given the green light to the festival? Or would he have—

  Oh my God, I was thinking about Ty again. But not really. This was business related. It had nothing to do with me caring about him, or thinking about how he looked and smelled, and always—

  I gave myself a mental shake.

  Jeanette’s words had turned into blah-blah-blah, but I caught up.

  “It’s the best way to get customers in, showcase merchandise, and demonstrate to the public that the center is a safe place to shop,” she said.

  “When are you doing it?”

  “This weekend.”

  I sat up straighter. “This weekend? How are you going to pull all of those things together in just a few days?”

  “That’s up to you,” Jeanette said. “You’re in charge of the festival.”

  Oh, crap.

  “I know you also work as an event planner, so this should be a snap for you,” she said. “The corporation will officially hire L.A. Affairs, giving you access to your contacts there. Someone from marketing will set up everything first thing in the morning so you can get on this right away.”

  I just sat there, my mind spinning. How the heck was I going to pull off an entire festival in such short notice?

  “The investigative journalists will be here this weekend also,” Jeanette said.

  And I was supposed to perform this miracle for viewers of TV, cable, satellite, the Internet, and YouTube? With the reputation of Holt’s and the other shops hanging in the balance?

  “We’re all counting on you, Haley,” Jeanette. “The future of the shopping center is in your hands.”

  Great. Just what I wanted to hear.

  * * *

  My evening definitely needed a boost.

  After my shift ended at Holt’s, I headed for my favorite Starbucks near my apartment. Shuman had texted me back earlier and agreed to meet me there. So, on the drive over, I’d called Nuovo, hoping that maybe—just maybe—the lost shipment of Mystique clutches had been found.

  No such luck. Chandra was full of apologies and told me again how anxious all the clerks at Nuovo were to finally see a Mystique in person, and that she’d contact me the minute the shipment was located and delivered.

  That meant it was all up to Shuman to boost my evening.

  I swung into the Starbucks parking lot and spotted him seated inside. I could see that, as usual, he had a coffee in front of him and a venti mocha Frappuccino waiting for me.

  So far, so good.

  Shuman smiled when I walked in. He stood up, and pulled out the chair for me.

  “I hope you have some good news,” he said, as we sat down.

  Darn. Not exactly what I wanted to hear.

  But his collar was open and his tie was pulled down. He looked tired. I figured I didn’t look so great myself, after the day I’d had. That was the cool thing about Shuman. We were okay with each other no matter what.

  I took a long drink of my Frappie to fortify myself, then said, “I had a scary run-in with somebody today.”

  I filled him in on what had happened with George at Wright’s Auto Works. Shuman shifted to somewhere between cop-mode and I’ll-kick-his-butt-for-you mode, leaning
forward and looking slightly puffed up, angry, and concerned.

  It was totally hot.

  “I’m fine. Really, I’m okay. Nothing serious. But, honestly, I was kind of scared,” I told him.

  Shuman took a few seconds to consider what I’d said, then pulled out a little notepad from his inside jacket pocket and wrote down the pertinent info.

  “It made no sense,” I said. “It was like he completely lost his mind. There was no reason for him to turn on me like that, which makes me think something more is going on with him.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said, and tucked the notepad away. “I took another look at the background check we did on Carrie Taylor. She opened her bakery last spring. Before that, she had a string of jobs, broken by long stretches of unemployment. She last worked for a grocery store. No record. No firearm registered to her. No red flags or alarm bells went off.”

  “But Asha worked for her at the bakery and wrote that horrible review about her shop,” I said. “They’re connected.”

  “Stretch that connection to include murder and we’ll have something.” Shuman sipped his coffee and said, “I dug into Owen Bailey’s past. Seems he’s got a revolving door of employees at that convenience store of his, and he’s had flings with a few of them. Asha was one of many.”

  If I’d had maybe-this-is-a-big-break antennae, they would have shot straight up and wiggled.

  “Do you think Owen’s wife finally had enough?” I asked. “Asha happened to be the one that drove her over the edge?”

  Shuman gave me a maybe-so shrug. “The wife has no alibi for the time of the murder.”

  “Is there any evidence to tie her to the murder?” I asked.

  “Not so far,” he said and sipped his coffee again.

  “What about Valerie Roderick?” I asked.

  “Not a happy lady,” Shuman said. “She had it in for Asha, which she freely admitted.”

  “What about an alibi for the time of the murder?”

  “She gave one.” Shuman frowned. “I’m checking it, but so far, things aren’t adding up.”

  A little wave of anxiety rolled through me. I liked Valerie. She’d been done majorly wrong by Asha. I could see how she might have been pushed too far. I hoped she hadn’t compounded her problems by killing Asha.

  “I spoke with the detective who handled the Dena Gerber shooting,” Shuman said.

  “Did he think there was something fishy about it? Like maybe it wasn’t really an accident that her gun went off and it just happened to kill her husband?” I asked.

  “There was nothing to prove it was intentional.”

  “So the fact that the same caliber gun was used to kill Asha is just a coincidence?” I asked.

  “Apparently,” Shuman said. “Plus, there’s no motive. Asha never slammed Dena’s craft store on her site.”

  We sat there for a few minutes, neither of us saying anything. Shuman hadn’t come up with new info that would point to Asha’s killer. I’d made no forward progress finding her murderer, only uncovered more unanswered questions.

  I’d have to dig harder—and put on a festival.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Haley?”

  I heard the office manager call my name as I left the breakroom with my first cup of coffee and headed down the hall. Even though I was at L.A. Affairs, my Holt’s training kicked in and I started walking faster—it was really early, okay?

  “Haley?” Priscilla called again. “Haley!”

  Crap.

  Obviously, she wasn’t going to give up like the customers did.

  I stopped and turned back, and saw her striding toward me. She was mid-thirties, tall, and blond, and always dressed in chic fashions, as required. This morning, she looked like she was already on some sort of mission.

  “Oh, Priscilla, good morning,” I said, as if I hadn’t heard her call my name over and over.

  “I could see you were deep in thought, and I can’t blame you,” she said, catching up to me. “After what you’ve done.”

  I’d done something?

  I couldn’t get a read from her expression on whether I’d done something good, or something I hadn’t thought I’d get caught at.

  “You’ve pulled off quite a coup,” she told me.

  Okay, it must have been something good. I had no idea what it was, so all I could do was give her a let’s-see-where-this-is-going smile and wait.

  Priscilla didn’t disappoint.

  “I got a call first thing this morning from the Holt’s Department Store marketing department. They have a huge event coming up, and they asked for you specifically.” An oh-my-God smile bloomed on her face. “You’ve landed us a major international corporation!”

  Obviously, she’d never been into a Holt’s store. Still, I was happy to take the credit.

  “I’m always on the lookout for new clients,” I told her.

  I wasn’t, but this sounded better.

  “You must have worked some marketing magic to land them,” she said, still smiling and looking oh-so impressed with me.

  I saw no reason to mention that I worked at Holt’s part-time, or that I’d been run over with the job of staging their festival.

  Priscilla frowned. “They are insisting on a quick turnaround time on this. I forwarded you the marketing department’s email detailing the event. Now, you’ll have to be sure to—”

  “I’ve got this, Priscilla,” I told her.

  She gave me a concerned look, and I gave her my don’t-question-the-master look right back. What else could I do?

  The last thing I wanted was for her to assign someone to help me who might learn that I worked at Holt’s—not to mention that the owner was my former official boyfriend.

  That might sully my accomplishment.

  “Fine,” she said, looking relieved. “But if you need help with anything, anything at all, let me know immediately.”

  “I will.”

  “And if any problems arise—”

  “I’ll handle them.”

  Priscilla took a few seconds to digest this, then said, “Good job, Haley. You’re a true asset to us.”

  I went into my office, closed the door, and collapsed into my desk chair.

  Oh my God, how was I going to pull this off?

  I could have dissolved into complete panic mode, but I pulled myself together because, really, I could handle this.

  This was a slow time of the year, not only for L.A. Affairs, but for our vendors as well. I knew it wouldn’t be a problem to book pretty much whoever I needed for the Holt’s festival this weekend. Even if I had to resort to my B-list of vendors, I knew that would work in my favor, too. They’d knock themselves out for L.A. Affairs and would do a superior job hoping to get bumped up to my A-list.

  Gulping down my coffee for an added brain-boost, I got to work.

  I breezed through the next few hours concentrating on putting plans for the Holt’s festival into motion—and doing a fantastic job of it, if I do say so myself—until my cell phone buzzed.

  Detective Shuman popped into my mind. He’d been more than a little riled up last night when I’d told him about my run-in with George at Wright’s Auto Works, so I expected I’d hear from him today with details about how he’d stormed the garage, confronted the guy, demanded to know why he’d treated me so badly, and avenged my honor.

  Or maybe I was getting a little carried away.

  Not that it mattered, I realized, when I glanced at the caller ID screen and saw that it was Liam calling. A little glow of warmth welled inside of me.

  “How’s your day going?” he asked, when I answered my phone.

  “Busy,” I said.

  “Too busy to get out of the office for a bit?”

  I’m never too busy to leave work.

  “What did you have in mind?” I asked.

  Not that it mattered.

  “How about meeting me for lunch?” Liam suggested.

  “Just the boost my day needs,” I told him.r />
  “There’s a Cheesecake Factory across the street from your office,” he said. “Is thirty minutes enough time for you to wrap up what you’re working on, and meet me there?”

  “No problem,” I told him, and we ended the call.

  Thirty minutes?

  Liam really needed to get to know me better.

  I grabbed my handbag and left.

  * * *

  This morning I’d dressed in my charcoal-gray business suit, which I’d expertly accessorized with black and a hint of red, and had selected a classic black and white Chanel bag to complete my look. Oddly enough, Liam had also selected a gray business suit with a red power tie.

  I supposed that meant something, but I wasn’t sure what—other than that we looked great together.

  We were seated in a booth at the Cheesecake Factory waiting for our lunches to be served. He’d asked how my day had gone so far. He was really good about that sort of thing.

  I’d hit the high points, sharing with him the things that made me look good—really, there was no need for him to know absolutely everything about me just yet—then I asked him the same question.

  “The usual,” he told me, then shifted uncomfortably and started fiddling with his silverware.

  I got a weird feeling.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “No—yes. Yes.” He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. “I think I might have overstepped when I asked you to go away with me weekend after next.”

  My weird feeling got weirder.

  Oh my God. Was he backing out? Was I sitting here in my totally fabulous outfit, planning not to order cheesecake for dessert so I wouldn’t look like a pig at a trough in front of him, and he’d changed his mind about us taking our relationship up another notch?

  I should have been angry but, really, I was sad.

  “I sprang the invitation on you without any warning. I shouldn’t have done that,” Liam said, looking troubled. “And I should have asked if you wanted to go to the mountains, if you even liked the mountains, instead of making those decisions without consulting you.”

  He was upset because he thought he hadn’t been considerate enough?

  Liam was a keeper, all right.

  “Everything’s good. I’m always up for a surprise,” I told him. “And if I really hadn’t wanted to go to the mountains, I would have said so.”