Messenger Bags and Murder (A Haley Randolph Mystery)

by Dorothy Howell

  I waited in the hallway until the applause for the previous speaker died. A man who was acting as the emcee took the podium, gave a brief summary of L.A. Affairs, then introduced me. Applause rose as I climbed the stairs to the stage and settled in behind the podium.

  As I gazed out over the audience I spotted all the people seated there whom I’d met this week, industry professionals I’d chatted with, exchanged phone numbers and email addresses with. A door at the rear of the room opened and Jack walked in. He looked more handsome than usual in a fantastic Tom Ford suit; his presentation was coming up later in the afternoon.

  Always nice to see friendly faces in the crowd—plus a totally hot guy.

  I flashed on last night when Jack and I were in the moonlit, secluded labyrinth, fantasizing about running off to Alaska. I wondered if he’d thought of it again—which was totally bad of me, I know.

  Then my gaze snagged on Priscilla and Edie. They were seated on the front row, both dressed in we-can-squash-your-career business suits, their hair and makeup done to perfection. Still, Priscilla looked like she might have a stroke or, at minimum, a heart attack. I hoped Edie had brushed up on CPR and had one of those defibrillators tucked inside the Prada tote on the floor at her feet.

  I greeted the audience, thanked HPA for inviting L.A. Affairs to the conference, and complimented the Severin team on all of their hard work putting on a fabulous event—and it was fabulous, except for the murder and the stolen messenger bags, of course.

  I saw no need to mention that.

  The tech guy seated at a table full of electronic equipment off to the side caught my eye. I nodded. He started the video presentation and I read from the two prompters positioned beside the podium.

  The speech was mostly a summation of the kind of events L.A. Affairs was known for, catering to the rich, famous, and total nut cases in Los Angeles and Hollywood. Really, the audience members could have read this stuff off of the company’s website.

  But it was just as well that all I had to do was read from the prompter because my thoughts kept bouncing back to the green room and the things Shannon had said. She’d been outraged by the prospect of Elita turning the family vacation home into a B&B, and I could really relate to that, what with Mom wanting to sell the home I was raised in. I wanted to talk to Shannon again, after my speech, but I wasn’t sure she would wait around.

  I noticed her then, standing in the hallway to the green room, staring at me. She didn’t look as if she’d calmed down any. In fact, she looked more upset. Then I realized she was rising on her toes, leaning left, then right, as if trying to spot something. Casually, as if it were part of my presentation, I glanced behind me and saw the mobile kitchen that would be moved into position at center stage that Rosalind would use for her cooking demo.

  An idea zapped my brain, then another one zinged through, and my thoughts started darting around like a squirrel in traffic. Things fell into place: Shannon and her sisters objecting to Elita turning the family home into a B&B; Shannon not knowing Elita would be at the conference until she saw her name on the list of swag vendors by the messenger bag display; the stolen bags; the anonymous tip; the missing swag; Shannon’s outrage at seeing Rosalind in the green room and learning she’d do a cooking demo promoting the B&B.

  A weird kind of sadness swept over me—not the best thing to happen during a speech. All I could think about was my mom selling the house, Shannon and her sisters losing their childhood vacation home. All of that family stuff—gone.

  So I did the unthinkable. I couldn’t help myself—even with Priscilla and Edie eyeballing me.

  I went off-script.

  “L.A. Affairs doesn’t simply stage events,” I said.

  Priscilla’s eyes got big. Edie braced herself. I kept going.

  “We make memories. Memories for families to keep, to treasure forever, no matter what the future brings.” I added a thank-you and stepped back from the podium. Applause rose.

  I exited the stage. Jack hurried forward and offered his hand as I walked down the stairs. He gave me a wink. Nice.

  I stretched up. He leaned down.

  “I know who murdered Elita,” I whispered.

  Chapter 14

  I hurried into the green room, Jack close behind.

  Right away I spotted Shannon confronting Rosalind. Her voice was low but I saw the tight, angry expression on her face. Rosalind looked stunned, as did everyone else in the room.

  “Wait here,” I said to Jack.

  I knew I had to handle this myself, if I was going to confirm my suspicion. The presence of Jack—a stranger—would cause her to clam up.

  “I understand,” I said to Shannon, inserting myself between her and Rosalind.

  Shannon’s angry gaze landed on me.

  “You don’t want Rosalind to do the cooking demo,” I said. “You don’t want any attention drawn to Elita’s B&B.”

  “It isn’t Elita’s.” Shannon voice shook with rage. “It belongs to us. My dad. My mom. My sisters. My sisters’ kids. Not her.”

  I glimpsed Jack nearby, watching.

  “I get it,” I said, using my I-really-understand voice because really, I did. “You don’t want guests—strangers—in the home that belongs to your family.”

  “My mom decorated that house. Gorgeous furnishings. Antiques. She selected everything with love to make it perfect for our family.” Tears pooled in Shannon’s eyes. “Those are her things. Our things. Then Elita—who has the taste level of a cow and the business sense of a gerbil—just waltzes in and takes over, and wants to leave everything in the house for strangers to use.”

  I felt slightly sick to my stomach. No way could I tolerate that, either.

  “You must have been stunned when you saw Elita’s name on the brochure itemizing the vendor swag,” I said.

  “I couldn’t believe she was actually going ahead with the B&B,” Shannon said, her anger rising. “She didn’t even tell me or my sisters. Not a word.”

  “So you hid the messenger bags in the stockroom, slipped in later and took out the swag that included the B&B opening, then made the anonymous tip so the bags could be recovered for the giveaway today,” I said. “You even hid the vendor swag brochures that belonged beside the display bag so Zander couldn’t replenish them.”

  “I had to do something,” Shannon said. “I couldn’t let her open that B&B.”

  Applause drifted in from the banquet room. The next speaker had been introduced.

  “You tried to talk to Elita, didn’t you?” I said. “Monday night. After you read the B&B listing on the vendor swag brochure. You waited for her at the labyrinth exit.”

  Shannon clamped her mouth shut and drew herself up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You waited until she came out. You wanted to talk to her, out there, where it was quiet. You tried to make her understand how you and your sisters felt, and get her to forget opening the B&B,” I said, then added a total lie. “You were seen out there.”

  She blanched, then color rose in her cheeks. “Well, yes. I did go out there. But just to talk to her. I had to convince her. I had to make her understand how my sisters and I felt. That house is ours. My sisters have kids. They want to take them there in summers, just like we used to do.”

  My brother and sister flashed in my head, and how I’d felt about handling things in their absence to keep Mom from selling the house.

  “But Elita wouldn’t listen?” I asked.

  “She was completely unreasonable. She kept insisting it was her house—and it wasn’t.”

  “Things got heated,” I said. “You had to stop her. You grabbed the shovel.”

  “Only to frighten her,” Shannon insisted. “But she wouldn’t shut up—”

  Shannon stopped. Her gaze swept the room.

  “Where’s Rosalind?” she demanded, panic rising in her voice.

  I looked around, too. I didn’t see her.

  “She’s not going to do that demonstrat
ion,” Shannon swore. “She’s not going to announce to everyone that she’s cooking at the B&B. Not after everything I’ve done to keep it from opening.”

  A ripple of laughter drifted in from the banquet room.

  “No!” Shannon dashed across the room and into the hallway.

  “Jack! Stop her!” I called.

  He ran after her. I followed, not making such good time in my skirt and pumps, and got into the banquet room in time to see Shannon climbing the steps onto the stage. Rosalind was behind the mobile kitchen, talking to the audience as she stirred a pot on the stove top.

  Shannon barreled across the stage. Commotion broke out in the audience. Jack took the steps two at time. I hurried behind him.

  Rosalind noticed us. She gasped and backed away.

  Shannon grabbed a frying pan and swung it at Rosalind, but Jack was faster. He blocked her arm and wrenched the pan away. Shannon froze, stunned. She looked around, as if she couldn’t understand where she was or what was happening.

  I touched her arm and leaned close.

  “Go with Jack,” I whispered. “He’ll take care of you. I’ll be right there.”

  Jack caught her arm and led her off of the stage. Rosalind stood there, confused and stunned.

  I grasped her hand and led her to the podium.

  “That, ladies and gentlemen, was an excellent demonstration of the security services available from Jack Bishop,” I said, then gestured to Rosalind. “And a special thank-you to Rosalind Russo for helping out.”

  Applause broke out. I headed for the green room.

  ***

  “Here. You deserve it,” Kayla said, and passed me a glass of wine.

  We were in the green room and I was starting to come down from everything that had happened. Other guys from Jack’s team had fallen in with him and escorted Shannon out of the banquet room, taking her to the Severin security office. I figured the homicide detectives were on their way and would take over.

  “Your speech was lovely. I nearly teared up at the end.” Mindy blushed. “I’m feeling kind of emotional.”

  “Mindy’s got a hot date tonight,” Kayla said.

  Her cheeks grew redder. “With Carlos.”

  “It’s Charles,” Kayla told her.

  “That’s great,” I said and I meant it, now that I no longer suspected him of murder.

  “Oh, look who’s here,” Mindy said. “It’s Patty and Edna.”

  I followed her gaze and saw Priscilla and Edie walk into the room.

  “Oh my God,” Kayla murmured. “Brace yourselves.”

  I sipped the wine—okay, it was more than a sip—and set the glass aside, thinking it was better to keep a clear head.

  “Haley, about the speech.” Priscilla made a prune-face, then smiled. “It was fantastic.”

  “The part you added at the end about L.A. Affairs making memories,” Edie said. “It hit the right note. I could see the audience really connected with you.”

  “The tie-in with the security company was a stroke of genius,” Priscilla said. “It showed yet another dimension to our events.”

  “Staging that confrontation during the celebrity chef’s cooking demo was genius,” Edie said. “It’s all over social media already.”

  “Linking us to Rosalind Russo was brilliant,” Priscilla said. “You two definitely have a connection. Do you think you could get her to agree to cook for some of our events?”

  I’d accused Rosalind of murdering Elita and I was pretty sure I was the last person she’d want to work with, so what could I say but, “Sure.”

  “We’ve received a number of calls and email throughout the week from vendors here at the conference,” Priscilla said. “You and Kayla and Mindy have made an outstanding impression on everyone.”

  Priscilla glanced at Edie and got a slight head nod in return. “So, Haley, you’ve done a wonderful job representing us here at the conference, elevating our profile and bringing positive attention to L.A Affairs. We’re anxious to hear your ideas on continuing to move forward.”

  My first thought was to suggest firing Nadine—but that was way too selfish. I’d deal with her myself on Monday morning.

  Something to look forward to.

  “One thing comes to mind immediately,” I said. “The entire office would benefit from additional organization, so I think everyone should be given a Titan messenger bag.”

  Priscilla and Edie both gasped.

  “What a wonderful idea,” Edie declared.

  “I’ll get right on it,” Priscilla said.

  “How about some wine to celebrate?” Kayla said, and gathered glasses from the buffet table.

  I eased away as Kayla poured and Edie and Priscilla continued to rave about our efforts to promote L.A. Affairs this week, grabbed my handbag and left the green room. I was happy to bask in the glory of a job well done, a murder solved, and messenger bags recovered, but I needed a break from it.

  The main corridor was nearly empty as I crossed the lobby and headed toward the exit. I’d almost made it to fresh air and sunshine when my cell phone buzzed. Mom was calling.

  Sadness swept over me, knowing what she was about to tell me. Multiple offers, an excited buyer, a quick escrow. I’d let down my brother and sister—but at least I hadn’t resorted to murder, as Shannon had done.

  “I’m so insulted,” Mom declared when I answered.

  I couldn’t even ask a what-the-heck question before she went on.

  “Multiple offers, indeed.” She huffed. “Tear-downs. All of them.”

  My senses jumped to high alert.

  “All the buyers wanted to tear down the house?” I asked. Actually, I might have shouted that.

  “Can you imagine? This beautiful house with all of its charm, its character, its dignity, torn down and replaced by one of those contemporary monstrosities? Obviously, today’s buyers have absolutely no taste.”

  “So you’re not selling?” I asked.

  “Not until a home of this grandeur is better appreciated,” Mom said. “I cancelled the listing and fired my agent on the spot.”

  I didn’t really notice what else Mom said as we ended the call, I was smiling so big. I left the conference center as I tapped out messages to my brother and sister, letting them know that yet another of Mom’s disastrous plans had been foiled.

  Outside the sun was bright in the cloudless sky, the breeze gentle. Two cars pulled up to the valet. A helicopter descended toward the helipad. I headed for the labyrinth.

  The moments I’d spent there with Jack played in my mind. I’d been so ready to leave, to go with him. I was sure it meant something, something I’d face at another time.

  For now, I was relieved that Elita’s murder was solved, the messenger bags were recovered, and I still had my job. Mom wasn’t selling the house. Mindy had a new man in her life. Jack’s business reputation had been restored. I was getting a Titan messenger bag.

  All and all, it had been a heck of a week. I wanted nothing more than to go home, load up on everything chocolate I could find, and spent my weekend mindlessly relaxing.

  But first I wanted to call Detective Shuman with an update on Elita’s murder. I tapped his name on my contact list and he answered right away.

  “I found the killer,” I announced. “She’s in custody.”

  “Awesome,” Shuman said. “I want to hear all about it. I’m free. Meet me. I’ll have a frappie waiting for you.”

  Up ahead on the walkway I spotted Jack. He shifted, his gaze caressed me, and a guess-what-I’m-thinking grin pulled at his lips as he lifted a tray filled with mocha frappuccinos.

  Before I could react, my cell phone chimed. I text message from Liam appeared that read, “Surprise! Look behind you!”

  I turned and saw Liam leaving the valet, walking toward me with a Starbucks cup in his hand.

  The helicopter touched down. The door opened and a guy carrying a mocha frappuccino got out, and—oh my God, it was Ty.

  Oh, crap.

&
nbsp; The End

  Dear Reader:

  I hope you enjoyed this novella, and cordially invite you to check out the other books in my Haley Randolph series. You might also like my Dana Mackenzie series featuring an amateur sleuth who takes on the faceless corporation she works for while solving murders.

  If you’re up for adding a little romance to your life, I also write historical romance novels under the pen name Judith Stacy.

  More information is available at DorothyHowellNovels.com and JudithStacy.com. Stay up to date by visiting my Facebook page DorothyHowellNovels. If you’re wondering what I look like, check out my Instagram page DorothyHowellNovels.

  Thanks for adding my books to your library and recommending me to your friends and family.

  Happy reading!

  Dorothy

  AUTHOR BIO:

  Dorothy Howell is the author of 43 novels. She writes the Haley Randolph and the Dana Mackenzie mysteries series, and writes historical romance novels under the pen name Judith Stacy. Dorothy lives with her family in Southern California.

  Here’s a sneak peek at Fanny Packs and Foul Play, a Haley Randolph novella.

  Chapter One of Fanny Packs and Foul Play

  “I’d die for a new handbag,” Marcie said.

  I was ready to kill for one but didn’t say so. Marcie had been my best friend since forever. She already knew.

  We were at the Galleria in Sherman Oaks, one of L.A.s many upscale areas, scoping out the shops and boutiques. Marcie and I shared a love—okay, it was really an obsession, but so what—of designer handbags.

  All things fashion-forward were of supreme interest to us. But that was to be expected. We were both in our mid-twenties, smack in the middle of our we-have-to-look-great-now-before-it’s-too-late years. Marcie was a petite blonde, and I, Haley Randolph, was tall with dark hair. Marcie was sensible and level headed, and I—well, I wasn’t. But that’s not the point. We’re still BFFs and that’s what matters.