“Without a receipt, all I can give you is six dollars.”
“But—”
“That’s our policy, ma’am,” I said.
She drew in a big breath, stewed for a minute, then said, “Fine.”
I entered the transaction on the register, gave her six bucks, and she left. The next customer in line came forward.
“Do you have layaway?” she asked.
“I need a break,” I told Grace.
Our line had disappeared and the store was quiet, since it was almost closing time. I was nearly cross-eyed from looking up stock numbers on the inventory computer, and decided my evening needed a boost.
“Sure,” Grace said. “But before you go, do you want to handle these customer comment cards?”
I looked at the half dozen forms that had been filled out by disgruntled customers during our shift, lying in a basket on the back counter.
“Just file them.” Grace grinned and nodded. “Over there.”
I grinned too because I realized what she meant. The trash can.
“Standard procedure,” Grace said.
I dropped them into the trash.
Okay, I’m kind of liking this job now.
Since I’d modified my new lifestyle to concentrate on exercise, I decided to take a walk through the store, and for that I needed some energy food. A Snickers bar from the vending machine in the break room sounded like just the thing.
I went inside and there sat that girl who’d lost twenty-five pounds. She was always in here—eating. How could anybody lose that much weight, constantly eating? Okay, so it wasn’t exactly a Snickers bar she was munching on—more like a piece of shoe leather—but still, it wasn’t fair. No wonder I hated her. I was surprised she had any friends at all.
But I couldn’t bring myself to get a Snickers bar in front of her, so I left the break room and headed for the front of the store. A few days ago Bella had asked if I wanted to go to a hair show with her, and I hadn’t heard anything else about it. I’d seen her name on the work schedule—there was a copy in the customer service booth in case employees needed to call in and be reminded of when they worked—so I figured she was on a register tonight; she split her time between there and the housewares department.
Bella had outdone herself with her do tonight. It looked like the Great Pyramid atop the Giza Plateau. She was busy with a customer so I kept walking, circled through the men’s department, picked up my pace past the luggage and shoes, then slowed at the accessories section.
Merchandise had been removed, the shelves had been repositioned, and four workmen were busy installing glass display cases. I figured this was for the surprise Christmas merchandise that would be unveiled on Friday. Craig was there—didn’t that guy ever go home?—looking over some paperwork.
I guess I had to admire him, in a way. After the problems last year when those game systems had been shoplifted, he was apparently working hard to keep a better eye on things this year. But I suppose it wasn’t just commitment to Holt’s he was thinking of. He probably didn’t want to lose his job. Especially since his wife had cancer. He needed his paycheck and his medical benefits.
I looked around to see if the Christmas merchandise was there, ready to be stocked—it would be really cool to be the first to know what it was—but I didn’t see anything. I’d checked the inventory computer earlier, but Grace had told me the info wouldn’t be downloaded from corporate until the wee hours of Friday morning.
“Hey, Craig,” I said. “What’s up with the surprise stuff?”
He frowned at me. “It will be here when we open on Friday morning. Aren’t you supposed to be working in Customer Service?”
“On break,” I told him, then walked away. Jeez, what a crank-ass. I guess it takes somebody like Evelyn to be able to work for him. She actually seemed to have some compassion for the guy.
As I walked through the intimates department, I glanced at the entrance to the stockroom and got a little chill, remembering the night Richard was murdered. I’d gone over that whole thing in my mind again and again, and hadn’t come up with anything new, anything more than what I’d remembered when I’d spoken to the detectives that night. But the truth was, I really might have seen the murderer and not known it.
The thing is, employees roamed the store all the time. Unless you were tied to a register or held hostage in the customer service booth, you pretty much had the run of the place, as soon as your supervisor’s back was turned, anyway, or if you were on your break or lunch. The work schedule meant nothing, really. The store manager, the assistant manager, the area and department managers came in for their designated shift, but they could be here at any time of the day or evening to handle paperwork or problems. Hourly wage employees swapped shifts with other workers, or came in to shop on their time off. So there was no way to know exactly who was—or wasn’t—in the store that night.
Yet someone had removed the work schedule for the night Richard was murdered from the clipboard beside the time clock and from the customer service booth. Somebody was trying to hide something.
But who? And what?
I didn’t know the answer to those questions, but there was another one I could answer tonight.
Jeanette’s phone number.
I got a little tingle in my belly. I headed for the offices in the back of the store, but made a detour to the toy section next to the kids’ clothing. I walked down two aisles before I spotted the Lil Campers set. I glanced around, saw no one, then ripped open the package and popped out the kid-size flashlight. I flipped it on. The light was feeble, but it would do.
Grace was busy with a customer when I walked past the customer service booth, so she didn’t notice when I headed down the hallway toward the offices. All the doors were closed. It was silent back here. I looked up and down the hall, saw no one, opened the door, and slipped into the office used by the department managers. I closed the door quietly and turned on the flashlight. The beam looked brighter here in the total darkness.
Jeez, I can’t believe I’m really doing this. My palms started to sweat and my insides jiggled.
Okay, I have to focus. And I have to hurry. If somebody found me in here, I don’t know how I’d explain it.
I whipped the light around the room. The place looked the same as when I’d been in here twice before with Evelyn. I went to the desk, trying to remember which drawer she’d found the phone numbers in. I hadn’t been watching her all that closely.
I pulled open the top drawer. It was a mess. Papers, pens, pencils scrambled together. I opened another drawer. File folders. Yeah, okay, this might be something. I flipped through them and found a corporate directory, a softcover pamphlet slightly bigger than a paperback book.
I yanked it out and fanned the pages. This had to be the book Evelyn had used the night of the murder. The corporate structure, flowcharts, a store directory, names, titles, contact numbers—
Footsteps in the hallway.
I dropped to my knees behind the desk and switched off the flashlight.
Oh my God. What if someone comes in here? What if it’s Craig? Or Rita? Or Jeanette—
The footsteps got louder. I crouched lower and held my breath.
I’ll get fired. They’ll call the police. Shuman and Madison will show up and this will convince them that I’m involved in Richard’s murder.
Don’t come in here. Please, don’t come in here.
The footsteps faded. Thank God….
I waited, listened hard. Nothing.
The office was totally black. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. I waited, counted to one hundred, then counted again. Nothing. Slowly I got to my feet—I don’t think I have the knees for too much of this covert activity—and crept to the door. I listened while I shoved the corporate directory into the back waistband of my pants and pulled my shirt over it. I heard nothing, so I opened the door just a crack.
Nobody in sight. I eased out and pulled the door closed. I’d made it.
Wow, this was actually very cool. Sneaking around undercover—
The door to Jeanette’s office flew open. I jumped. Craig appeared in the doorway. He jumped. Damn, we were always meeting up like this.
I heaved a big sigh. “You scared the life out of me.”
“What are you doing back here?” he asked.
Good question.
“Looking for you,” I said, and it came out sounding really reasonable. “A customer had a question about some luggage.”
Craig’s eyes narrowed. “So?”
“So,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as if I were stalling for time. “Luggage is your department so I wanted to ask you about it.”
His eyes narrowed farther. “Okay, ask me.”
Jeez, now what was I going to do?
“Well, okay, the customer wanted to know if they could get replacement parts,” I said, totally winging it. “One of the wheels came off.”
“You should know this by now. How long have you been working in the customer service booth?” he grumbled and walked past me. “Ask Grace. She knows.”
Craig disappeared, leaving me standing alone in the hallway with the store directory shoved into the back of my pants.
Something about Craig always hit me funny. I guess he was just really stressed, with his wife’s medical problems and everything. Anyway, I was glad he’d believed my feeble question about the luggage.
But that left me with another question: why had Craig been in Jeanette’s office?
CHAPTER 15
Thanksgiving is a time for family. Warm houses filled with the aroma of roasting turkey, sweet potatoes, and apple pie. Pumpkins, cornstalks, and gourds decorating the hearth. Family and friends gathered.
But that’s what other people were doing today. Not me. I was at Holt’s. Working.
Lots of people have to work on Thanksgiving. Police, firemen, medical people, the military, all giving up their family time for a good cause.
My good cause today? Me. And the thirty bucks an hour I was making.
They’d told us to come today prepared to work hard and get dirty. I dressed in a pair of jeans with a red paint stain down the leg (my brief flirtation with furniture re-finishing), a faded ’N Sync T-shirt (I’m still in love with Justin), and a ratty old pair of Skechers I’d dug out of the back of my closet.
“We’ll be lucky to get this stuff stocked by New Year’s,” Bella muttered.
She was working in Housewares, unpacking and setting up displays of Christmas dinnerware. I was an aisle over in Domestics, putting out holiday table linens. Between us, we had five U-boats of merchandise to stock.
Other employees were spread out through the store, doing the same. The merchandise display people were finishing dressing the mannequins in holiday clothing and hanging the store decorations. Though the whole operation had been carefully planned, we still expected to put in a lot of hours.
Ty was here. I’d seen him earlier in jeans and a T-shirt, loading boxes onto U-boats in the stockroom. He looked great. Too bad I couldn’t work next to him. He was probably all sweaty by now.
In the stockroom on the loading dock was a mountain of boxes that had been delivered yesterday, all the holiday-themed items, plus the special after-Thanksgiving merchandise that would be featured in the sale ad. Every box came with a store map and department diagram designed by somebody in the corporate office, so minimum-wage peons like me would know exactly where to stock it.
“I’m supposed to be home right now eating turkey,” Bella said, and held out her hands. “And here I am wrecking my nails instead. What kind of Thanksgiving is this?”
“Your hair’s great,” I offered. In keeping with the tradition of the holiday, she’d fashioned her hair in the shape of a cornucopia tipping forward on her head. No fruit, though.
Bella patted the back of her hair. “This is nothing. When I enroll in beauty school, you’re gonna see some dos. Stylist to the stars. That’s what I’ll be. Just wait. You’ll see my creations on the red carpet. All them hot stars, prancing around like show ponies, wearing my hair designs.”
“So, when’s the hair show?” I asked, as I pulled the plastic off another four-pack of Santa place mats.
“Didn’t I call you? I thought I called you. It’s next week. Three days, but I’m only going on Thursday. That’s the day they show the new dos,” Bella said. She hoisted another box of Snowmen plates off the U-boat.
“Did you ask for Thursday off?” I asked.
“You bet I did. Two weeks ago.”
I wasn’t scheduled to work on day shift during the week, because of my job at Pike Warner, and since I figured I’d be back in the accounts payable unit any time now, I hadn’t changed my availability here at Holt’s. The weekly work schedule wasn’t announced until Sunday, but I had no reason to believe my hours would be any different.
“I’ll have to be back here for my shift Thursday night,” I said, as I pulled red-and-white-striped napkins out of a box.
“No problem,” she said. “Hey, that reminds me. When we’re out on Thursday, can you take me to get one of those knockoff purses like you carry?”
I froze, a dozen red and white napkin rings in my hand. My mind locked up. Knockoff purses? As in fake, counterfeit, rip-off? Bella thought my handbags—my genuine, authentic, extremely expensive, gorgeous designer bags—weren’t the real thing?
“I saw them on the Internet, but you just don’t know about some of those Web sites,” Bella said, arranging Snowmen plates on the display table. “They might be selling second-rate fakes, you know? I tried to find them on eBay, but they’re just a bunch of uppity assholes. They don’t allow knockoffs. Just the real ones. I can’t afford those real ones. So, believe me, I got no qualms about sporting around town with a fake on my arm, as long as it’s a good-quality fake.”
I didn’t want to tell her that I bought the real thing. She’d want to know how I afforded them on my Holt’s salary, and I didn’t want to get into the whole Pike Warner irregularities-investigation-pending thing.
But Bella didn’t have time to notice that I hadn’t answered her question. Rita suddenly appeared in the aisle. She, like Craig, seemed to always be in the store. Like they were afraid something would happen and they wouldn’t be there to see it.
“Schedule’s changed for tomorrow,” Rita announced, jabbing a clipboard in my direction. “You’re in Customer Service.”
“I’m restocking tomorrow,” I told her, glad that, for once, I’d looked at the work schedule.
“You’re in Customer Service,” Rita barked. “Permanently.”
“Permanently? No way!” I exclaimed. “What about what’s-her-name? With the food poisoning? She’s supposed to be back—”
“She’s not coming back. You’re in Customer Service.”
“But—”
“Get over yourself, princess,” Rita said, then walked away.
Customer service? Permanently? As in, forever?
No. No, it couldn’t be true. What had I done to be thrust into the bowels of retail hell?
Whatever it was, I wasn’t going to take it.
I started down the aisle after Rita, ready to rip that schedule out of her hand and change it myself—in her blood, if necessary—but Bella touched my arm.
“She’s not worth it,” she said. “She’s a bitch, but she’s not worth it.”
I hate it when other people are right.
“I detest working in Customer Service,” I all but screamed.
“It’s a shit hole, all right,” Bella agreed. A moment passed; then she nodded toward the U-boat. “Let’s get this stuff stocked so we can get out of here. Get home in time for pumpkin pie, or something.”
I guess that thought would have lifted another person’s mood, but not mine. It was nearly noon now, and by the time we got all this stuff unpacked and displayed, Mom’s guests would be eating Thanksgiving dinner.
No way was I walking into the middle of that. It would throw off Mom
’s seating arrangement, for one thing. And she’d want me to talk about feeding the homeless today, and though Mom hadn’t noticed (she won a beauty contest, not an I’m-planning-the-Mars-mission contest, luckily), one of the guests would question the plausibility of a homeless shelter in Bel Air, and then what would I say?
I got another box of place mats from the U-boat, ripped off the plastic, put them on the shelves like a robot. It was mindless work, leaving my brain available for more pleasant thoughts.
My gorgeous red leather Notorious handbag popped into my mind. It would look great at Christmas. I mentally flipped through the clothing hanging in my closet at home and selected a perfect outfit to wear with it. Then Detective Shuman’s girlfriend appeared in my thoughts, and I wondered how she liked the Burberry scarf I’d helped him pick out, and whether he’d buy her the matching wallet. Before long my mind was filled with handbags, racing along at top speed, hopping from Dooney & Bourke to Coach to Kenneth Cole, until it reached the Holy Grail of my desire: that Louis Vuitton organizer.
I must have moaned aloud because Bella looked at me funny.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Great,” I said.
“I’m great too,” Bella said, “because I’m done.”
I realized she’d finished. I only had another couple of boxes to go, so I ignored corporate’s merchandise display diagram, crammed everything onto the closest shelf, and followed Bella to the stockroom, towing two U-boats.
When I got there, the towers of merchandise had disappeared, but there was still a lot of commotion. The big doors on the loading dock were open and people in white coats were streaming inside carrying folding tables, chairs, and chafing dishes. An older woman stood by the doors, watching over everything, giving quiet instructions to the workers as they filed past. I walked over and saw a furniture rental truck and a catering van parked outside.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” the woman said, smiling pleasantly at me. She had gray hair and wore a very nice grandma-style suit in fall colors.
“What’s up?” I asked, nodding outside. It was a really great Southern California day, sunny, clear, warm.
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