Handbags and Homicide

by Dorothy Howell

  “Thanksgiving dinner,” she said, still smiling. “Courtesy of Holt’s.”

  I turned, looking for Ty in the crowd, and spotted him talking with two employees I didn’t know. He’d done this? Arranged Thanksgiving dinner for us?

  “Wow…” I said, and I know it came out in a breathy little sigh because I was very impressed.

  “It’s the least that could be done,” the woman said, “since all of you gave up your holiday with your family.”

  With some effort, I pulled my gaze from Ty and turned it to the woman again. Her smile was warm and hinted at some pride at her involvement, so I figured she was the caterer.

  “I’m sure your family misses you today,” she said.

  Actually, I hadn’t heard from my family, but managed to say, “They understand.”

  “I’m Ada,” she said, and held out her hand.

  I wonder why my mom hasn’t called me today.

  “Haley Randolph,” I said, a little surprised she wanted to shake hands knowing how grimy I was from handling the boxes.

  Ada studied me for a minute. “You look familiar.”

  I’d never seen her before, but since she was a caterer, she might have seen me at some event my mom had attended or hosted.

  And my dad. Why hasn’t he called? I’ve had my cell phone on me all day.

  “Oh yes, of course,” Ada said. “The fund-raiser last Saturday. Edible Elegance.”

  I figured she must have catered that event too. But, as usual, I wasn’t going to get into my family history.

  “I help out with the business end of things,” I said.

  “And you work here too?” She nodded her approval, then paused and smiled, as if she’d just uncovered a secret. “Your name was on Saturday’s guest list. Now I understand why Ty was suddenly so anxious to help out with the fund-raiser.”

  I didn’t really think my sister would call, but jeez, it would have been nice. I mean, I wouldn’t get to see any of them tomorrow either. Since I knew Pike Warner would be closed on the Friday-after, I’d scheduled myself to work at Holt’s 5:00 a.m. opening.

  Oh God. Now I’d have to work in the customer service booth.

  How much more crappy can my life get?

  “Everything going smoothly?” I heard someone ask.

  I turned to see a young woman bound up the stairs onto the loading dock. Oh my God, it was Blondie, Ty’s secretary. Sarah, or something. What’s she doing here?

  “Fine, fine,” Ada said to her. “Have you met Haley Randolph?”

  She turned to me, a practiced smile in place. She didn’t offer to shake, but I saw her glance at my hand. No way was she touching me. Bitch.

  “It’s good of you to give up your holiday for us,” Blondie said.

  “This is Sarah Covington,” Ada said. “She’s vice president of marketing for Holt’s.”

  Vice president? Of marketing? Oh my God, she’s hardly any older than me. And she’s got a really great job. She’s probably never worked in the customer service booth, and she doesn’t have to have an of-course-you-can smile. And she’s wearing a fabulous sweater. And she’s clean. And she’s—

  Oh my God. She’s—she’s carrying a—a Louis Vuitton organizer. My Louis Vuitton organizer. The one I’m dying to have. The one I can’t afford. The one I’m probably going to have to actually kill someone to get.

  This is awful. Just awful.

  I’m crushed. I don’t think I can stand up. My breathing is all ragged and I could faint any second now.

  Sarah gives me a pitying stare—I haven’t said a word and I know she’s slotted me in the minimum-wage-halfwit category of her mind—then smiles at Ada and walks away. Straight to Ty. She leans in and says something. Then he looks up—at me.

  I launch into panic mode. I have to leave. I have to get out of here. I know my cheeks are red and I’m standing here like a complete idiot, unable to say a single word.

  But, God, he looks handsome. The jeans fit great and the T-shirt is snug—I didn’t know he had such a good chest. His bangs are loose and hanging over his forehead, and he’s all rugged and masculine, and I want to throw myself on him and—

  Oh no. He’s walking over. He’s looking me straight in the eye and I’m caught like a deer blinded by headlights. I can’t move.

  He leans down and kisses Ada on the cheek. “Hi, Grandma.”

  Grandma? Grandma?

  She pats him on the arm and smiles up with pride. “Everything’s moving along nicely, dear. The caterer will be set up in a few minutes.”

  She’s his grandmother. One of the five generations of the Holt’s Department Store family. And I thought she was the caterer.

  Oh, crap. This is so embarrassing. She probably thinks I’m an idiot. And Sarah—Blondie—is probably watching too, and making notes in the Louis Vuitton organizer I can’t afford. And my whole family must be sitting around the dinner table laughing because somebody told Mom there’s no homeless shelter in Bel Air and they think I’m driving around in circles looking for it. And I have to be here at 5:00 a.m. to work in the customer service booth from hell.

  “Have you two been introduced?” Ty asked and grinned. “Grandma, this is Haley Randolph. She’s our quality assurance specialist in charge of the Laura Ashley bed-in-a-bag sets.”

  The breath went out of me.

  He knows. He’s always known. He watched the stockroom surveillance tape and saw me sitting on the Laura Ashley bed-in-a-bag set when I was supposed to be working. He goaded me into that ridiculous story about rescuing a puppy on the freeway, and my uncle taking his pregnant wife to the hospital instead of fixing my fender. He’s known the truth all along.

  And all along, he’s been laughing at me.

  Suddenly, I wasn’t mindless anymore. I wasn’t paralyzed with embarrassment. Sarah wasn’t better than me. Ty wasn’t handsome anymore. I was calm and collected, and I knew exactly what I needed to say and do.

  I looked up at Ty. “Screw you.”

  Then I realized that I’d said it in front of his grandmother, so I said, “Sorry” to her, then walked out through the loading dock doors to my car parked in the front of the store.

  I yanked the keys from my pocket and punched the “unlock” button. I was angry, furious, and about ready to cry when I heard my name. I turned and saw Ty jogging toward me.

  I should have gotten into the car and driven away—or circled back and run over him—but I didn’t. I stood there. I couldn’t believe he had the gall to come after me.

  “Shut up!” I yelled, even though he hadn’t said anything.

  He froze in place in front of me.

  “You think you’re hot shit, don’t you?” I screamed. “You and your Holt’s Department Store! Well, you know what? Holt’s is the crappiest store on the planet! The clothes are horrendous! They’re embarrassing! If my family owned this shit hole of a store and they gave it to me to run, I’d blow it up, and then I’d set what was left on fire, and then I’d plow it all into a big hole! Then I’d leave town and change my name!”

  Now Ty has that deer-in-the-headlights look.

  “You think you’re all cute and funny and clever, but you’re not!” I shouted.

  I’m not really sure he knows what I’m talking about.

  “So go ahead and bang your blondie girlfriend until you get skid marks on your knees—see if I care!”

  Now he definitely has no idea what I’m talking about.

  I stomped over to my car. “I quit! I’m done here. I’m leaving and I’m never coming back!”

  I yanked open my car door and yelled, “And I’m getting that Louis Vuitton organizer if it’s the last thing I do on this earth!”

  I got in and whipped out of the parking space.

  Don’t look in the rearview mirror…don’t look in the rearview mirror….

  Damn. I looked.

  And there was Ty, still standing in the same spot, watching me.

  CHAPTER 16

  Okay, so now I didn’t have a j
ob. Any job. Not even a thankless job at a crappy store.

  I stretched out on my sofa in my apartment, Oreos on my right, Snickers on my left, watching the Food Network. After blasting Ty in the Holt’s parking lot earlier today, I’d driven around for a while to tap off some energy, then come home. Now I was exhausted.

  Here was where my new lifestyle might do me some good. Exercise was exactly what I needed right now. It releases endorphins in the brain, which improves your mood. I could use an improved mood, but I wasn’t so anxious for it that I could pry myself up off the sofa and hit the gym.

  I popped another Oreo into my mouth.

  Maybe I’d just lie here and eat. Like those morbidly obese people the Discovery Channel shows sometimes. All they do is eat and lie in bed. They lose the remote but don’t understand why the channel changes every time they sneeze, then find it when the crane finally comes in to move them.

  I couldn’t really see me doing that, but I was going to have to think of a different lifestyle change. This whole exercise and improved diet just wasn’t working for me.

  I’ll start on that tomorrow.

  Today, I had other things to decide and the sugar rush was giving me a good buzz. I needed it, because I had to figure out how I was going to live until Pike Warner called me back to work.

  I had no income now. My rent and utilities were due on the first, and without my paycheck from Pike Warner…

  I shoved two Oreos into my mouth.

  I hadn’t heard from Kirk about the investigation. It had been nearly two weeks. I thought everything would be cleared up by now. Maybe things were slow there, since it was Thanksgiving week. Yeah, maybe that was it.

  Then it hit me. What about that Golden State Bank and Trust credit card I was approved for? Oh my God. Perfect.

  I sat up on the sofa and unwrapped a Snickers bar.

  As soon as that credit card arrived, my troubles would be over. I could pay my rent, my car payment, utilities, everything. And I could finish my Christmas shopping. Wow, what a relief.

  I bit off a big chunk of the Snickers bar and decided to make a list. There’s nothing like having a list to make you feel organized.

  I’d dropped my purse on the coffee table when I came in, so I dug through it and found an old envelope and a pen. This was why I desperately need that Louis Vuitton organizer. It would make my life flow so much more smoothly.

  Then why not make it my first purchase with my new GSB&T credit card?

  The idea hit me like seeing a “sale” sign in Macy’s shoe department.

  I couldn’t think of a better way to break in new plastic, so I made it the first item on my list. Next: pay back my checking overdraft.

  I sprang to my feet, envisioning myself strolling into my bank, which, apparently, will go under if they don’t receive my eight hundred dollars along with their astronomical fees (which I’m not sure are even legal and maybe I should sue them when I get my job back at Pike Warner), presenting my prestigious GSB&T credit card, and signing away my overdraft with a casual signature and a shrug. That will show them.

  I was pacing now, writing furiously.

  My rent. I could get a cash advance and pay my rent—maybe I’d even pay it for January too. I’d send away my utility bills without a thought. Wow, that would be great.

  And I could take my mom out to lunch. To that tearoom she loves that’s so freakin’ boring you want to slit your wrists just looking at the menu. Yeah, she’d be really impressed when I take her there.

  I started a second list. This one was for things I wanted to follow up on. First: call GSB&T and find out when I’d get the credit card. I put a star by that one. Second: call Kirk Keegan. Third: if no definite response from Kirk, call Mrs. Drexler.

  Wow, I was feeling pretty good now. Organized. Focused. A little light-headed from all the sugar, but that was okay.

  I paused and read over my two lists. Everything looked good. But maybe there was something else? I’d filled the back and front of the envelope, so I went to my purse for something else to write on. I dug down and came up with the Holt’s store directory.

  When I’d gotten away from Craig in the hallway that night, I’d slipped into the break room and put it inside my purse in my locker. I’d forgotten all about it.

  Now it occurred to me that, hey, I had time on my hands. I might as well solve Richard’s murder. It would be good to get that cleared up.

  I flipped through the pages to the personnel directory. No addresses were listed, just phone numbers. I found Jeanette Avery’s name and looked at her contact info. Only one number was listed—other than the store’s main number, of course—and, I swear, I couldn’t remember if it was the one I had punched into the phone the night of Richard’s murder.

  But I supposed it didn’t matter. This was the only number available, so it had to be the one I called. It looked like a landline number and that brought into question my suspicion that, if I’d reached her on a cell phone, it could put her close to the store within the right time frame to murder Richard. Yet I wouldn’t know for sure, couldn’t mark her off my suspect list, until I knew where she lived. It was possible her house was only a few minutes’ drive from the store.

  I went to my laptop on the kitchen table and logged on to the Internet. I knew there were sites where you could find addresses that matched phone numbers, and after a few minutes, I found a couple, but nothing corresponded to Jeanette’s number.

  Huh. Now what?

  I turned a few pages in the store directory and my gaze homed in on Ty’s name. My stomach got that gooey feeling and my heart ached a little. I’d told him off pretty good in the parking lot today—and he totally deserved it—but now I wasn’t feeling so great about it.

  Maybe I was just coming down from my sugar high.

  Because I couldn’t quit torturing myself at the moment, I flipped to the page to where Sarah Covington’s name was listed along with her title. Vice President, Marketing. I felt a little envious. But I still hated her, of course.

  I closed the book and forced myself to concentrate. Just because I’d left Holt’s, that didn’t mean Holt’s had left me, regarding Richard’s murder, anyway. In fact, I now got a weird feeling, wondering if my sudden departure might play into Detective Madison’s hands, that he might twist this around, somehow, and make it look like further proof that I’d murdered Richard.

  I hunted up my list of suspects. Nothing new to add. Nobody I could remove. I needed more information.

  I found my cell phone and scrolled through the directory until I found Jack Bishop’s number. He was the only person I knew who could help me, presuming he was willing. When I’d seen him in Holt’s that night when I’d been vacuuming—which is still humiliating to think about—he’d said to let him know how things were going. I wasn’t sure this was what he had in mind.

  It was Thanksgiving Day, late, and I doubted he’d even answer his phone—although it was hard to imagine, he probably had a family somewhere—so I was surprised when he picked up.

  “Haley, how’s it going?” He sounded friendly enough. Sexy too.

  “Great,” I told him.

  “Liar.”

  Jack doesn’t waste time.

  “How’d you know?” I asked.

  “Because you’re not back at work yet,” he said. “Missed you at the Thanksgiving feed. Smuggled in a six-pack of Corona, just to share with you.”

  “Wish I’d been there,” I said, and never meant anything more in my life.

  “What’s up with the investigation?”

  “It’s coming along,” I said, then changed the subject. “Listen, Jack, I was wondering if you could help me out with something. I can pay you, of course.”

  “It’s not your money I’m interested in, Haley.”

  He said it in that deep, Barry White voice men use sometimes. It sent a warm shiver up my spine, and down to some other places.

  “So what do you need?” he asked.

  My thoughts had raced ahead
to something that had nothing to do with Jeanette Avery’s phone number. It took a minute to reel myself back in. “Addresses.”

  “You stalking somebody?”

  “Trying to.”

  Jack chuckled. “What have you got?”

  I gave him Jeanette’s phone number, and then, on impulse (not really, I’d planned it all along) I read off Ty’s and Sarah’s numbers.

  “I’ll get back to you.” Jack hung up.

  Since it was Thanksgiving and most everything except stores and restaurants would be closed tomorrow and the weekend, I figured it would be late Monday before I heard back from Jack. That left me with a lot of days to find something to do.

  A number of things came to mind, but I didn’t really want to do any of them, so I grabbed another handful of Oreos and started flipping channels. An hour later, my doorbell rang.

  Could that be Ty?

  The fantasy sprang into my head that he’d ransacked every office at Holt’s looking for my home address so he could rush over and apologize, beg for forgiveness, tell me how great I was and how he’d lusted after me since the first moment he’d laid eyes on me, and how, if only I could find it in my heart to give him another chance, he would move heaven and earth, and try to live up—

  My doorbell rang again.

  I really need to ease up on the sugar.

  My heart rate amped up considerably when I looked through the peephole. Jack Bishop.

  What was he doing here? How did he know where I lived? Jeez, did I have time to run to the bathroom and brush my teeth? Maybe put on some makeup?

  I had to settle for flicking the cookie crumbs off of my shirt, as I opened the door.

  God, he looked gorgeous. Black pants, black sweater, deep blue eyes. I stepped back and he came inside.

  He took in my apartment with a sweep of his gaze, then turned to me.

  “Eating chocolate alone?” Jack shook his head. “Worse than drinking alone.”

  “My life has gotten complicated.”

  “Because you’re a murder suspect?”

  How did he know?

  Jack seemed to read my thoughts, and said, “I’ve got friends in low places.”