“But your offer indicated I’d receive priority processing,” I told him.
“This is our priority processing.”
Oh God.
I hung up the phone.
This can’t be happening. It can’t. If I don’t get—
The break room door opened and I braced myself to see Rita glaring at me, but it was Grace.
“This really hot-looking guy is looking for you,” she said. “Says he’s a friend of yours.”
It wasn’t like I had so many hot-looking guy friends that I didn’t know who this might be. I followed Grace out of the break room and there stood Jack Bishop.
I smiled. I actually smiled. I was so glad to see a friendly face.
Only Jack didn’t smile. He walked over and leaned in.
“Is there some place we can go to talk privately?” he asked.
Now what?
We stepped into the break room. That girl who’d lost all the weight was still there, still eating fruit, so we went to the back corner by the lockers.
“I got some information about the investigation at Pike Warner,” Jack said.
“About my job?” I asked.
He nodded and my hopes soared. Oh my God, this is great. I’m getting my job back. And not a minute too soon. This is perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Except that Jack looked grim.
“What is it?” I asked, barely able to get the words out.
“There is no investigation.”
I just looked at him.
“Pike Warner laid you off with no intentions of investigating anything,” Jack said. “They figured you wouldn’t cause a problem. You’d just go away quietly.”
“But…?”
I couldn’t process what he was saying. It wouldn’t penetrate my brain. “But Mrs. Drexler told me—”
“You’re not getting your job back at Pike Warner, Haley.” Jack shook his head. “You’re done.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
“I’m still checking. I’ll have more info for you soon,” Jack promised. He looked at me harder. “You okay?”
I was not going to fall apart in front of Jack Bishop.
“Oh yeah, sure,” I said, and even managed to smile. “Just…just let me know what you find.”
“Sure,” he said, and left.
I stood there for a minute, all alone beside the lockers. Then one single tear seeped into my eye. Another followed.
I hurried out of the break room, down the hall, and into the stockroom. Thank God, no one was there. I went to the domestics section, pulled out a king-size Laura Ashley bed-in-a-bag set, and plopped down. I pressed my lips together to hold in my feelings, but it didn’t work. I burst out crying.
Then the stockroom door opened and there stood Ty.
CHAPTER 20
I tried to gulp back my tears as I looked up at Ty. I was hiding in the stockroom, sitting on a king-size Laura Ashley bed-in-a-bag set when I was supposed to be working.
Oh my God, he was going to finish off what Jeanette had started. He was going to fire me.
Instead, Ty pulled another bed-in-a-bag set off the shelf, dropped it onto the floor, and sat down beside me.
I burst out crying again. I sobbed and wailed. Ty put his arm around me and pulled me against his shoulder. I cried harder.
When I finally wound down, Ty asked, “Bad day?”
And there I went again crying, only this time I tried to talk at the same time. All that came out was blub, blub, blah, waah, blub, blah. He couldn’t possibly understand what I was saying. I couldn’t understand what I was saying.
When I stopped crying for the second time, Ty didn’t ask me anything, which was for the best. Instead, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and gave it to me. I dabbed my eyes and my mascara came off. Jeez, I probably looked like crap. I’m not a pretty crier.
Another minute or so passed while I sniffed and tried to wipe off my makeup, and we were quiet. Finally, Ty said, “Want to tell me to get screwed again?”
Horrified, I looked up at him—smeared mascara and all. “What?”
“It seemed to make you feel better the other day,” he pointed out, with the tiniest hint of a grin.
I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help myself. He chuckled too, a silly, high-pitched laugh you wouldn’t expect from a guy his size, and that made me laugh harder.
His arm was still around me, which was okay with me, and he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to move it. It was kind of nice, sitting there together like that. I’m pretty sure it’s the only time Ty ever sat on a Laura Ashley bed-in-a-bag set inside the stockroom of one of his stores.
“Sarah’s not my girlfriend,” he said.
His comment came out of nowhere, and it rattled me a bit.
“That’s who you meant, wasn’t it?” he asked. “In the parking lot the other day?”
“I know she’s not your girlfriend,” I said.
He frowned a little. “How did you find out?”
Oh, crap. I shouldn’t have said that. What was I supposed to say now? That I’d broken into Richard’s office, stolen the store directory, and had a private investigator run their phone numbers?
That might spoil the mood.
“I figured it out. She’s very professional. It’s obvious from the Louis Vuitton organizer she carries,” I told him. “Besides, it’s none of my business anyway.”
“Just so you know,” Ty said. “Sarah and I aren’t personally involved.”
So why were they window-shopping in Pasadena? What was going on with them? I wanted to ask but didn’t want him to get the idea that I was spying on him, which, of course, I was, but still.
“I’d better get back to work,” I said.
We’d been cuddled together in the stockroom for a while now and lucky no one had walked in and found us, which would have been way cool, if it had been Rita. But, really, I didn’t want to be at the center of store gossip.
We got to our feet and everything suddenly seemed sort of awkward.
“Did you mean what you said in the parking lot?” Ty asked. “About the Holt’s stores being so bad?”
I’d thought we’d just had a personal moment, but now it seemed he wanted to use me as a focus group.
I was emotionally drained, too exhausted to lie or sugarcoat the truth.
“Yeah,” I said. “I meant it.”
Ty nodded and I could see that his mind had wandered off. I left.
I went to the restroom and washed my face. Jeez, I looked a wreck. My makeup was in my purse inside my locker, but I didn’t have the strength to get it, or apply it. I’d just spend the rest of my shift in the customer service booth looking like hell; I doubted anyone would notice.
I needed to think about the news Jack had given me earlier about my job—or lack of a job—at Pike Warner, and figure out my next step. But it was just too much. I couldn’t get my brain around it right now.
As I was drying my hands, Evelyn rushed in, wild-eyed and frantic.
“There you are,” she declared, planting her palms against my chest.
Couldn’t I get a minute’s peace in this store? I wasn’t even assigned to Evelyn’s department and she was coming after me.
“Haley, are you all right?” she asked.
“Fine,” I said, though I wasn’t, of course.
She caught my arm and urged me into the corner beside the baby changing station. Customers came in and out. Toilets flushed. The water ran.
Evelyn glanced around and leaned closer. “You have to stay away from Craig.”
Okay, so that was it. She’d heard that Craig had ratted me out to Jeanette. Guess I should be glad she’d tried to warn me, even if it was too late. Wish I’d had this kind of friend at Pike Warner.
“Don’t worry about it,” I told her. “I already—”
“No. Listen to me.” Evelyn shook my arm. “Stay away from Craig. Don’t talk to him. Don’t go near him, or his department. Please, Haley, you have to stay away fro
m Craig.”
Now she had me concerned. Something else was going on here, something beyond her apparently learning that Craig had complained to Jeanette about me.
“You know something,” I said. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, and dropped my arm.
“Yes, you do,” I said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s—it’s nothing, really,” Evelyn said, twisting her fingers together. “I—I just wanted you to—to remember that Craig is under a lot of stress right now. His wife, she’s not well, you know. Cancer. And it’s the holiday season, our busiest time. Craig isn’t in…well, he isn’t in the best of moods right now.”
“Because he’s worried about the designer bags? Afraid they’ll get shoplifted like the game systems last year?”
Evelyn winced and looked away. She would have made a horrible poker player.
“You know something, Evelyn,” I said. “I can see it in your face. You have to tell me what it is.”
More finger twisting. She pressed her lips together, stared at the ceiling, drew two big breaths, and just when I thought I might actually shake her, she looked me straight in the eye.
“The night of Richard’s murder,” she said softly.
Suddenly, she stopped, looked around, then leaned closer.
“That night, I heard Richard in his office arguing with someone,” she whispered.
I gasped. “Who was it?”
She shook her head frantically. “I don’t know. I was in the hallway. I only heard their voices.”
“Was it a man, or a woman?”
“A man.”
“And you didn’t recognize the voice?”
Evelyn pressed her lips together, then gave a weak head shake. “I couldn’t say for sure.”
I wasn’t sure she was telling the truth about knowing who Richard’s argument had been with, but this information had obviously weighed heavily on her for a while now.
“Did you tell the detectives?” I asked.
“There was nothing to tell,” she insisted. “I heard a voice. It sounded like an argument, but I don’t know for sure. It could have been anyone, talking about anything. It probably had nothing at all to do with Richard’s death.”
Sounded to me as if Evelyn had spent a lot of time rationalizing her decision not to share this info with the homicide detectives. I wondered why.
She touched my arm again. “Just promise me you’ll stay away from Craig. You don’t want to upset him.”
I didn’t give a rat’s ass if I upset Craig, especially after what he’d pulled with Jeanette. But it seemed the only way I could calm Evelyn.
“I’ll keep my distance,” I told her.
She looked relieved, then hurried out of the bathroom.
By noon each Sunday, the week’s work schedule came out. A copy was posted in the break room beside the time clock and another was snapped into the binder at the customer service booth. I knew this because it was noon on Sunday and I’d talked to more employees about their work schedule than I had customers.
“This is bull,” Sophia Garcia declared.
She stood outside the booth looking at the work schedule. Grace had a customer and I was sorting merchandise to return to the sales floor. Sophia wasn’t happy.
“Bull,” she said again. “Complete bull. Working me thirty-nine hours this week.”
After learning that Richard had written Sophia up for abusing her employee discount and threatened to fire her, I’d put her on my list of murder suspects. She sure seemed mad enough to kill, at the moment.
“Thirty-nine hours,” Sophia said, slapping her palm against the schedule. “Thirty-nine hours, not forty. They expect me to work that many hours, but won’t make me full-time so I get benefits.”
“That’s bull, all right,” I said.
“Damn right it is,” she said. “I thought things would get better with Richard gone. But they’re not. Same old bull.”
Sophia stomped away.
Maybe I should ask Detective Shuman to check Sophia’s alibi.
A few minutes later, Sandy came by to look at the schedule. I hadn’t seen her in a while.
“How’s it going with your tat guy?” I asked.
“Great,” she said, copying her work schedule onto the back of a customer comment card. “Taking a sabbatical to San Francisco for a week.”
“Cool,” I said. “Want me to help you pick out some clothes to take?”
“Oh, I’m not going,” she said. “It’s an artist thing.”
Far be it from me to knock art, but come on, the guy did tattoos.
“Yeah,” I said. “But couldn’t you go anyway?”
“I’m keeping his dog,” Sandy said.
“Stand back!” Bella declared, barreling up to the counter beside Sandy. Today, she’d done her hair in a long braid and coiled it on top of her head. It looked like Half Dome.
“Give me that work schedule. My future awaits. I’ve got my hair show to go to on Thursday and I’m—what the hell?”
Bella’s eyes were wide and her mouth hung open as she stared down at the binder. This wasn’t good.
“Don’t tell me…” I muttered, as I looked down. Sure enough, she was on the schedule for Thursday.
“What the hell? What the hell?” Bella jabbed her index finger into the schedule. “I’m supposed to have Thursday off. I asked two weeks ago—two weeks ago! I got it cleared, just like I was supposed to do. I’m supposed to be off on Thursday!”
“Everybody’s got tons of hours,” Grace said, joining us now that her customer was gone.
“I’m supposed to have Thursday off!”
“You should talk to Jeanette,” Sandy said.
“It won’t do any good,” Grace said.
I knew she was right. Already this morning, most everyone had complained about their schedule. I’d had the misfortune of answering the phone when employees called in and I’d gotten an earful every time.
“I’m supposed to have Thursday off!”
“Maybe somebody can take your shift,” Sandy suggested. She put up both hands. “But not me. I’m maxed out on hours this week.”
“Me too,” Grace said. “Everybody’s working nearly forty hours this week, since we’re short-staffed.”
We couldn’t work forty or more hours in any week because of some state law, or so Holt’s claimed. I think they just didn’t want to pay us overtime.
“I’m supposed to have Thursday off!”
“I’ll work for you,” I said.
Everybody looked at me. I still hadn’t notified store management of the change in my availability. I was still working evenings and weekends. There didn’t seem any reason to change it now since Jeanette probably planned to fire me; I figured she’d bring backup next time.
And I sure as hell wouldn’t be called back to work at Pike Warner on Thursday.
My stomach twisted into a gooey knot at the thought, sort of like the kind you get when you’re a day late. I’d lain awake last night, staring at the ceiling, trying to understand what was going on at Pike Warner, why I’d been treated this way. I’d gone over everything I’d done there—until around 3:00 a.m.—and still didn’t have a clue why they’d let me go with that trumped-up story about irregularities with my work and an investigation, when they had no intentions of following up on anything. I’d called Kirk twice, but hadn’t heard back. Maybe Jack would have some info for me soon.
“Really. I’ll do it,” I said to Bella. “I’ll cover your shift on Thursday.”
I didn’t mind. Seeing the hair show would mean the world to Bella. She was the kind of friend who’d have done the same for me.
“You’re supposed to come with me,” Bella said.
“Yeah, but this way, at least you can go.”
She stewed for a minute. “You sure?”
“Positive,” I said.
“Cool,” Bella declared. She pointed her finger at me. “When I graduate from beauty school, I’m
going to do your hair for free.”
She headed out to the sales floor again.
I sure hoped Jeanette didn’t get around to firing me until after Thursday. For everyone’s sake.
I went back to sorting merchandise, looking up stock numbers on the inventory computer, and answering the phone while Grace handled the customers at the counter. We took turns, swapping duties.
The phone rang. I answered it.
“Holt’s customer service,” I said. I was supposed to say this with an of-course-you-can smile. Yeah, right.
“It’s Rita,” she barked into the phone. “Check the schedule. Tell me what time I’m supposed to be there tomorrow.”
I pulled the binder closer and flipped the page. Rita was scheduled to come in at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.
“Six in the morning,” I told her, and hung up.
I love working the customer service booth.
CHAPTER 21
“Look for Maple Street,” Marcie said. “That’s where we’ll park.”
We were on Olympic Boulevard in downtown L.A. heading toward the Fashion District. Marcie had called in sick and borrowed her mom’s Honda Pilot so we could load up on knockoff handbags for the purse party we were hosting at her job later this week. Midmorning on a Monday and the traffic was light, considering.
Downtown had begun to revitalize in the past few years into an entertainment and cultural hot spot. New developments were going in. Historic buildings were being converted to high-rise housing units. As usual, Los Angeles’s past struggled for a place amid its flashy present, and apartments for ten grand a month made for an uncertain future.
“There,” Marcie said, pointing. “That’s where we’re going.”
A big yellow and black banner announced Santee Alley. I caught a glimpse as we drove past the narrow passage between tall buildings, crowded with shoppers.
I’d never been here before but Marcie had, luckily. She turned onto Maple Street, then drove up a narrow ramp to a rooftop parking lot. Around us, the buildings told the history of downtown. Ornate ones from a time when craftsmanship mattered, some with broken windows, crumbling facades, others faring marginally better. Traffic noise rose from the street.
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