“I spoke with her husband, Andrew Pritchard,” Jack said. “I led him to believe I was following up on a matter involving illegal workers at Lacy Cakes. As a professional courtesy to him because he’s a client of Pike Warner, I told him I’d like to speak with his wife about their wedding cake.”
Jack’s really good at finessing a conversation.
I probably need to work on it.
“Heather hated the cake,” Jack said. “Claimed it ruined their big day.”
I could see that Jack wasn’t exactly onboard with the whole cake-as-a-wedding-destroyer thing, same as me, and I was pretty sure her husband felt the same way.
“I know that Heather complained to Lacy, but nothing came of it—other than that I suspect Heather might have murdered her,” I said.
“Things got worse after she complained,” Jack said.
“Heather started hearing rumors about her wedding preparations.”
“What kind of things?” I asked, leaning forward a bit.
“That she’d thrown temper tantrums, she’d cheaped out the flowers, she’d given knockoff gifts to her bridal party, her dress had to be let out two sizes at the final fitting,” Jack said. “Catty, gossipy stuff.”
“Heather must have been furious,” I said. I would have been.
“Heather’s mom asked around and was confident that Lacy Hobbs was the source of the rumors,” Jack said.
This wasn’t the first time I’d heard this sort of thing about Lacy—it was a wonder she hadn’t been murdered years ago.
I mean that in the nicest way, of course.
“Awful as they were, the rumors were out there. The damage had been done,” I said. “So why did Heather suddenly take off for South America?”
“Andrew was a little vague on that,” Jack said.
“He’s protecting her?”
“Could be,” Jack said. “I did some checking. Andrew Pritchard has several guns registered in his name.”
It sounded as if Heather had motive for being angry at Lacy, but I’m not sure it would have driven her to murder. But the fact that there were guns in the Pritchard house and that Andrew wasn’t offering up many details about Heather’s sudden departure made me doubt once again that the timing of her trip was simply coincidental.
“Sounds as if you found me a murder suspect, all right,” I said. “And don’t worry, I won’t go knocking on Andrew Pritchard’s door asking more questions, or anything crazy like that.”
Jack grinned. “Crazy is what you do best.”
“I am known for it,” I agreed.
Jack smiled.
Jack had a great smile.
I could get lost in that smile of his.
He seemed to realize it and shifted back into business mode, which I guess was for the best.
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything else,” he said.
“Great. Thanks,” I said.
We just sat there for a minute looking at each other. I didn’t really want to leave, but I didn’t have a good reason to stay unless Jack asked me to—which he didn’t.
“Well, I guess I’d better go,” I said, and stood.
Jack got up and walked with me to the elevator. When it arrived he didn’t get in with me, just watched while the doors closed.
My stomach jolted a little more than it should have when the elevator dropped.
I’d thought he’d asked me to meet him here because it was a cool place, kind of romantic. I thought he’d dressed up to impress me. Now I wondered if that were true. I wondered if he was meeting someone else—a date—and had squeezed me in while he was waiting.
Not a great feeling.
But Jack had never suggested that this evening would be anything but business. In fact, he’d told me right from the start that he wouldn’t have anything to do with me romantically so soon after my breakup with Ty. Still, it bugged me that he might be upstairs right now, waiting for another woman to show up.
I’m not big on suspense, so I was really tempted to go back up to the rooftop, find Jack, and ask him straight out. But, for once, jumping headfirst into a situation didn’t seem right.
I couldn’t argue with Jack’s logic or his unwillingness to put his feelings out there until he was sure Ty and I were really over—which we were. At least Ty was really over us. And me? Well . . .
Yeah, no way could I go upstairs and ask Jack what he was up to tonight.
I glanced at my watch. Marcie was probably already waiting for me at The Grove, where we planned to shop for the Enchantress bag tonight. I gave her a quick call and told her I’d be there in a few minutes, then got my car from the valet and drove over.
We’d planned to check out Nordstrom, but when Marcie saw me walk up she immediately knew something was wrong—as a BFF would.
“What happened?” she asked. Then she didn’t let me answer, just took my arm. “Let’s go talk.”
We settled at a table at an outdoor café near the bookstore. It was dark now and a little chilly; candles flickered on the tables and patio heaters burned. All the shops and restaurants were lit up. Lots of people strolled past. The bell on the trolley clanged as it rolled by.
Since we weren’t at my place where we could avail ourselves of Coronas and massive amounts of chocolate, we settled for coffee and a dessert sampler.
“I saw Ty,” I told her.
Marcie gasped. “Oh my God, Haley, why didn’t you tell me? Where did you see him? What happened? No wonder you’re so upset.”
“It wasn’t today,” I said, and she didn’t seem mad that I hadn’t confided in her when it happened—which just shows what a great BFF Marcie was. “I ran into him outside the bank.”
“You just ran into him?” she asked. “You don’t think he saw you and walked over? Or maybe he followed you there?”
“Followed me?” I asked. “Why?”
“Despite everything, Ty’s a nice guy. I’m sure he was concerned about you after the breakup,” Marcie pointed out. “Maybe he wanted to see you and make sure you were okay. Maybe he wanted to talk to you.”
I shook my head. “If Ty was all that concerned about me or wanted to talk, he could have called me weeks ago.”
“Maybe he was afraid calling would upset you,” Marcie suggested. “A chance encounter would be easier for you—and him, too.”
We were quiet for a minute, then Marcie asked, “How did he look?”
“Terrific,” I said. It came out sounding kind of sad.
“What did you two talk about?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I was just blabbing on like I was happy, like everything was great,” I said. Then I remembered something Ty had asked me. “He knew I had a new job.”
“How did he know about it?” she asked.
“I have no clue,” I said.
“Didn’t you ask him?”
I shook my head. “I was so upset I started to cry. I practically ran into the bank to get away from him.”
“Maybe that was your exit cry,” Marcie said. “You know, the cry that washes away the relationship and ends it for good. So you’re over him now.”
Marcie was almost always right about things, but I wasn’t so sure about the whole exit cry thing. Neither was I sure that I was completely over Ty.
I sat there for a few minutes thinking back to when I’d seen Ty outside the GSB&T. While I’d been forcing a smile and putting on a look-at-me-I’m-happy show, he hadn’t acted that way at all. Now that I thought about it, he’d seemed quiet, sort of subdued. And he had tried to tell me something when I’d bolted for the bank.
I guess Marcie read my expression, because she asked, “Do you want to talk to Ty one last time?”
“Yes.” I might have moaned that.
Then I came to my senses and said, “Have you forgotten about Sarah Covington? Her engagement? To Ty?”
“I don’t know for sure that she’s engaged to Ty, remember? I told you I suspected it because of . . . everything,” Marcie said.
“Yes, I remember,”
I said. I stewed for a minute, then said, “I have to know for sure if they’re engaged.”
“You could ask his personal assistant,” Marcie said.
I’d thought about asking Amber. We’d always gotten along. She’d understand why I wanted to know, plus she wouldn’t tell Ty if I asked her not to. I had that duffel bag full of Ty’s things in the closet of my second bedroom. I could use it as cover to call Amber, then ask about him.
I shook my head. “I’m not going to do the ex-girlfriend stalker thing. Would you find out for me?”
“Of course,” Marcie said. She was quiet for a minute, then said, “But if it turns out that Ty really is engaged to Sarah, are you going to be okay with it?”
Good question. Wish I knew the answer.
CHAPTER 16
I’d been busy all morning doing actual work for my actual job. It was no way to start a day.
I’d gotten a lot done, though. I double-checked every detail of Sheridan Adams’s party and studied her file to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. I hadn’t.
I’d put in a call to Lyle, the owner of the company hired to do the electrical, sound, and construction at her estate on the day of the event. Jewel had already set up everything with him, which made my job easier. Kayla had told me Lyle had been a Hollywood stuntman and most of his crew also did construction on television and movie sets.
He told me that everything needed for the Cirque du Soleil dancers to perform the “Lady Madonna” number Sheridan had requested would be ready—I saw no reason to mention that I hadn’t secured the actual performers yet. Lyle hadn’t complained, even though it was kind of last minute. I got the feeling he was used to dealing with this sort of thing.
I spent some time on Annette Bachman’s birthday party for her pooch Minnie, and sent her an e-mail suggesting a Hollywood-themed party, complete with a red carpet, a lighted archway for photos by the paparazzi—which I’d oh so cleverly termed “puparazzi”—hanging stars and banners, and a personalized miniature Oscar for everyone to take home.
I didn’t know whether Annette would go for it. Maybe I’d suggested it because I had Sheridan Adams’s event on my mind; at least Minnie’s guests would be easier to please.
At that point, I felt as if I’d done enough for L.A. Affairs for one morning. Time to get to my own personal business.
I started by calling Mrs. Quinn at the employment agency. I needed to get this housekeeper thing finished up.
“I’m working on it every day,” she assured me.
I thought about threatening to take my business elsewhere, but I suspected she’d be relieved.
“I’m anxious to get this concluded,” I told her.
“As am I,” she said.
I could tell by her tone that she’d never meant anything more in her entire life.
“I’ll let you know the minute I have a potential candidate,” Mrs. Quinn said.
I thanked her and hung up.
It wasn’t quite time to head out for lunch, yet I saw no reason to linger in my office and run the risk of finding any more work to do. I went to the breakroom and was a little disappointed that no one else was there to chat with. I guess they were all at their desks working—how weird was that. I got a soda from the vending machine and flipped through Elle magazine until my lunch hour rolled around.
I returned to my office thinking I’d take another run at Macy’s and Bloomingdale’s at the Sherman Oaks mall in what was proving a very difficult hunt for the Enchantress evening bag. Marcie and I hadn’t found one at Nordstrom last night, but I did buy an absolutely perfect cocktail dress to wear to Sheridan Adams’s party. Even though I’d be on duty that night, I needed to fit in.
I grabbed my cell phone and saw that I had a missed call.
Yikes! It was from Detective Shuman.
I called him immediately.
“Haley, I’m—I’m glad you called back,” he said when he picked up.
Shuman sounded like he was stressed out to the max. Not good.
“Can—can you get away?” he asked.
Something major must have happened. He’d never reached out to me like this before.
“Of course,” I said, using my I’m-here-for-you voice.
I don’t use that one very often.
“Where can I meet you?” I asked. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Bellflower,” he said.
Bellflower? What the heck was he doing in Bellflower? It was a city south of here and inland, maybe forty miles away. Of course, in L.A. forty miles translated to well over an hour’s drive—if you were lucky.
I grabbed a pen from my desk drawer.
“Give me the address,” I said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“No, no,” Shuman said. “Don’t come here. It’s too dangerous.”
My heart jumped. What the heck was Shuman up to? “I’ll meet you at—at—hang on,” he said.
He went quiet. The noise in the background—traffic, I think—died. I heard a thump, like a car door had closed.
“There’s a park. I forgot the name. It’s north off the 118 in Simi Valley,” Shuman said. “Can you find it? Can you meet me there?”
Okay, this was totally weird.
“Sure,” I said, jotting down the info. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll call you when I get close,” he told me.
“Are you okay—?”
Shuman hung up.
I didn’t like the sound of this. Shuman was majorly stressed out. Something was going on.
I’d never been to Bellflower. It was probably a nice place, but like all cities it surely had its share of criminal activity. Was that what Shuman was doing there? Investigating Amanda’s murder, even though the LAPD had put him on leave?
For a second I considered calling Detective Madison to see if I could find out anything, but as soon as the idea came into my head I pushed it out. Madison wouldn’t help—not me, anyway—and anything I said to him might make things worse for Shuman at the department.
Of course, I could be worrying for nothing. Maybe Shuman’s mom lived in Bellflower and he was just upset after visiting with her—which I totally understood. I’d have to wait to find out.
I’m not good at waiting.
I couldn’t picture sitting here in my office for the next hour or until I heard from Shuman. I gathered my things and left.
I pulled into the Best Western parking lot and spotted the Lacy Cakes delivery van nosed in outside room 112. Since I had some time to kill before Shuman would get here from Bellflower, I figured another chat with Darren about the future of the bakery couldn’t hurt—along with a few questions about Lacy’s murder.
I parked, got out and knocked. A minute later he opened the door.
Darren looked much as he had every other time I’d seen him, dressed in work pants and a work shirt. Today the back of his hair—what there was of it—stuck straight up, like he’d been napping. I wondered what he’d been doing with his days since he’d been in town.
“Haley, isn’t it?” he asked. I nodded and he stepped outside, which suited me fine because I didn’t really want to be alone inside the motel room with him.
“Your cake order,” he said and nodded. “Didn’t Paige call you?”
A knot the size of a Prada satchel jerked in my stomach.
I guess he read the this-cannot-possibly-be-happening expression on my face because he said, “She’s still doing your cake. I told her to call you just in case you heard what was going on.”
I was relieved—somewhat.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I’m closing the bakery,” Darren said.
I can’t say I was surprised by his decision, considering everything.
“Paige must have been disappointed,” I said. “Belinda, too.”
“Those two,” Darren grumbled. “All this fuss over something that was never going to be theirs in the first place.”
He looked as if he had more to say and had
been holding it in for a while. I kept quiet—which wasn’t easy for me, but that’s what we sort-of-kind-of private detectives do.
“I can’t run a business here from up north,” Darren said, sounding agitated. “It’s too far away to deal with problems. I can’t be running down here every time something comes up.”
“Like the break-in?” I asked.
He huffed irritably. “What if it happens again when the bakery is open for business? How much stuff could be taken? How much would that cost me?”
Belinda had told me Darren was a tightwad, and I couldn’t disagree since he was still driving the delivery van instead of renting a car. Plus there was that whole thing about him possibly dipping into the church collection plate.
“Must have been expensive to get the locks changed after the burglary,” I said.
“Damn right it was,” Darren said. “And I’d just shelled out money to have Paige make me a key.”
Hang on a second.
“You didn’t have Lacy’s keys?” I asked.
“I don’t know what happened to them,” he said, flinging out his arms. “I guess she had them on her when they took her body away. Good thing Paige had a key, otherwise I’d have had to change those locks when I got here—just like I had to change them after the break-in.”
I’d suspected that the burglary was really an inside job, that Belinda or Darren had used their key to walk in, had taken some of the items they’d been arguing over, staged the break-in, and locked up after they left.
Since Lacy’s keys were missing, it seemed that only Paige had a key and she’d made a copy for Darren. Had she given one to Belinda also?
And had Lacy’s keys really been taken to the crime lab? Maybe her killer had grabbed them with the intention of returning to the scene and destroying evidence.
“It’s just too much to fool with,” Darren declared. “I’m not putting myself out so Lacy can have some sort of legacy—not after the stuff she put me through all these years.”
“I understand how you feel,” I said.
Darren stewed for another minute, then said, “Don’t worry about your cake. Paige will make it for you. But that’s it. No more. I told her not to take any more orders.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
Evening Bags and Executions Page 14