Evening Bags and Executions

by Dorothy Howell

  “Besides, if he was throwing a party—or any sort of social event—he would have asked me to plan it for him,” Amber said. “I can tell you for a fact that he’s not having fun at anything. He’s working twelve to fifteen hours a day, nearly every day.”

  “That’s not good,” I said.

  “I’m worried about him,” Amber said. “I wish you two would get back together.”

  I really didn’t know how to respond, so I just said, “Thanks for letting me know what’s going on.”

  “I’ll ask around about Sarah and see what’s up with her engagement,” Amber promised, and we hung up.

  I’d decided to drive out to PCH to clear my thoughts, but now all I could think about was Ty and the things I liked about him.

  He always did the right thing. He was very thoughtful, extremely generous, and sensitive without being a ticket-stub-saver kind of guy. He was aggressive in business, but not ruthless, more like a chess master plotting, strategizing, looking ahead a half-dozen moves, maneuvering to get what he wanted.

  Memories bounced around in my head. The image of his crooked grin I saw during our special moments, the feel of his arms around me, the way he smelled after a shower. They all settled around my heart.

  I missed him.

  Why hadn’t I fought for us?

  CHAPTER 21

  I called Holt’s with my touch-of-the-stomach-flu excuse, a personal favorite of mine, and said I wouldn’t be in for my shift tonight. I didn’t get any push-back, but I didn’t expect to. I mean, really, what were they going to do? Working there was already the ultimate punishment.

  I wasn’t concerned that the outfits for the fashion show still had to be put together. Everything was so hideous I could just pick things at random the day of the show and send them down the runway, and nobody in the we-love-a-flashing-blue-light-special audience would know the difference.

  My real concern was being available to make the ransom drop tonight and retrieving the Beatles bobbleheads when Muriel called with the kidnapper’s instructions.

  I glanced at my watch as I sat in my office. Nearly five. Why hadn’t I heard from Muriel yet?

  And why hadn’t Jack called me back? Yeah, okay, he worked for the Pike Warner law firm, plus handled cases on the side, but I am, after all, me.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I got my cell phone and called Muriel.

  “Nothing yet,” she said softly when she answered.

  “What’s up with that?”

  All kinds of this-would-be-awful-if-it-happened scenarios pinged around in my head: what if the kidnapper was holding out for more money; what if the bobbleheads had somehow been damaged or destroyed; what if the kidnapper was shopping them around for more money elsewhere.

  “It was supposed to be tonight. We haven’t heard a word. I don’t know what’s going on,” Muriel said. “I’m really worried that something will go wrong when you make the ransom payment. What if you don’t find the right person, or make a mistake doing the exchange? What if you do something wrong and we don’t get the bobbleheads back?”

  Muriel sounded really tense and majorly stressed—not that I blamed her, of course—but I didn’t want her to cave and blab to Sheridan that I was handling the ransom drop, then hire a real security firm to take over.

  “The delay in hearing from the kidnapper is normal,” I said.

  I didn’t know if it was or not, but this sounded good. “It is?” she asked, and I heard a tiny glimmer of hope in her voice.

  “It’s just a ploy, a tactic to make you worry more, make you anxious to cooperate,” I said.

  It could have been true, couldn’t it? I mean, that’s what happened on those TV crime dramas.

  “I’ve got a professional private detective—my partner—standing by ready to mobilize,” I said.

  I didn’t, of course, but what else could I say?

  And where was Jack, anyway?

  “Stay calm,” I said, “and call me the minute you hear from them.”

  “I will,” Muriel promised, and we hung up.

  I hopped out of my desk chair and launched into total-panic mode.

  Oh my God, why hadn’t the kidnapper called? What would I do if this whole thing went sideways? What if I botched the ransom exchange? What if I got the bobbleheads back and Sheridan was still so upset that she shot off her mouth to all her high-profile friends and put L.A. Affairs out of business?

  I really needed to talk to Jack. I couldn’t imagine what he’d been doing all afternoon that he hadn’t returned my call. Was he really working? Or was he playing me? Was this part of his whole idiotic treading lightly idea?

  I absolutely had to talk to him. I absolutely had to get him to return my call.

  Maybe I should leave him a message and offer to have sex with him. Maybe that would get him to return my call.

  But I’d been mooning over Ty all afternoon, so I couldn’t have sex with Jack—okay, well, maybe I could. Yes, I definitely could. No. It wouldn’t be right. Having sex with Jack would reduce our relationship to nothing but a hot, sweaty, prolonged—surely—physical encounter. What would that do to our friendship? What would—

  My cell phone rang. Jack’s name appeared on the caller ID screen.

  “Why haven’t you called me?” I’m positive I screamed that.

  He didn’t answer—not that I gave him an opportunity. “I’ve been trying to reach you forever! I’ve left you a zillion messages!” My voice was really high-pitched now, and I was squeezing my cell phone so tight I thought my SIM card might shoot out.

  “I was even considering having sex with you!” People in the hallway outside my office might have heard that.

  “I’ll be right over,” Jack said.

  “No! I’m not having sex with you now!”

  “Do you have a fever?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Have you recently hit your head on something?” Jack asked, sounding way too calm to suit me at the moment. “Because I’m sensing some erratic brain activity.”

  “Something major is going down,” I said. “I need to talk to you. Now. Can you meet me at Starbucks at the Galleria?”

  “I’m on my way,” Jack said. “And if you change your mind about the sex, surprise me when I get there.”

  I drove to the Galleria and left my car in the parking garage. Even though it was just across the street from my office, I wanted to have my car close by when Muriel called.

  I took the walkway to the center plaza where the restaurants were located. It was in shadows, thanks to the setting sun and the tall buildings. A lot of people were out—tourists in Disneyland T-shirts, couples, men and women with briefcases and messenger bags who’d just gotten off work.

  I didn’t see Jack. He hadn’t mentioned where he was or how long it would take him to get here, so I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait. Yet I saw no reason to deprive myself of my favorite drink in the entire world. I went inside Starbucks and got a mocha Frappuccino and a coffee, then found a table on the plaza and sat down. I was only three sips in when I spotted Jack walking toward me from the parking garage.

  Whatever he’d been doing when he’d finally called me at my office required that he be in stealth mode.

  Jack looked great in stealth mode.

  He had on black everything—pants, shirt, jacket. I looked great in black, too. We’d make great partners.

  Jack took the chair across from me. “Something major is going down?”

  The table I’d selected for our meeting was situated away from the other customers to ensure our conversation wasn’t overheard. I glanced around because it seemed the covert thing to do, then leaned toward Jack.

  He smelled fabulous.

  Maybe we wouldn’t make great partners. I think I might get distracted a lot.

  “I’m making a ransom payment tonight,” I said quietly. Jack’s brows drew together and he straightened his shoulders like he was ready to come out swinging—at what, I don’t know. Then he dra
gged his chair close to mine and said, “Talk to me.”

  “I’m planning a major event for Sheridan Adams. It includes a charity auction of collectible memorabilia,” I said. “The set of Beatles bobbleheads was stolen from her house, so I have to deliver the twenty-grand ransom and get them back.”

  Jack shook his head. “Tell her call the police.”

  “She won’t,” I said.

  “Tell her to hire a professional. It’s too dangerous,” he said, and looked as if Sheridan was crazy for getting me involved.

  “I volunteered,” I said.

  Now he looked as if I were the crazy one.

  I get that a lot.

  “There was a mix-up at the office,” I said. “I didn’t hire security for the memorabilia. Sheridan is blaming me. If I don’t get the bobbleheads back she’ll get me fired—not that it will really matter, because she’ll tell everybody what happened and put L.A. Affairs out of business.”

  Jack shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “It’s the only way I can make it right,” I said.

  “No. No, you’re not doing it,” he told me.

  “I need you to talk me through the ransom exchange,” I told him. “Just give me some tips.”

  His expression darkened and he leaned into me. “People who resort to kidnapping aren’t what you’d call stable,” he told me. “You could get hurt. Do you understand that?”

  “Then lend me a gun,” I said.

  Jack rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair.

  “It’s just for one evening,” I said.

  “No.”

  “A few hours.”

  “No.” Jack shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

  I appreciated that he was concerned about my safety, but now he was kind of getting on my nerves.

  “Look, Jack, I’m doing this,” I told him, “whether you help me or not.”

  He leaned into me until we were eye to eye. “No, you’re not.”

  We glared at each other—which, under other circumstances would have been totally hot—but no way was I backing down.

  “It’s not your call,” I said.

  “I’m making it my call,” he told me.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “You made it my business,” he said.

  He was right about that—which totally annoyed me.

  “Look, Jack, you can’t pick and choose when you want to be involved with what I’m doing,” I said.

  Yeah, okay, I knew that didn’t really make sense, so what could I do but keep talking?

  “Like the thing in the parking lot at my apartment,” I told him. “You can’t tell me you’re treading lightly, then threaten a guy you see kissing me.”

  His jaw tightened. He drew himself up. His breathing got heavy.

  “You kissed a guy?” he demanded.

  Oh my God. What was going on?

  “I’m treading lightly, doing the decent thing, giving you time to get over your breakup,” Jack said. “And you kissed a guy? In your parking lot?”

  “He was nobody,” I told him

  “You kissed nobody?”

  Yikes! I’d never seen Jack so riled up.

  “It was nothing,” I insisted. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

  Jack leaned in, even closer this time. “When I kiss you, you won’t forget it.”

  I figured that was true—but I wasn’t going to say so.

  This seemed like an excellent time to change the subject.

  “So here’s the thing,” I said. “I’m supposed to deliver the ransom money tonight, but the kidnapper hasn’t called with the instructions like they said they would. Why would they do that?”

  Jack fumed for another minute, then shifted into private detective mode again.

  “It could mean anything, but there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s their game. Just be ready when the call comes in,” he said. “Get there as early as you can. Keep your eyes open. Watch for anybody who looks like they don’t belong. It might be a partner. And don’t—don’t—turn over the money until you see the bobbleheads.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  Jack finally took a sip of the coffee I’d bought for him.

  “Who do you suspect took the bobbleheads?” he asked.

  I’d been so consumed with getting them back I hadn’t put any more thought into who had taken them.

  “They were stolen from the room in Sheridan’s house where all the collectibles for the charity auction were stored. The room isn’t easily accessible,” I said. “Probably an inside job.”

  Jack nodded. “Who would benefit from the theft? From the ransom money?”

  “Everybody who works in Sheridan’s home,” I said. “There are lots of workers in the house and on the grounds who could use the money.”

  Muriel flashed in my mind. I could easily see where she might have her fill of dealing with Sheridan Adams and use the ransom money to escape and start over somewhere else, but I couldn’t imagine Muriel actually pulling it off.

  “Who knew the memorabilia would be auctioned off?” Jack asked.

  “Most everyone on Sheridan’s staff, and anyone at L.A. Affairs who’d seen the file on the event,” I said.

  Vanessa flashed in my head. What if she’d gone to Sheridan’s house and somehow stolen the bobbleheads? Just to make me look bad and get me fired?

  It would be so cool if I could blame everything on her.

  “Who else knew?” Jack asked.

  I thought for a minute or two and realized—oh my God—I’d actually told a number of people about the memorabilia and the auction.

  “I might have mentioned it to a couple of people,” I said.

  I’d told Mike Ivan about the auction because we’d been discussing the gift bags Sheridan wanted.

  I saw no reason to mention a maybe-connected-to-the-Russian-mob guy to Jack.

  “I remember talking about the party with Paige at Lacy Cakes,” I said. “She’s making the Yellow Submarine cake for the event.”

  “Who else?” Jack asked.

  “Belinda Giles,” I said. “She’s trying to buy the bakery with Paige.”

  “Who else knew?” he asked.

  “There’s the guy at the bakery who bakes the cakes. He might have overheard our conversation,” I said. “And maybe the guy who runs a rival bakery. I can’t remember if I mentioned it to him.”

  Jack just looked at me.

  “And Darren, Belinda’s cousin,” I said. “That’s all I can think of.”

  Jack nodded. “And you?”

  Yeah, I knew about them too—which was another great reason for the police not to get involved with the theft and ransom demand.

  “And you’re sure this is the real deal?” Jack asked. “Not a hoax?”

  I sat there stunned. It had never occurred to me that it wasn’t the real thing.

  “These Hollywood people—the ultra-wealthy, celebrities—will do anything for publicity,” Jack said. “Get involved with them and you might find yourself the target of unwanted attention.”

  Yikes! I hadn’t thought of that.

  I considered the whole thing for a minute or two, then shook my head.

  “This is real,” I said.

  Jack rose from his chair. “Call me when you hear from the kidnapper with the time and location,” he said.

  I hoped that meant he’d come with me, but he didn’t say so.

  Jack left. I sat there thinking, sipping on my mocha Frappuccino.

  I’d gotten enough info to handle the ransom money delivery, and Jack had made me think a little harder about the theft itself. But that wasn’t what was on my mind.

  He’d been completely outraged when I’d mentioned Cody kissing me in the parking lot. Obviously, he hadn’t witnessed it, hadn’t warned Cody off.

  So if Jack hadn’t done it, who had?

  CHAPTER 22

  “What was the first Beatles album that was issued as a two-record set?” Rigby asked.r />
  I knew this one, sort of.

  I sat down at my desk in my office, grabbed the Beatles book I’d bought, and frantically flipped through the pages. I knew I’d read about that album somewhere in this book.

  “That was a great album, wasn’t it?” I asked, stalling.

  I couldn’t be sure, but I think she was humming the theme music played during the Jeopardy! final round.

  I didn’t need this stress. Not today.

  “One of my favorite albums,” Rigby said. “Do you know the answer?”

  “Of course. Everyone knows this one,” I said and—thank God—found the page I was looking for. “It was titled The Beatles, but everyone called it The White Album.”

  “Very good, Haley,” Rigby said.

  I collapsed onto my desk.

  “I’ll talk with you again soon,” she said, and hung up.

  I clutched my cell phone in my hand—I didn’t dare put it down since I still hadn’t heard from Muriel about the ransom—and stared out of my office window at the Galleria across the street. I’d spoken with Muriel several times today, but she had nothing to report. It was midafternoon now, and both of us had frayed nerves.

  I might find a gun from somewhere and shoot that kidnapper at the ransom exchange just for making me worry so much.

  My cell phone rang. I shot out of my chair and answered it.

  “This situation is intolerable.”

  Oh my God. It was Mom—which just shows how totally frazzled I was over this ransom thing if I hadn’t checked my caller ID screen first.

  I sank into my chair again.

  “I don’t know how much longer I should be expected to go on under these circumstances,” Mom said.

  Note—I hadn’t even said “hello.”

  “The temporary housekeepers the agency is sending simply are not working out,” Mom said. “When am I going to get someone permanent?”

  I couldn’t tell her over the phone that she’d been blacklisted by all the employment agencies in Los Angeles and that there was little chance she’d ever have a permanent, full-time housekeeper again. I’d have to tell her in person—something I wasn’t usually crazy about doing, but right now it was a good excuse to get out of the office.