Purses and Poison

by Dorothy Howell

  What a couple of idiots. They should be voted out of the huddle.

  Never mind about that now. I had to do something to help Ty. His family had shepherded the Holt’s Department Store through many a crisis, dating back to the 1800s. He had five generations riding on his shoulders. I knew I could do something to help.

  “We’ve got a missing person,” Detective Madison said. “Possibly a second murder victim, somewhere in the store.”

  Shuman looked at his notepad. “The caterer can’t account for one of the servers.”

  What?

  “None of the other servers recalls seeing her since shortly after they arrived,” Shuman said. “But they report there was a server on duty that nobody recognized. And we found a disguise hidden upstairs in the stockroom.”

  A disguise? Upstairs in the stockroom?

  “Looks like whoever this mystery person is might have murdered the server, put on her uniform and a disguise, then murdered Claudia Gray,” Madison said.

  Oh my God. Oh my God.

  That’s me. I’m the one who—

  Oh, crap.

  Chapter 3

  I had met Evelyn Croft last fall when I started working at Holt’s. She was a department manager. We were nothing alike. Evelyn was fortyish, neat, trim, and could have worked as a docent giving tours in one of those old southern mansions. And I’m, well, I’m me.

  But we were connected in some weird—and not so weird—ways.

  Like today. I needed retail therapy—the only way I could possibly get over what had happened yesterday—and only Evelyn could help me with that.

  That’s because Evelyn had eighty grand of my money tucked away in her savings account.

  I pulled up to the curb in front of her house. You wouldn’t be surprised to see Evelyn outside in a big hat and gardening gloves, cutting flowers from her garden—if she weren’t so afraid to leave her house these days.

  She never talked about Holt’s. Not after the murder and all that other crap that had happened last fall. If she mentioned it at all, she simply referred to it as “the incident” caused by “that certain someone.” Which was great with me, especially today, because Holt’s was the very last thing I wanted to be reminded of.

  As I walked toward the front door, I saw the blinds on the living room window move slightly. I rang the bell.

  “It’s me,” I called. I knew the drill.

  The security system beeped. Chains rattled. Locks turned. A lot of precautions for this quiet neighborhood of family homes.

  It had taken a long time for Evelyn to recover from last fall’s physical injuries, but emotionally she wasn’t all that strong. She never had been, really, and “the incident” had only made it worse.

  The door opened a little and Evelyn’s face appeared. Her gaze darted back and forth.

  “It’s just me,” I said, trying to keep things light. “Just like I said on the phone.”

  I’d called ahead. Everyone had to call ahead.

  She gave me a hesitant smile, then opened the door. I stepped inside.

  Evelyn had on a mauve sweatshirt with a ruffle collar, denim jeans that she’d ironed, and white ankle socks. Her hair was perfect.

  She slammed the door behind me and made quick work of the chains, locks, and security system.

  “Well, Haley.” Evelyn drew in a big breath and twisted her fingers together. “It’s good to see you.”

  If it had been anyone else, I would have offered a big hug. But not with Evelyn.

  I handed her the white plastic bag of groceries I’d picked up on my way over.

  “Can I put these away for you?” I asked.

  “Oh no, I can manage. Go have a seat. I’ll be right there,” Evelyn said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

  I took my usual seat on the sofa in the living room. The place looked as if a florist had exploded in here. Floral slipcovers in pink, mint green, and white; floral arrangements; floral artwork; floral throw pillows she’d embroidered herself. Somehow, it worked in Evelyn’s home.

  A moment later she came into the living room carrying a tray with a tea service and a plate of cookies, and set it on the coffee table. She passed me an envelope—reimbursement for the groceries I’d bought—and poured.

  When I first started coming over, bringing her things she couldn’t have delivered, I told her that the cost was no big deal. But Evelyn had insisted, and since I didn’t want to upset her further, I rolled with it.

  I knew Evelyn didn’t need financial help. I happened to be sitting across the dinner table from Ty—one of our supposed dates—when he told his attorney at Pike Warner not to negotiate, just pay all of her medical expenses and give her a half million bucks.

  He’s generous and decisive like that.

  Why aren’t I having sex with him?

  “How are your classes?” Evelyn asked. She handed me a teacup and took the chair next to the window.

  “We’re studying the nervous system in health,” I said.

  We were really studying STDs, but since I wasn’t sure Evelyn had ever had sex I didn’t think it was a topic of conversation she could run with.

  I ate one of the cookies. Evelyn always served the same kind. Dry, brittle, tasteless. Just once I wished she’d bust out a package of Oreos. I could do without the tea, too, but I didn’t see her cracking open a Corona, even with chilled mugs.

  “I heard what happened yesterday at Holt’s,” Evelyn said softly.

  I jumped, nearly spilling my tea. What? Evelyn was talking about Holt’s? I didn’t want to be reminded of what had happened yesterday. That’s why I came here today.

  “That poor girl dying in the store like that.” Evelyn shook her head sadly. “It was all over the news last night—every channel.”

  “Well, you know, I think the newspeople really made too much of it,” I said. “Evelyn, there was something I wanted to talk to you about while I’m—”

  “And the Internet. My goodness, bloggers are going crazy. Another beauty queen, gone. And, of course, that brought up the story of that darling little girl in Colorado.”

  I had to distract her. I lifted my cup. “This is great tea.”

  “And what about that girl they’re calling the Missing Server?” Evelyn asked.

  “Are there any more cookies?” I asked.

  “They still haven’t found her. After searching the entire store for hours.”

  “Did I mention that I got an A on my last English paper?”

  “And now the store is closed again today,” Evelyn went on. “It must be an absolute mess in there. I hate to think of how hard all the employees are going to have to work to get it presentable.”

  “It was a really hard paper, too.”

  “Jeanette must be beside herself, thinking of the lost income,” Evelyn said. “This is a huge financial blow to the entire Holt’s chain.”

  “I have to go now.” I popped off the couch and headed for the door.

  I simply could not stay here and listen to another word about what had happened yesterday. The whole thing had turned into a nightmare—a complete nightmare. Even though anyone in my position would have done the same thing.

  “You’re leaving?” Evelyn asked, sounding disappointed.

  “I have to get to the store. Help with the cleanup,” I said.

  “But when you phoned, you said there was something you wanted to talk to me about,” Evelyn said, putting her teacup aside.

  Oh yeah. That.

  I’d rehearsed my speech on the drive over, planned how I would present my case. And now, after being reminded of yesterday’s fiasco, I needed a massive dose of retail therapy more than ever.

  I put on a bright smile. “I’m going to this big charity function. It’s at the Biltmore Hotel. My whole family goes every year. Dinner and dancing. Very formal.”

  “Oh, it’s a ball?” Evelyn asked, with a Cinderella twinkle in her eye.

  “Yeah,” I said. “A formal ball. With evening gowns and tuxedos.”
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  “I’ll bet you and your mom are going shopping together for dresses,” Evelyn said, looking all dreamy.

  Not if I could get out of it.

  But I worked up an equally dreamy smile and said, “Mom always buys my dress for the occasion, but what I really need is a new evening bag. I found one that’s perfect.”

  Evelyn morphed into the evil stepmother at light-speed.

  She shook her head and said, “I don’t think so.”

  I’d expected some resistance, so I said, “It’s a Judith Lieber.”

  “A what?”

  Oh my God. How could someone not know what a Judith Lieber bag was? Only the world’s most glamorous, gorgeous evening bags ever. They transcended fashion. They were art. Sort of.

  “It has Austrian crystals,” I said—actually, I think I moaned. “Elegantly handcrafted.”

  “Sounds expensive.”

  “And a satin lining,” I said.

  Evelyn shook her head. “No, no.”

  “It comes with a gorgeous box.” I was whining now.

  “Out of the question.”

  “And a keepsake bag!”

  “No!” Evelyn said.

  She picks now, of all times, to be assertive?

  “I’m just following your instructions, Haley.”

  I hate it when other people are right.

  When I’d gotten that big chunk of money last fall, I’d paid for my college classes and books, zeroed out my credit cards, and paid my rent and car payment ahead a few months. I bought some essentials, too, like a gorgeous Louis Vuitton tote, and the fabulous Coach handbag, wallet, and cosmetic bag combo set I’d had my eye on.

  And there were so many more things I could have bought.

  I knew me. I knew that all that money could disappear if I didn’t do something drastic. Putting it in a savings account, or an IRA, or a mutual fund, or something boring like that was a possibility. But I knew I would suffer the financial penalty and take it out. So that left putting it in the safekeeping of a friend or family member. Money is the best way to ruin a friendship, so I didn’t entrust it to Marcie; I liked her too much for that. And there was no way I would turn it over to my mom or dad. They would have asked how I’d gotten the money and I wasn’t about to go into all of that with them.

  So that left one person I could turn to. Evelyn. She was trustworthy and honest; plus, I knew that with her Holt’s settlement, she didn’t need any money so she wouldn’t take mine. I made her promise not to give me any funds unless it was for something like medical bills, rent, or school. It had all made perfect sense.

  Until I spotted that Judith Leiber bag.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, shaking off my disappointment. “Two thousand dollars for an evening—”

  “Two thousand dollars?” Evelyn exclaimed.

  “It’s a very reasonable price,” I explained. “Anyway, I’ll figure out something else.”

  “You’re not upset with me, are you?” Evelyn asked, twisting her fingers together.

  I really wasn’t, so I smiled. “No. Of course not. But I really do have to go.”

  “Oh well, of course. I was just hoping…well, that is…I wondered if you’d mind…” She moved to the blinds and pulled them open a quarter inch. “My neighbor. I think something’s wrong.”

  I went to the window and she stepped aside so I could look out.

  “Across the street, on the corner,” Evelyn said.

  The place looked like every other house on the block. Well-tended lawn, painted trim, clipped shrubbery.

  “You want me to go over there and check on them?” I asked.

  “No! Oh no!” Evelyn shook her head. “No, don’t do that. Please. It’s just that, well, I’ve known Cecil for about twenty years, ever since I’ve lived here. His wife died a few years ago. A traffic accident. Very sad. And now Cecil has a new girlfriend.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  Evelyn twisted her fingers together. “I think the new girlfriend killed him.”

  Great. I had to find out what was up with Evelyn’s neighbor. Plus, I didn’t get my own money to buy that Judith Leiber evening bag.

  And my day wasn’t over. Now I had to go to work. At Holt’s.

  I waved good-bye to Evelyn, jumped in my car, and headed for the freeway.

  I wasn’t scheduled to work until the evening, usually, but today was an exception. Everyone was coming in to get the store back in shape after the cops tore everything apart looking for the missing server.

  Yeah, yeah, I know it was all my fault. But anybody in my place would have done the same thing. I mean, what choice did I have? I couldn’t announce that I was the missing server the cops were trying to find.

  Everybody was standing there. Sarah couldn’t wait for me to look like an idiot—especially in front of Ty. And Ty would have been embarrassed by me. Plus, I didn’t want him to know that I’d done the whole save-the-event thing to try and impress him. I’d have looked totally desperate. And I certainly couldn’t say that I was afraid Claudia would recognize me and blab to the ex-queen’s cult that I was working as a caterer. How pathetic would that make me look?

  And those attorneys from Pike Warner. They would have gone back to the firm and told the whole story to everybody. I didn’t want anything added to all the other stuff they were saying about me there.

  Detective Madison couldn’t wait for me to screw up again. He would have found some way to twist the whole thing into making me a murder suspect. Again.

  Once word got out, who knows who else would have found out? I would have looked like a complete idiot to absolutely everyone.

  I exited the freeway, heading toward Holt’s.

  It didn’t matter now, anyway. Everything had turned out okay, pretty much.

  Holt’s store employees got a whole day off yesterday, and I’d heard Ty say he was paying everyone extra for the hard job of getting the entire store back into shape today. The inventory team would have to come back, but oh well, they traveled from store to store all the time. Jeanette’s quarterly bonus would suffer, but it’s not like she used her money for anything worthwhile, like decent clothes or designer handbags.

  True, Holt’s had been all over the news, but there was no such thing as bad publicity; that’s what everybody says, anyway. The department store had been in business for over a hundred years and had survived worse scandals.

  Anyway, it didn’t matter now that I’d stood there silently and let all that stuff happen. The whole thing was over with. The media had shone their spotlight on Holt’s for a while, but it had already moved on to the next big story. That’s just the way it was with newspeople. By the 6:00 p.m. news broadcast tonight, it would all be forgotten.

  I parked in front of the Holt’s store thinking this would be an easy day here. No customers. Every day at Holt’s would be easier if it weren’t for the customers.

  Big signs were up in the windows announcing that we would reopen tomorrow for our “biggest sale of the season.” Even so, I noticed a crowd of about two dozen people gathered at the corner of the building. I guess some people just couldn’t wait for a great sale.

  It felt kind of good to be at the store, back to normal, back to the regular routine of life. Nobody knew what I’d done yesterday—and nobody ever would—so I was clear on that. And, aside from Claudia being murdered, everything was okay again.

  Colleen—to be generous, I’ll call her “slow”—stood inside the big plate-glass doors, on guard duty. When I walked up, she pointed to the sign that said the store was closed.

  “I work here,” I said to her through the glass.

  She gave me an apologetic shrug and pointed to the sign again.

  Colleen knew I worked here. She saw me just about every day. Plus, I had my Holt’s name tag in its lanyard hanging around my neck.

  I might have to downgrade her from “slow.”

  “I…work…here,” I said, pronouncing each word carefully.

  Colleen shook her head agai
n, and I screamed, “Open the damn door!”

  She turned the key in the lock and jerked the door open.

  “There are no customers trying to rush the store. They’re all waiting at the corner of the building,” I told her, and managed not to add “dumbass.”

  “Those aren’t customers,” Colleen said, relocking the door. “That’s the volunteer search party.”

  “The—the what?”

  “For that girl that’s missing. The one that worked for the caterer.”

  I gasped and hurried away.

  How could this be happening? All of this was supposed to be forgotten. There couldn’t be a volunteer search party outside our store. Jeez, I hoped those people were just a tour group, or something.

  I headed toward the back of the store.

  Every department was a mess, thanks to the efforts of the police. All the mannequins had been stripped and were covered in that black fingerprint powder they show on all the TV crime dramas. Dozens of employees were busy cleaning, scrubbing, refolding, straightening, and restocking merchandise.

  I spotted Bella at the shelves of T-shirts. She rolled her eyes when I walked over.

  “You believe this mess?” she asked, waving her arms. “Those cops, they ought to get their butts back in here and clean this up.”

  “Did you see the store on TV this morning?” Sandy asked, popping up from behind a rack of blouses. “We made the network news shows. From New York.”

  The network broadcast? This morning? No, no, that couldn’t be. People were supposed to forget.

  “Which show was it?” Bella asked. “The one with that crazy-ass bitch who looks like she needs to easy up on her Zoloft? Or the one with that slut who looks like a talking blowup doll?”

  “They’re calling her the Missing Server,” Sandy said. “There’s a nationwide search for her.”

  Oh my God. This can’t be happening.

  “I’ve got to go punch in,” I said, and headed toward the break room.

  Where was a sensational celebrity scandal when you needed one? Or a mass suicide? Something huge needed to happen. And soon, to distract the media.

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Another salacious tragedy had to strike almost immediately for this whole Missing Server thing to be forgotten. And it would. It always does. Everything would be fine—it had to be.