I got a mocha Frappuccino—just to be sociable, of course—and sat down across the table from him.
“Are you ready to talk murder?” Ben asked, pulling out his notepad.
“Not so fast, newsboy,” I said. “If I give you this info, I want some assurance that you won’t ever write about me—no matter what.”
Since I wasn’t likely to win the Nobel Peace Prize, or anything even close, I didn’t think there was much chance I could be in the newspaper again. But still, you never knew.
“You have my word of honor,” Ben told me.
Lots of newspaper reporters have honor; I just wasn’t sure if Ben was one of them.
“That’s the best you can offer?” I asked.
He didn’t look offended, which told me how highly he rated his own honor, and said, “That’s it.”
“So tell me the reason your editor stuck you with that stupid cat story,” I said. I figured any sort of dirt I could get on him would do.
“Old news,” Ben told me, and flipped to a fresh page in his notepad. “What do you know about Claudia Gray’s murder?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’ve got another murder for you.”
“Exactly how many murders are you involved with?” he asked.
No way was I getting into that thing that had happened at Holt’s last fall. And I sure as heck wasn’t giving up any info on Claudia; if I wouldn’t tell Shuman what I knew, I wasn’t going to tell this guy.
But Shuman had all but told me to my face that the supposedly missing, maybe dead Cecil Hartley was way down his list, and Evelyn, Christine, and little Annie needed answers.
I gave Ben a rundown on what I knew, what I had learned from the GSB & T—no names, of course—and what I suspected. I figured that even if Ben didn’t believe me, he’d be so desperate to get back to doing news stories that he’d take on most anything.
He looked dubious. “I’d better not find out this Hartley guy is some old boyfriend of yours and you’re trying to set up the new girlfriend.”
Was absolutely everybody questioning my credibility these days?
“Okay, look,” I told him. “I’ve got another tip for you. If it doesn’t check out, you can do whatever you want with the Cecil Hartley thing.”
Ben just looked at me, waiting.
“That creep Shawn Dorsey?” I asked.
He perked up.
“He was served with court papers last night at the Fisher Club, so the civil suits are a go,” I said. “Plus, he was seen in the company of a porn star—a top-rated porn star—named Randi Rushmore.”
“How do you know—”
“Get on it,” I told him as I rose from my chair. “And get back to me on Cecil.”
I thought Ben might follow, but he started writing and went for his phone.
I won.
In my next life, I want to come back as me.
Feeling pretty good about myself, I strolled through the mall. Ty popped into my head. He still hadn’t returned my calls, so, not being one to stand by and wait for things, I called his cell phone. His voice mail came on again, so I left another message, and hung up.
“Hey, wild thing,” somebody said from behind.
I turned and saw Jack. He looked really hot today, dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Next time,” I told him, “you can be the porn star and I’ll be the process server.”
Jack chuckled. “Are you ready to do this?”
We’d set up today’s meeting when he dropped me off at my apartment last night. I’d been a little shaken at the Fisher Club—although it was kind of cool that people thought I could pass for a porn star, a top-rated porn star—but now that I’d calmed down I had a change of heart.
“Forget it,” I said.
“No,” he told me. “I promised you a handbag.”
“My purses are kind of expensive,” I told him.
He gestured to my Tommy Hilfiger bucket bag and shrugged. “Get whatever you want. You earned it.”
We walked to the Judith Leiber store. I paused in the doorway in humble reverence, as always when in the presence of genius. I glided to the display case, slowly, solemnly, and pointed to the bag of my dreams.
“That’s it?” Jack asked. “Don’t you want something bigger?”
“It’s a Judith Lieber,” I said softly.
He shrugged. “It’s just a little evening bag.”
Oh my God. How could he not know?
“It’s a Judith Leiber,” I said again, and managed not to shout.
The salesclerk came over, an older woman in a stark black dress, with conservative hair, makeup, and shoes. From the look on her face, she remembered me from all the times I’d been here to spend a few quiet moments with the evening bag, and seemed happy that my boyfriend—or sugar daddy—had finally come to buy it for me.
“Would you like to see this?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, please,” I whispered.
I bounced on my toes as she ever so slowly opened the case. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jack’s gaze wandering. He checked his watch.
What’s the matter with him?
The clerk laid the bag in my hands—I’d never actually touched it before—and light suddenly beamed down from above, I swear, and I heard angels singing.
Oh my God. Oh my God.
I absolutely had to have that bag. I was here, this close, the moment was upon us, and I simply could not leave the store without it. It would be like stopping in the middle of sex. Sort of.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” I said, cradling the bag in my palms.
Jack glanced at it, then at the clerk. “We’ll take it.”
“Of course, sir,” she replied, dipping her lashes at him in deference, and taking the bag from me. “That will be two thousand dollars, plus tax.”
Jack stilled.
I gasped. Oh no. No, no, no. He couldn’t back out now.
“Austrian crystals,” I said—actually, I think I moaned—“elegantly handcrafted.”
He didn’t say anything.
“It’s got a satin lining,” I offered.
Jack raised his right eyebrow.
“And comes in a gorgeous box,” I added.
He didn’t move, didn’t blink.
“With a keepsake bag!”
I’m pretty sure I shouted that.
My heart raced. My palms sweated. Time stood still. World peace hung in the balance.
Finally, Jack reached for his wallet. “Wrap it up,” he said to the clerk. She batted her lashes at him again, and moved away.
I collapsed against the display case.
Chapter 23
It was impossible to top a Judith Leiber purchase, even at some of the most upscale stores in the world, but that didn’t stop me from taking a turn around the mall after Jack left. I was too wound up to drive home, and besides, if I walked around the mall everyone would see my shopping bag and be jealous.
I couldn’t wait to show Marcie my new evening bag. As a confirmed handbag aficionado—our nice way of saying handbag whore—she would truly appreciate it.
Maybe I would call her.
I stopped—making sure I was in the center of the walkway where everyone would see me—pulled out my cell phone, and saw that I had received a message from Doug. I’d been so completely caught up in my Judith Leiber moment, I hadn’t heard it ring.
I listened to his message.
“Hello, Haley, this is Doug. I’m making plans for our big date and wanted to discuss a few ideas with you. Give me a call.”
I froze. My mind scrambled back to last night when I’d had dinner with him.
Big date? We had a big date coming up?
Yeah, okay, I’d kind of rushed through dinner with him because I had to meet Jack, and I’d had Ty on my mind, but I’d have remembered agreeing to a big date, wouldn’t I?
Not being big on suspense, I called Doug. He picked up immediately.
&
nbsp; “Haley, it’s so good to hear from you,” he said. “How’s your day going?”
I didn’t want to get into the whole I-just-got-theworld’s-greatest-handbag-because-I-was-mistakenfor-a-porn-star thing, so I replied, “Great. How about you?”
“It’s been a very gratifying morning,” he responded. “As I mentioned in my message, I have some ideas for our special date and I wanted your opinion.”
What the hell was he talking about?
“Our special date, huh? Wow, is it that time already?” I asked. My mind raced, trying to dredge up some clue as to what this was all about. Nothing came to me.
Doug chuckled. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? But it’s been a week since we met.”
Our big date was the one-week anniversary of the day we met? Doug remembered? I didn’t even remember. And not only had Doug known the date, he was already making plans.
Ty couldn’t even remember to show up on time for one of our dates.
Doug started yammering about a Web search he’d done, or something, but I wasn’t listening.
Ty flashed in my head. I hadn’t heard from him in days. He never made any big plans for us, never mentioned our special date—okay, okay, I couldn’t remember the day we’d met, either, but still—he hadn’t done any of the things Doug had done, even after we’d almost had sex at his apartment last fall.
“Just pick a place. Surprise me. Whatever you choose, I’ll like it,” I told Doug.
Then another thought came to me, and it just seemed like the right thing to do.
“Listen, I was wondering if you’d like to go to this charity gala at the Biltmore with me and my family?” I asked.
Doug didn’t answer right away, and I wondered if he’d drifted off or gotten distracted by something shiny on his desk. Finally he said, “I’m flattered by your invitation. Very flattered.”
“So you’ll go?” I asked.
“I would be honored to accompany you, Haley,” Doug said. “And honored to be a part of your evening with your family.”
I gave him the details and I could tell he was diligently writing them down. He asked a few questions, then promised to get back to me with more info on our big date—which I’d forgotten about already—and we hung up.
All in all, I knew Doug would make an acceptable date for the charity gala at the Biltmore. He would look good in a tux, which was way up on my list. Even though he wasn’t part of our usual family social circle, my mom would be okay with him being there since he had a degree and a job she could brag about. Also, my dad would finally have someone he could to talk to.
But instead of feeling pleased with myself for choosing a date who would impress my parents, I was still thinking about Ty and growing angrier by the minute.
I would call Ty and tell him not to bother to come back early from Europe to take me to the gala—not that I ever believed he’d actually do that, but still—because I already had a date.
Of course, it would be easier to slam him with my decision if he would return one of the many calls I made to him.
Okay, that was it, I decided, anger boiling in my stomach. I wasn’t putting up with him as my sort-of boyfriend any longer.
Instead of wasting time with his personal cell phone, I called the Holt’s corporate office and asked to speak with him.
The scene bloomed in my mind: Ty, heading up a huge meeting, a conference room packed with the captains of industry; his secretary rushes in, tells him there’s a call from me—she’s been informed to put through all calls from me, regardless—so he stops the entire meeting, rushes to the phone to—
“Sarah Covington,” she said in my ear.
What was she doing on the line? I had specifically asked for Ty.
“I’m calling for Ty,” I told her.
“I’m covering his calls,” she said.
I heard her shuffling papers in the background, like she was so important.
That ticked me off, so I channeled my mom with little effort and used my I’m-better-than-you voice.
“This is Haley,” I announced. “I’ll hold for Ty.”
Sarah snickered—it was muffled, but I heard it—and said, “You’d better get comfortable because he’ll be a while. He’s in Europe.”
“Already?” I asked, too stunned to sound even slighty snooty.
Mom would be so disappointed in me.
“He left on the red-eye Tuesday night.”
Sarah kept talking but I didn’t hear anything she said.
Ty left in the middle of the night? On Tuesday? He left early, and hadn’t told me? And he hadn’t even called to tell me good-bye?
My blood boiled as I hung up the phone and headed out of the mall. Like an idiot, I’d phoned him a bunch of times and he’d not returned my call once—okay, so maybe he didn’t have an international calling plan, but still.
Wait a minute.
I had talked to Ty in the Holt’s parking lot Tuesday night, when he claimed I would see a different side of him. According to Sarah, he left that night.
I got a chill up my back.
That meant Ty had left before those notes started showing up at my apartment, then on my windshield. Now I knew for sure—without any doubt—that they couldn’t possibly have been from him.
I stopped dead still and clutched my Judith Leiber shopping bag to my chest. I had to face the truth: the sender was Claudia’s murderer.
Whoever that person was must think that I was close to finding him or her.
And now that person was after me.
Where had it all gone so wrong?
I stood in the Holt’s stockroom staring at the big rig with PURINA PET FOODS emblazoned across the side, backed up to the loading dock.
Was there a time, a specific moment, when my life had taken this weird turn? When it had spun completely out of control? There must have been.
Jeanette and the driver were standing near the truck, engaged in a slightly heated discussion. I should probably have joined them, but I couldn’t move.
When was it? I wondered.
Only a few weeks ago I’d been a dedicated college student, pulling down solid B-minus grades, focused on getting my degree, and looking forward to a bright future somewhere, doing something. I had a boyfriend, sort of. People liked me.
Now I hadn’t been to class in I didn’t know how long, and I’d lost track of how many homework assignments I’d missed. I’d been mistaken for a porn star—a top-rated porn star, but still. I was a suspect in two murders and a disappearance. I’d been elected president of a pet rescue I’d never heard of; most of the Holt’s employees had turned against me; my sort-of boyfriend had left the country without telling me good-bye; some psycho stalker had left creepy notes on my door and windshield. And now—now—I’d somehow caused an entire tractor trailer load of cat food to be delivered to the store.
The meeting between Jeanette and the truck driver broke up. She wasn’t happy; her expression kind of looked like a jack-o’-lantern three days after Halloween.
“The driver is refusing to take this load back to the Purina warehouse,” Jeanette told me in a tight voice. “He says if we don’t want it, it’s up to us to ship it elsewhere.”
“I had no idea Purina was going to make a donation,” I told her, for about the millionth time. “I never heard a word from them. Not a single word. I swear.”
Jeanette was not impressed with my explanation.
“Get this stuff out of here,” she demanded. “I want it out of my stockroom immediately. And those cats, too. Find them and get rid of them—today.”
“I’ll spend my entire shift back here, if that’s what it takes,” I told her.
Jeanette huffed out of the stockroom and I sank onto the stairs, as case after case of cat food was unloaded from the truck. I distracted myself with thoughts of the lunch hour purse party Marcie and I had thrown today in an office building on Wilshire. Lots of oohs, aahs, gasps, some giggles, a little pushing and shoving—sort of like a handbag orgy. We
sold dozens of purses and made bank, and it would be cool to throw our success in Rita’s face, but even that didn’t cheer me up.
My mind drifted back to trying to figure out how my life had gotten so crazy, in such a short time, and finally I pinpointed the moment.
It was when I didn’t speak up, didn’t tell anybody that I’d substituted for Jamie at the luncheon.
At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do—anybody in my place would have done the same thing. I’d told myself it was an omission, not an outright lie.
But if I’d handled things differently, Detective Shuman wouldn’t doubt every word I said, and maybe he wouldn’t consider me a murder suspect.
Maybe Jamie wouldn’t have been killed.
Maybe I wouldn’t feel so icky about myself.
The only thing for sure was that I’d brought most of my troubles on myself.
Not a great feeling.
I wished I could get a do-over, but since Doc Brown wasn’t going to show up, all I could do was go forward.
Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be a college student. Maybe my future lay elsewhere.
That thought roamed around in my head for a few minutes. I considered several possibilities, some kind of cool, some just weird, but I couldn’t come up with anything definite. Not yet, anyway.
There was only one thing I knew for certain: I couldn’t decide what was next in my life until I solved Claudia’s murder.
Chapter 24
Juanita took my duffel bag from me as I walked into my parents’ house. Her smile seemed a little brighter than usual, and who could blame her? Tonight was the charity gala at the Biltmore, which meant my mom would be gone and Juanita would get an extra night off.
After she got Mom ready, of course.
“She’s upstairs,” Juanita said.
Occasionally, I was okay with living in my mom’s world. Today was one of those times.
Mom, my sister, and I had done the girl thing for years, pampering ourselves with a day of beauty in preparation for the annual charity gala. Mom arranged for a mani, pedi, and massage for each of us here at the house, along with a hairstylist, of course. Juanita bought food for us and kept the wine flowing.
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