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Tote Bags and Toe Tags Page 18

by Dorothy Howell


  And an excellent motive for murder.

  CHAPTER 20

  “You want me to—”

  I couldn’t get the words out.

  I tried again.

  “You’re suggesting that I—”

  The words hung in my throat. They wouldn’t come out. I gave it another try.

  “You think that I should—”

  Forget it.

  I stared down at Evelyn seated behind her desk in the Holt’s office. I couldn’t—could not—believe what she had just said to me. If it had been anybody but Evelyn, I might have gone across the desk after her like a spider monkey.

  I mean, jeez, I’d worked all day at Dempsey Rowland, given up my chance to claim—yeah, okay, some other woman’s—Temptress tote at Nordstrom, to follow Max Corwin out to Northridge.

  And now this?

  “Remember? At your training review, we talked about how you’d missed several of the training sessions,” Evelyn said, sounding completely reasonable, “and your need to make them up on a timely basis.”

  Yeah, I knew Evelyn had mentioned it, but I didn’t think she really meant it.

  I am, after all, me.

  “So, as I said, I worked out a schedule that will allow you to complete your missed sessions quickly,” Evelyn explained.

  She pointed to the computer printout she’d placed on the desk a few minutes ago, the one that had rendered me momentarily speechless.

  “Since you missed the facilitator-led, in-store sessions, you can use the CBT version,” Evelyn said, then added, “That’s computer based training.”

  Which was code for clear-the-room-of-sharp-objects-because-a-suicide-attempt-was-likely.

  Evelyn gestured to yet another printout. “I’ve set everything up so you can do the CBT training this weekend. That means you’ll work a full eight hours on Saturday and on Sunday.”

  Eight hours—for two straight days—isolated alone in a room, reading the Holt’s policies and procedures. Nobody to talk to. No way to slip away for candy—just to keep my energy level up, of course.

  “And don’t forget, you’ll have a test at the end of each segment,” Evelyn said.

  A test? Yikes! That meant I’d have to actually pay attention to what I was reading—and remember it. How was I supposed to text my friends and update my Facebook page under those conditions?

  Evelyn gave me a kind smile. “I know this is a taxing schedule. So don’t worry if you don’t pass some of the tests. You can continue the training sessions into next week, if need be.”

  More of this? Into next week? Was this nightmare ever going to end?

  No way—no way—could I sit through this.

  “Actually, Evelyn,” I said, and managed to sound calm and self-assured, “the other clerks who went through the training told me everything about it. Absolutely everything. I feel completely confident that I’m up to speed on all the new policies and procedures.”

  “I’m so glad all the employees are sharing information,” Evelyn said with a broad smile. The corners of her mouth turned down. “But everyone must go through the training and learn the material firsthand. That way, there is no misunderstanding or misinterpretation.”

  I didn’t want to get rough with Evelyn, but I couldn’t just sit here and let this happen.

  I tried another tactic.

  “As much as I appreciate Holt’s desire to keep every employee well trained—”

  I almost gagged when I said that.

  “I just don’t feel right not being on the sales floor. Rita is such a conscientious cashiers’ supervisor. I can’t leave her shorthanded,” I said.

  My temples started to throb.

  “And I certainly don’t want to diminish the high standards of service Holt’s is known for, by not being available to help customers,” I said.

  My right eye began twitching.

  “I understand completely,” Evelyn said. “But you must go through the training, Haley. I’ve already had your schedule approved by the corporate office.”

  No. No, no, no. There had to be a way out of this.

  Maybe I could get some sort of special dispensation. Or a waiver. Maybe I could bribe someone. Yeah, that might work.

  Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t even consider doing something like that, but these weren’t normal circumstances. We were talking about training. That elevated the situation to a whole other level. Desperate measures were called for.

  Maybe I could have sex with someone at Corporate.

  Hang on a minute.

  I was already having sex with someone at Corporate.

  Oh my God. Ty. I could just have him sign a waiver and—poof!—this whole training thing would go away.

  Whew!

  “Thanks so much for working out the training schedule for me,” I said, rising from my chair. “I really appreciate everything.”

  Evelyn smiled. “You’re very welcome, Haley.”

  I left the office.

  I love being me.

  I left Holt’s feeling pretty darn good about myself. Yeah, okay, maybe it was kind of crappy for me to get out of the training when all the other employees had to endure it, but I didn’t see anything wrong with special treatment—as long as it benefited me, of course.

  I walked into the near-empty parking lot with the other employees. Only a few cars were left. The security lights had been cut back—Holt’s claimed it was to reduce their carbon footprint, but I’m pretty sure they were more concerned about their electric bill.

  My spirits lifted a little when I saw a man standing beside my car. His back was to me, but I knew it was Jack Bishop. I’d called him earlier and he’d said he would find me. It was way cool—but I wished he could have found me in some hot club looking hot, instead of here at Holt’s.

  “Hey, you found me,” I called, as I walked up.

  He turned around. I froze.

  Oh my God. It wasn’t Jack. It was Mike Ivan.

  How had he found me here? How did he know I worked at this Holt’s store? Did he know absolutely everything about me?

  Mike gave me a hint of a grin.

  “I didn’t want to scare you this time,” he said.

  Like having a maybe-connected-to-the-Russian-mob guy even knowing who I was wouldn’t be scary?

  I forced myself to calm down.

  “I got you the information you asked about,” Mike said.

  It took me a minute to recall that I’d asked Mike about checking for a Russian or Romanian connection to Juanita’s disappearance. My concern for Juanita zapped me.

  “What did you find out?” I asked. “Is Juanita okay?”

  He shook his head. “I got nothing. Whatever happened to your friend, it has nothing to do with any of my distant—and I emphasize distant—associates.”

  I felt a little let down. Of course, I was glad Juanita hadn’t been kidnapped by some crazy Romanian band of gypsies or the Russian mob, but if something like that hadn’t befallen her, where was she? What had happened to her?

  “Listen, Mike,” I said. “I really appreciate this. Sincerely I do.”

  “You want me to look somewhere else?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I can’t think where else to check. I’ve called all the usual places—hospitals, police, morgues—and gotten nothing.”

  We were quiet again while I ran the list of places to look for Juanita through my head. I didn’t come up with anything new. In fact, I was stumped.

  “Sorry I couldn’t help,” Mike said.

  “Thanks, Mike,” I said.

  We just looked at each other for a few more seconds.

  “We’re even now,” I said. “Favors swapped. We’re square.”

  He hesitated a minute, then nodded. “Sounds right to me.”

  Mike walked away through the darkened parking lot, and disappeared into the shadows.

  Twin high-beam headlights hit me and I spotted a big car barreling through the parking lot toward me. Mob hit flashed in my mind. Was
somebody about to run down Mike? Would I be the only witness? Forced to testify, then whisked away into the federal Witness Protection Program?

  A black Land Rover slid to a stop near me and Jack Bishop jumped out.

  Mob hit with Jack and me forced into WITSEC together bloomed in my head—which was really bad of me, I know.

  Jack didn’t look anxious to be forced into anything that included me at the moment. In fact, he looked downright angry—always a hot look.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, and stabbed his finger at the parking lot where Mike had disappeared. “That was Mike Ivan, wasn’t it? I told you to stay away from him.”

  What was it with men sometimes? They actually expected you to do something just because they told you to.

  I decided not to get into it with Jack.

  “Mike and I are even now,” I said. “I did him a favor, he did me a favor. That’s the end of it.”

  Jack wouldn’t let it go.

  “That man is dangerous, Haley,” Jack said. “Steer clear of him. If you need something, come to me—not him.”

  Jack stared hard at me for a few seconds. I stared right back. He looked away first.

  “So what do you need?” he asked.

  Now, I was the one who didn’t want to let it go.

  “Are you sure you’re finished being all worked up?” I asked.

  “I’m not likely to be finished getting worked up over you anytime soon,” he said, and gave me a wicked little grin.

  I’m completely helpless against Jack’s grin.

  “Okay, so here’s the deal,” I said, thinking it better to stick to business. “I’m hearing a lot about Dempsey Rowland and lawsuits. I need to find out who’s suing who, and why.”

  “You think this is connected to the murder?” Jack asked.

  He was all business now—which was kind of disappointing, but for the best.

  “Maybe,” I said. “I’m not sure, but it’s worth checking out.”

  Jack gave it a few seconds’ thought, then nodded. “I’ll get back to you.”

  He walked around to the driver’s side of my car. I punched the remote and he opened the door for me. I moved to climb in, but he blocked me with his body.

  “I knew you’d contact Mike Ivan,” he said, gazing down at me.

  It hit me then that Jack Bishop knew me better than Ty—my official boyfriend.

  Jack edged a little closer. “Maybe I need to hang a little tighter with you.”

  My heart started to beat faster. Jeez, Jack smelled great, and some kind of crazy heat rolled away from him—the kind of heat that could make me do crazy things.

  But not crazy enough to make me forget I had an official boyfriend.

  “I’d hate to see you embarrass yourself, when you can’t keep up,” I told him, with a wicked little grin of my own.

  I put my hand against his chest—oh my God, did he have great muscles—and gave him a little nudge. Jack stood fast for about two seconds, then stepped off.

  I got in my car and drove away.

  “Surprise!”

  Oh, no. What now?

  Ty had that you’re-going-to-love-this smile on his face when he met me at the door of my apartment. Immediately, I braced myself.

  “Remember when you mentioned Detective Shuman and his girlfriend cooking German food and planning a dinner party?” Ty asked, blocking my entrance.

  My mind raced. Oh my God. What did that mean? How had Ty interpreted my statement? Was I about to be serenaded by an oompah band of musicians dressed in lederhosen? Did my entire apartment smell like sauerkraut, because he’d been cooking all evening?

  Of course, maybe a good strong German beer wouldn’t be so bad right now.

  “Ta-da!” Ty stepped back. He waved his arm and gestured grandly into my apartment.

  I walked inside. The first thing I noticed was that all the packing paper from yesterday’s TV was piled up on my couch. The television was tuned to a baseball game with the sound cranked up to only-dogs-can-hear-this level. A beer bottle sat on my coffee table—no coaster.

  The next thing I saw was what appeared to be a light armored army vehicle partially assembled in the middle of my living room. It was surrounded by nuts, bolts, and other metal parts I didn’t recognize. Thrown into the mix were several power tools, a thick orange extension cord, bubble wrap, more packing paper, and a huge red, white, and blue shipping box with GRILLIN’ AMERICA printed on the side.

  “Is that a ... a—”

  “A grill,” Ty announced. “It’s the Turbo 2000 Mega Grill. This thing is all stainless steel, with ten burners, twelve hundred inches of grilling space, side burners, a warming oven with two settings, and the most BTUs of any grill on the market today.”

  “It’s a beast,” I said, and looked through my patio door. “Is that going to fit on my balcony?”

  “I’ll make it fit,” he told me, and waved away my concern.

  I cringed. Oh my God, what was that supposed to mean?

  “When you told me about Shuman and his girlfriend having a dinner party,” Ty went on, “I got the feeling you’d like to do the same. So I bought this grill today. What’s better than a thick, juicy steak cooked to perfection over an open flame, shared by friends? So I figured we could have friends over and cook dinner for them.”

  Visions of my mom flashed in my head—I hate it when that happens—but, oh my God, did Ty expect me to cook—at my own dinner party?

  I gestured toward the Turbo 2000 Mega Grill and what looked like a couple billion parts surrounding it.

  “Are you going to be able to get that thing put together?” I asked, and left before the next decade unspoken.

  “Well, I don’t do this kind of thing often,” Ty admitted.

  “But I’ll get it figured out. Hey, guess what else I bought today?”

  Before I could hazard a guess—or even emotionally prepare myself—Ty took my hand and pulled me into the kitchen.

  The cute little drop-leaf dining table I’d found at a vintage furniture store, haggled over the price and maxed out my Visa for, had been shoved into a corner. Next to it was a—oh, jeez, what was that thing?

  “It’s a freezer,” Ty announced. He opened the lid. “I filled it with steak—three different cuts.”

  I peered into the freezer at what looked like—yikes!—approximately five hundred pounds of meat inside.

  “And that’s not all,” Ty said. “I bought lots of chops and roasts. And hot dogs—twelve packs. They were on sale.”

  Twelve packs of hot dogs? Frozen? I mean, jeez, how bad could you need a hot dog?

  “So we’re ready to have friends over for dinner at a moment’s notice,” Ty said, with a little nod of satisfaction.

  “That’s really ... something,” I managed to say.

  Ty wrapped me in his arms and gave me a long hug. It felt nice, really nice. Then he leaned back and said, “You must be hungry. I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  Visions of something warm, oozing with cheese and mayo, drifted into my thoughts.

  “While I was at the grocery store today buying the meat, I found a soup I know you’ll like,” Ty said. “It will fit right in with your new eating plan. It’s got barley, veggies, lots of whole grains.”

  Eek!

  “No, really, it’s fine,” I said. “I’m not all that hungry.”

  “It won’t take a minute,” Ty insisted, pulling out a couple of cans from the cabinet.

  “Are you planning to go back to work anytime soon?” I asked.

  I said that in the nicest way imaginable—considering.

  “I hadn’t even given it a thought,” Ty said. “By the way, I looked at that résumé you sent me. Dale appears to have a lot of potential. I’m going to meet with her, see if there’s a place for her at Holt’s.”

  My distress over my apartment and the soup Ty was fixing for me vanished in a heartbeat. He really was trying hard to be a great boyfriend. He’d put a lot of time, money, and
effort into doing things he thought would make me happy.

  Marcie was right. If Ty had missed the mark on some of the things he’d done, it was my fault—well, partially my fault. Even if Ty had never asked what I wanted, the truth was that I had never told him.

  Of course, Marcie—being really annoying, as only a BFF can be at times—had gone on to remind me that I seldom talked to Ty about some of the big things that were happening in my life.

  Marcie was almost always right, so I decided to tell him something—something that didn’t make me look bad, that is.

  “Did I mention that Mom’s housekeeper has disappeared?” I asked.

  Ty grabbed a pot from the cabinet by the stove and looked back at me. “Juanita disappeared? What happened?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. She just didn’t show up for work one day. I called her several times, I went by her house, I checked with the hospitals, the police, and the morgue. Nothing.”

  “She didn’t have vacation scheduled and your mom forgot?” Ty asked.

  Ty had met my mom. He knew how she was, so this was a reasonable question.

  “Mom had a dinner party scheduled,” I said. “No way would she let Juanita have vacation if she was expecting guests.”

  “So what happened before?” Ty asked, popping the top of the soup can and pouring the soup into the pot.

  “Before what?” I asked.

  Jeez, what was that smell?

  “Before Juanita left,” Ty said. “Things like this don’t happen for no reason. People get hurt, they get angry, they get scared. Something triggered her disappearance.”

  My mind shifted gears to the day the nurse in the emergency room called and told me Ty had been in an accident near Palmdale. What had triggered that event? He’d never really told me—because I’d never really asked—why he was headed there in the first place.

  “That reminds me,” I said. “Did you ever make it to Palmdale?”

  Ty stopped stirring the soup. He didn’t turn to face me.

  “No,” he said.

  “What were you doing up there?” I asked, and managed to make it sound light.

  “Business.” Ty stole a quick glance at me, then turned back to the soup. “Just business. Thinking about opening a store up there.”

 

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