Swag Bags and Swindlers

by Dorothy Howell

  Suspended from the ceiling over six empty shelving units was a huge blue and gold sign that read, PAPER-PALOOZA.

  Really.

  “Hi, Haley,” someone called.

  Colleen popped up from behind one of the shelving units, smiling and waving for no apparent reason.

  “We’re working together tonight. You and me. Together,” she called. “Isn’t that the coolest thing?”

  No. It wasn’t even mildly cool.

  Colleen was young and she’d worked here since before I started. I liked to be generous in my thoughts about her, but it was impossible. Either there was something wrong with her mentally, or she was the nicest person on the planet. I didn’t know which. It took all the patience I could muster to deal with her—which wasn’t much even on a good night.

  “We’ve got this whole new department to stock,” Colleen said, still smiling. “Isn’t that cool?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  “And it’s all paper.” She pointed to the sign. “That’s what the sign means. Paper-Palooza. That’s what’s on the sign.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “The stockroom is full of it. The paper. Like all kinds of paper,” she said. “Like the sign says.”

  “Yeah, I figured.”

  “You know, like paper plates, paper towels, paper napkins—”

  “I got it,” I told her.

  “—copy paper, toilet paper, tissue paper—”

  “I understand, Colleen. Really.”

  “—paper cups, paper—”

  I walked off.

  The housewares, bath, and kitchen departments were a blur, and of course, so were the customers, as I hurried toward—well, I didn’t know where I was headed. I just had to get away from Colleen.

  No, I realized, it wasn’t just Colleen I wanted to escape. It was the ridiculous Paper-Palooza, the endless stocking, the hideous merchandise—everything about working at Holt’s.

  I stopped beside the shoe department as a totally fantastic idea flew into my thoughts.

  Maybe I could quit now.

  Like now. Right now. Tonight. I could march into Jeanette’s office, resign, and leave the store doing a series of high-kicks worthy of the Rockettes in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

  I heard myself sigh as the idea oozed through my head, sinking into every brain cell and lighting up each of them as if I’d just found a Louis Vuitton satchel on a clearance table.

  Then the image of a different handbag rose to the top of my thoughts—the Sassy satchel. I really wanted to find one and I really wanted to buy it at a discount—something that wouldn’t be possible if I quit before the Nuovo acquisition went through.

  I thought about it for a while. A ten-percent discount. Was it worth continuing to work here?

  Maybe, maybe not. But my medical insurance was worth it.

  Damn. When did I get so responsible? It was seriously ruining my mojo.

  I tried to calm myself—something I’m not particularly good at—and drew in a big breath. I only had a short while to go before my job performance review at L.A. Affairs would free me of this place. I could hang in there. I could do it.

  With no other choice, I headed back to the Paper-Palooza—but I took the long way around, of course. As I circled the store and passed the accessories department, I spotted Detective Shuman.

  Oh my God, what was Shuman doing here? He hadn’t mentioned coming by the store.

  My thoughts raced ahead—sort of like the big rush at the first moment of a sample sale.

  Did he have some info about Derrick Ellery’s murder? Good news? Like maybe the killer had been caught and the case was solved, meaning there was no chance the Hollywood Haven gala would be canceled and that my standing as fabulous event planner wouldn’t be jeopardized so I could ace my job performance review, get full benefits, and quit my job at Holt’s?

  Was I overreaching here?

  I headed toward Shuman and—what the heck?

  A girl was with him.

  CHAPTER 13

  I used one of my stealth moves—something I’d perfected here at Holt’s to avoid actually waiting on customers—to sneak up on Shuman and the girl he was with. He had on his usual slightly mismatched coat-shirt-tie combo, so I figured he’d just come from work. She was tall with high-school-length blond hair, and had on jeans and a sweater.

  They were standing in the accessories department, in front of a display of scarfs, hats, and gloves. She was giggling and making a big show of handling the merchandise, and Shuman looked completely enthralled, as if he’d never seen a knit hat in his entire life.

  Then it hit me.

  Oh my God, was this the girl Shuman had been talking to on the phone the day I’d met him outside Starbucks at the Galleria when he’d seemed positively giddy? Was this Shuman’s new girlfriend?

  I froze—completely abandoning my stealth approach—and looked harder at her. She was young—I mean, really young, like maybe not even twenty yet.

  Shuman caught sight of me and turned, and I saw the same big goofy grin on his face I’d seen at the Galleria.

  “Hi, Haley,” he said. He took her elbow and turned her toward me. “This is Brittany.”

  “Hey, girl,” she said, and grabbed a scarf off the shelf. “Would you look at this thing? It’s so ugly it’s awesome! I love it!”

  Shuman’s grin got bigger, as if she’d just explained Einstein’s theory of relativity—in German.

  “Oh my God, I’ve got to try this thing on!” she said, and dashed to the closest mirror.

  Shuman watched for a few seconds as she draped the scarf around her neck, then turned to me, still smiling.

  “How old is she?” I asked.

  “She’s legal,” he said.

  “Barely.”

  Shuman chuckled, as if that were the cutest thing he’d ever heard.

  “We’re on a date,” he explained.

  “Where are you headed, the pony rides?”

  Shuman laughed harder. “Dinner.”

  “You realize you’ll have to get her drunk in the parking lot first,” I said.

  Shuman snickered, and I was glad. He’d been through a lot lately. I hadn’t seen him smile so much in a long time.

  “So what brings you to Holt’s?” I asked.

  He watched Brittany for a while longer as she posed in front of the mirror with the scarf tied in a huge knot under her chin, then gave himself a little shake and turned to me again.

  “You called,” he said.

  It took me a few seconds to remember that I had, indeed, called him, and a few more to remember why. I’d gotten distracted by Brittany, too. Now she’d added a hat to her look.

  “Derrick Ellery’s murder,” I said. “Those two detectives assigned to the case haven’t contacted me again for more info. What’s up with that? I’m the one who found him dead. Anyway, I know they’re not going to give me any information. Have you heard something?”

  Shuman tore his gaze from Brittany and shifted into cop mode.

  “I thought you were going to ask me about the Kelvin Davis murder investigation,” he said.

  I hadn’t intended to do that, but I saw no reason not to get any info Shuman might have.

  He seemed to read my thoughts and said, “Ty Cameron hasn’t gone in for an interview.”

  “I heard,” I said.

  “It arouses suspicion,” Shuman told me.

  “His attorney advised against it,” I said.

  “Which makes him look guilty,” Shuman pointed out.

  I couldn’t disagree, so I decided this was an excellent moment to change the subject.

  “What about Derrick’s murder? Have you heard anything?” I asked.

  “It’s not my case,” Shuman said.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  We just looked at each other for a few seconds. Both of us knew where this was going, but it was a little dance we had to go through quite often. Shuman was an LAPD homicide detective and, naturally, d
idn’t like to share info on an ongoing investigation. That was all well and good and perfectly understandable—for anyone other than me, of course.

  Shuman hesitated for another few seconds—a power move, which was totally hot, of course.

  “I’ve asked around, heard a few things,” Shuman said. “Walker and Teague aren’t making much progress in the case.”

  “Was there anything useful on the surveillance tape at Hollywood Haven?” I asked.

  “The residents and visitors, the employees. Delivery and service people,” Shuman said. “Nobody unusual.”

  We both glanced at Brittany, still in front of the mirror. Now she had on a different hat and two scarfs.

  “What about Derrick’s personal life?” I asked.

  “He had a lot of girlfriends. Models, actresses, business executives,” Shuman said. “I’m not sure how he afforded to date those kinds of women. I didn’t think a retirement home paid that well.”

  I wouldn’t have thought so either.

  “Derrick was popular with the ladies, huh?” I said. “Odd. From what I heard at Hollywood Haven, almost nobody there liked him.”

  “How so?” Shuman was in full cop mode now.

  “He’d fired a number of employees for little or no reason,” I told him. “Did you hear anything about them from Teague and Walker? Their names, maybe?”

  Shuman shook his head. “No, and it’s not likely that I could get detailed info on the case without a good reason.”

  “A lot of the residents thought Derrick was nosing into their business and asking too many personal questions,” I said.

  Brittany dashed across the department, jumped in front of us, and struck a pose worthy of a Vogue cover. She had on yet another hat, two different scarfs, and had double layered two pairs of gloves.

  “Do I look fabulous?” she asked, in a sultry voice, preening and exaggerating her pose. “Or do I look fabulous?”

  Shuman sighed deeply. “You look fabulous.”

  Brittany burst out laughing and threw herself against Shuman. He embraced her and laughed.

  “Do you want those?” Shuman asked.

  Brittany jumped away and pulled off the hat, scarfs, and gloves.

  “No way. These things are hideous,” she declared, still laughing. She gave me a little isn’t-he-silly eye roll.

  I could see why Shuman liked her. I liked her, too.

  “We’d better go,” he said.

  Brittany fluffed her hair into place again and said, “Yeah, Haley, let’s get together sometime. We can go shopping, or something. It will be fun.”

  “Sounds great,” I said.

  “I’ll let you know if I hear anything new,” Shuman said to me. “Sorry I wasn’t much help.”

  I waved as they walked away.

  Shuman must have been really taken with Brittany because, obviously, he hadn’t realized he’d been a great deal of help, even if he didn’t have easy access to the names of the employees Derrick had fired.

  If Derrick Ellery had been dating multiple women, that meant he had a lot of money, probably more money than he earned from his salary at Hollywood Haven. I needed to find the source. Follow the money—that’s what all the crime shows on TV advised, anyway.

  Shuman had also helped me out with something else.

  If there were no unidentified or suspicious people on the surveillance tape, that meant only one thing—someone who lived, worked, or routinely visited Hollywood Haven was a murderer.

  Was there a worse way to start out a day at the office than by doing actual work?

  If so, I couldn’t imagine what it was.

  I arrived at L.A. Affairs and went straight to my office, a Starbucks mocha Frappuccino in hand. No way was I going to the breakroom for coffee, not with all the other employees in there, some of them sure to give me stink-eye because the supplies were running low.

  I still couldn’t believe I’d volunteered to take Suzie’s position as facilities manager.

  Maybe I should start paying better attention.

  As I sipped my Frappie and settled in at my desk, I made a list of all the complaints I’d heard—the ones I could remember, anyway—and dug out the vendor files. I’d told Priscilla I intended to do an audit of each one, but since that had been nothing but a big, fat, I’m-desperate-to-save-my-job lie, I logged on to each vendor site and ordered the supplies the office needed and completely disregarded each company’s stated price. I requested rush deliveries on everything because, apparently, no one in the office could function without pumpkin-flavored coffee creamer.

  Since the office plants were dying, I figured there was some sort of problem with our plant service, so I looked up their phone number and called them. After I made my way through the always annoying maze of prompts, I finally got a real person on the line.

  “Let me check on that,” she said, after I identified myself. A few minutes of always annoying music played, and she returned to the line. “Our service was canceled by your office last week.”

  Suzie must have done that before she left L.A. Affairs. Couldn’t she have followed up on it and gotten a new service? Just because she went into labor, was that a reason to shirk her duty? She could have done it from the hospital. The first few hours of labor weren’t all that difficult, so I’d heard, anyway.

  “Why did we cancel your service?” I asked.

  “Your representative indicated you were looking for a lower priced service,” she said.

  “You can have the job back if you can get somebody out here this morning,” I told her.

  I could have negotiated with her and gotten a better price, but plants were dying and I had a ton of other things to do. I mean, jeez, I hadn’t even checked my Facebook page yet today.

  “I’ll have someone there by ten,” she said. “I’ll send you a new contract.”

  “Great,” I said, and hung up.

  Falling back into my chair, I drank the last of my Frappie, relieved that all my annoying jobs were completed. Then my cell phone rang. It was Mom.

  Crap.

  I could have let her call go to voicemail, but since my other what-did-I-do-to-deserve-this tasks had gone smoothly, I decided to answer.

  “I’ve had a brilliant idea,” Mom announced.

  Jeez, what was I thinking?

  “I want to work abroad,” Mom said. “I want to help disadvantaged people in third-world countries.”

  I couldn’t see Mom pulling that off. Her idea of roughing it was driving her Mercedes without the seat warmer on.

  “You know, Mom, things are pretty primitive in those places,” I said.

  “Yes, I know,” she said. “That’s why they need me. I can help the women with their hair and makeup. I can demonstrate the importance of facial cleansers, toners, and moisturizers, and advise them on other crucial beauty issues.”

  I was pretty sure the women in Mom’s target audience wouldn’t appreciate a presentation on fat clothes, eyelash curlers, and cutting your hair to make it grow.

  “I don’t think that’s the kind of help they need, Mom,” I said. “Most of them don’t even have clean running water.”

  “What? No running water? I’ve never heard of anything so outlandish,” Mom said. “It’s ridiculous. What are people thinking, living in those conditions? What kind of people would do that?”

  “Poor people.”

  “Still, they should have some sort of standards,” Mom insisted.

  Really, there was nothing I could say to that.

  Finally, Mom said, “It’s obvious my help isn’t needed under those circumstances. I’ll keep thinking.”

  “Sounds great, Mom.”

  I hung up before she could formulate another brilliant idea, which wasn’t all that nice of me, but oh, well.

  What had my life turned into? I’d been forced to do actual work first thing in the morning and deal with my mom.

  I definitely needed to amp up my cool factor.

  It seemed I could do that best by lea
ving the office. I grabbed my things and headed out.

  CHAPTER 14

  Since my past attempts to connect with Rosalind Fletcher at Hollywood Haven hadn’t worked out, I called and made an appointment with her as I drove out of the parking garage. Of course, showing up unannounced and hoping to catch her was an excellent reason to leave the office and avoid other duties, but go-time for the gala was approaching and I had to get on with the final preparations.

  I drove to the retirement home and parked, and as I headed toward the entrance I spotted Alden the Great and his daughter strolling along one of the garden walkways. I smiled and waved. Emily waved back.

  Karen wasn’t at the front desk when I walked through the reception area—she was probably out back having a smoke—which was starting to seem the norm, rather than the exception. I spotted sweet old Ida Verdell in her wheelchair, staring ahead with an empty gaze. Her daughter Sylvia was pushing and railing on about something.

  Sylvia, it seemed, was always in a cranky mood. Karen had mentioned that she was always complaining to the staff about something. She’d had a major argument with Derrick a few days before his murder.

  There wasn’t much to go on but I couldn’t rule Sylvia out as a suspect. Of course, I had no motive or evidence. It was just a feeling.

  I also had a feeling about Ida—sorrow. After hearing about her tragic love affair with that musician and composer, seeing her made me sad.

  Ty popped into my head. Would I end up like Ida one day, sitting and thinking about him and our love affair that had ended?

  I gave myself a mental shake.

  Better to focus on the gala, I decided. Besides, today was Friday. No sad thoughts should be allowed on a Friday.

  I headed down the hallway to Rosalind’s office. The door stood open and I heard voices inside.

  Even though I was on time for my appointment, obviously someone was in with her. I paused in the hallway and listened—just to see if I could determine whether or not their conversation was winding down, of course. But from the tone of things and the raised voices, I could tell that wasn’t likely to happen soon. So what could I do but walk inside?

  The receptionist’s desk was empty. Rosalind’s office was crowded with three older women—residents, most likely—who were upset about something and giving the woman I took to be Rosalind a hard time. Everyone was on their feet; arms waved, voices were loud.