Mom had gotten her college degree in something to do with art. She’d told me exactly what it was but, honestly, I was never listening.
“I’ve been thinking, too, about adding my employment restrictions to my résumé,” Mom said. “I want a prospective employer to know up front exactly what my requirements are. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
Why had I answered the phone?
“First of all,” Mom said, “I can’t work mornings. My under-eyes are slightly—very slightly, mind you—puffy first thing in the morning, so I can’t go out until my cucumber compresses have worked their magic. And, of course, I can’t work during my regularly scheduled hair appointment, or my nail appointment, or my massage, my yoga class, or my spin class.”
Why didn’t I just hang up?
“Computer work is out of the question,” she said. “I simply will not destroy my manicure by pecking on a keyboard.”
Because Mom was Mom, that’s why.
“You know, Mom, museums are open to the public,” I said.
She didn’t say anything, but I knew she was mentally recoiling at the thought.
Mom’s idea of mixing with a crowd was having Sunday brunch at the Four Seasons.
“All sorts of people go to museums,” I said. “Children, too.”
She gasped. “Children?”
Mom was semi-okay with her own kids, but not exactly the kind of mother to start a play group.
“Busloads of kids,” I said. “They stay for hours. Sometimes they even eat lunch there.”
“Oh, dear.” Mom drew in a breath. “Perhaps a museum isn’t the best place for me, under those circumstances.”
“Let me know when you come up with another idea,” I said.
I hung up before she could say anything else.
I’m sure she didn’t notice.
CHAPTER 21
“Hello? Haley?” Mindy said when I answered my office phone.
I wasn’t really up for dealing with Mindy—especially first thing in the morning—but I can push through when I have to.
Besides, my day was off to a good start. I hadn’t worked at Holt’s last night, so Marcie and I had gone shopping. We’d eliminated three stores from our hunt-for-the-Sassy list, which meant we were closing in on it. Things could only get better.
“Yes, this is Haley,” I said.
“Oh? Oh, goodness. Yes, Haley,” she said. “Well, first of all, I want to thank you for the fine-tipped pens you got for me. Oh, my, they’re so nice. I just love them. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, and, really, this was the nicest thing anybody had said to me so far today—who’d have thought it would be from Mindy?
“I just love, love, love them,” she said.
“I’m glad,” I said. “You called for something else?”
“What? Oh, well, no, I don’t think so.”
“You said ‘first of all’ when I answered,” I pointed out. “So is there some other reason you called?”
There was a long pause, then Mindy said, “Oh! Yes! What was I thinking? You have a gentleman caller in interview room number three. Oh, my, my, my, he’s so handsome. He’s just about the—”
I hung up.
If a good-looking man was here to see me, I wasn’t about to waste time listening to Mindy.
Immediately, I yanked open my desk drawer, dug my cosmetic bag and brush out of my handbag, did a touch-up and a fluff, and headed for the door. I couldn’t imagine who might be here. Probably a new client, because none of the men I knew would likely be referred to as a gentleman caller, except for maybe—
Ty.
I froze. Oh my God. Was it Ty?
My thoughts scattered. Was Ty here? Waiting for me in interview room number three? Just steps away?
But why would Ty come to see me? To let me know he’d agreed to be interviewed by homicide detectives in the Kelvin Davis murder case, and that he might be arrested? To tell me he knew I’d staked out Brianna King’s house so he wanted to explain everything that had gone on between them? Did he intend to admit that he’d left fifty grand and a handgun in my closet?
Or maybe he just wanted to invite me out to dinner?
I started to feel light headed. My heart raced. I shook all over.
Where the heck was Marcie at a time like this? I desperately needed my BFF right now.
Images of Ty filled my head. Private moments, special looks, whispers. His scent, the feel of his arms around me.
I let those pictures play out in my mind, then shook them away. Ty and I were done. Over. I had to remember that.
I pulled myself together and left my office.
When I walked into the interview room, I was kind of disappointed but not really.
Ty wasn’t there.
It was Jack Bishop and—oh my God—did he look hot.
He had on a dark Tom Ford suit with a pale blue shirt and a gray print necktie. I’d only seen Jack in a suit a few times and the sight always took my breath away—along with almost everything else about Jack.
I wondered if he had a gun in a shoulder holster under his jacket. Oh my God, how hot would that be?
Jack stood by the window checking his cell phone. He turned when I walked in and gave me one of his killer grins.
“Morning,” he said, and tucked his phone into the pocket of his jacket.
I smiled because, really, I wasn’t yet able to form words.
“You called,” he said.
I had no idea what he was talking about. Nor did I care. I just wanted to look at him.
Jack took a step closer. “Yesterday.”
Finally my you-have-to-speak-now brain cell kicked in.
“Would you like a coffee?” I asked.
More than anything, I wanted Jack to say yes. I wanted to walk him to our breakroom. I wanted absolutely everybody in the office to see me with him and be totally jealous.
“We have pumpkin-flavored creamer,” I said.
Oh my God, had I actually said that?
I’m such an idiot sometimes—well, usually only when Jack’s around.
Jack moved even closer. “Sounds good but I’ll pass for now.”
He gazed at me, waiting, I’m sure, for me to tell him just why the heck I’d called him yesterday. Then I remembered—which was a complete miracle—that I’d explained what I wanted in the message I’d left on his voicemail.
“Lawsuits,” I said. “I need info on anything involving Hollywood Haven.”
Jack frowned. “What’s that got to do with your ex?”
The last time I’d asked Jack for something it was Ty’s phone records so I could find out what connection he had to Palmdale and the murder of Kelvin Davis. No wonder Jack looked confused.
“This isn’t about Ty,” I said. “It’s about another murder.”
“You’re involved in two murders?” he asked.
“Technically, now it’s three,” I said.
Jack shook his head. “Stay out of it.”
I ignored that and gave him a rundown on what had happened at the retirement home.
“I’m thinking that the employees who were wrongly fired might have filed lawsuits against Hollywood Haven,” I said. “If so, the director, Mr. Stewart, is probably named in those suits and he’s probably in a world of trouble. I figure it gives him an excellent reason to murder Derrick Ellery.”
Jack considered this for a moment, then nodded. “It’s a possibility.”
“Will you find out about the lawsuits?” I asked.
Jack hesitated, then walked closer. “Are you certain you want me to?”
Oh my God, he’d switched to his Barry White voice.
“Of—of course,” I said.
At least, I think I said it. I meant to. But, jeez, I’m totally empty headed when I hear his Barry White voice.
“We’d had a disagreement,” Jack said, stopping only inches in front of me. “I apologized, but you never accepted that apology.”
He
smelled great, and some crazy heat was rolling off him.
Jack lowered his head and said, “I offered to kiss and make up.”
His warm breath puffed against my cheek. His lips brushed my ear.
“Well?” he whispered.
Oh my God, he’d asked me a question—now? I couldn’t even come up with my own name, at the moment.
Jack stepped back. He gazed at me for a long, hot minute, then walked out of the interview room.
I collapsed into a chair.
The Nuovo store closest to my apartment was near the mall in Valencia, so after work I decided to swing by and check it out. I still hoped Holt’s would complete the acquisition before I quit my job so I could take advantage of the employee discount that had been increased to twenty percent, if Jeanette’s info was accurate. And, of course, I hoped they would have the Sassy satchel in stock.
Maybe I could get them to hold it for me—and one for Marcie, of course—until my discount kicked in.
I shopped at this mall often. It had a nice mix of upscale and midrange stores. An outside plaza opened at one end that gave way to several blocks of trendy shops, boutiques, art galleries, candy stores, a movie theater, office buildings, and restaurants. The narrow streets and wide sidewalks urged shoppers to stroll while oversized display windows invited them inside.
I nosed in at the curb and got out.
The trees and shrubs twinkled with tiny lights and a sound system played a song that, just like in the dayroom at Hollywood Haven, seemed vaguely familiar.
Memories of Ty flew into my head. Wallace, the boutique he’d opened last year, was across the street, and down the block was the restaurant where we’d had our first sort-of date.
How could I be thinking about Ty? Jack had almost kissed me in the interview room at L.A. Affairs today. Shouldn’t I be thinking about him instead?
Heck with both of them, I decided, as I headed down the sidewalk. I was on the hunt for an awesome handbag. I couldn’t afford to be distracted.
A chime sounded when I stepped inside Nuovo. The shop had a contemporary feel, with pale hardwood floors, track lighting, and chrome fixtures. The salesclerks were all tall, thin women with full-on makeup, dark hair pulled back in low buns, and dressed in short black dresses.
They looked like they’d just walked out of a Robert Palmer music video.
The racks were filled with designer dresses, skirts, blouses, and coats. Shelves held sweaters, jeans, and—handbags. Lots of handbags. Gorgeous handbags. And every one of them seemed to be calling my name, begging me to take it in my arms, caress it, and make it my own.
Immediately I felt at home.
Of course, I checked out the handbag display first. The selection was excellent—Prada, Dior, Chanel, Gucci, all the best names. I was slightly disappointed that the Sassy wasn’t there, but not really surprised since it was the hottest bag of the season.
“May I assist you?” a salesclerk asked.
This place had clerks who actually wanted to wait on a customer? How weird was that?
“I was hoping to find a Sassy satchel,” I said.
She smiled a don’t-we-all smile—which, I’m pretty sure, she’d practiced in the mirror.
“Perhaps I could order one for you?” she suggested.
“That would be nice,” I said, in a calm, even tone, although I really wanted to swing from one of their chrome dress racks and scream like I’d spotted a half-price Birkin on Black Friday.
We walked to the counter and she started tapping on the cash register’s computer screen.
“It may take as much as three weeks to receive your bag,” she said. “Will that be acceptable?”
No, of course not, but I couldn’t say so in a nice place like this.
“It’s fine,” I said.
“May I have your name?” she asked.
“Haley,” I said, and she began typing again.
“Randolph?” She stopped typing and looked at me. “Haley Randolph? An employee of the Holt’s chain of department stores?”
Crap.
I didn’t want anyone—certainly not the ultra cool clerks at this fabulous upscale shop—to know I worked at that crappy store. How had she known? I was wearing my black business suit from Nordstrom and carrying my Louis Vuitton satchel. I looked like I belonged here. Had some media blitz gone out announcing it to the world?
Of course, there was nothing I could do but channel my mom’s sedate, sophisticated, I-dare-you-to-make-something-of-it expression.
“That’s correct,” I said.
The clerk smiled. “Welcome, Miss Randolph. We’re so pleased you chose to shop with us this evening.”
Okay, that was weird.
“It seems the Sassy satchel will be available sooner than I’d thought,” she said. “Will the end of this week be satisfactory?”
This place was giving rush service—and being nice about it—to somebody who worked at Holt’s? Did they know what kind of store it was?
“That will be fine,” I said. “And I’d like two of the bags, please.”
“Certainly,” she said, and started typing into her computer screen again. “Will there be anything else? Is there another way I can assist you?”
Wow, the service at this place was awesome.
I could never work here.
I thanked her and left the store, then called Marcie as soon as I got to my car. She didn’t pick up, but I gave her the good news and told her we’d come back on Saturday for what was sure to be a picking-up-our-Sassy-satchels ceremony orchestrated by the Nuovo clerks, complete with confetti cannons and cascading balloons.
After running into my apartment and changing into jeans and a sweater, I dashed to Holt’s. As I jumped out of my car and headed for the entrance, I saw that the Paper-Palooza protesters were still circling, waving their homemade signs and chanting about how Holt’s was single-handedly poisoning the planet with our new department.
Apparently, our corporate office hadn’t decided what to do about them yet. There were still only a dozen or so protesters, so their movement hadn’t gained strength, as Jeanette had feared. Perhaps everybody at corporate was hoping they’d find a new cause to protest or maybe just get tired and go away.
I skirted around them, as I’d done before, but two of the women broke rank and blocked my path. One of them shoved a flyer at me.
“We want you to consider our position, if you’re going to shop here,” she told me.
“Really, you should take your business elsewhere,” the other one said.
They thought I shopped here? At Holt’s?
I didn’t know which was worse—having people think I actually bought stuff from this crappy store, or having them think I worked here.
I cut around them, rushed inside, got to the breakroom, and clocked in a leisurely thirty seconds ahead of time.
Bella and Sandy were already headed for the sales floor. I caught up with them in the women’s clothing department.
“Remember that girl who used to work here and is a big soap star now?” Sandy said.
I could never recall her name but she used to stink up the breakroom with her diet meals, lost a ton of weight, went blond, got contacts, and made it big in Hollywood. I’d spotted her in person with an entourage while on vacay.
“She’s starting her own line of housewares,” Sandy said. “I read it in People magazine last night.”
“Maybe she’d like to be the spokesperson for the headwear line I’m going to start after I finish beauty school,” Bella said.
“I’ll bet she shops in Nuovo,” Sandy said. “Maybe we’ll see her in there sometime.”
“That store?” Bella grumbled. “I went in there, you know, just to check it out. Those skinny-ass clerks wouldn’t give me the time of day. I felt just like what’s her name in that movie.”
“Julia Roberts,” Sandy, our go-to gal for celebrity trivia, said. “The movie was Pretty Woman.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Bella said.
“Haley?” Jeanette called.
“I’m out of here,” Bella said, and cut into the clothing racks.
“Me, too,” Sandy said, and followed.
I was tempted to go after them, but Jeanette was closing in fast—and she was impossible to miss. Tonight she wore a neon yellow maxidress that she’d accessorized with matching costume jewelry.
I’m sure she was visible from space.
“I know you’d mentioned you were resigning,” Jeanette said, “but I’d still like you to handle our new-employee orientation.”
It hardly seemed like a good idea to let a person who’d announced their departure preside over new hires. But I was sure I could provide essential information to people coming on board. I could share my specialized knowledge—texting undetected by management personnel while crouched on the floor in front of the jeans wall in juniors; hiding out in the shoe department; the most comfy brand of bedding to rest on while in the stockroom pretending to fetch something for a customer.
“Sure,” I said.
“Wonderful,” Jeanette said. “Oh, and there’s something else. I wanted you to be the first to know that the employee discount for the Nuovo stores has been increased. It’s thirty percent.”
“It was increased again?” I asked.
Jeanette waited, as if she expected me to say something more. But I couldn’t think for a few seconds. My brain was busy calculating the huge savings I’d get on all the fabulous handbags and clothing at Nuovo.
“Wow, that’s an awesome savings,” I said.
“It is,” she agreed, then walked away.
The figures circled through my head for a while, then I pushed them out.
Nothing, not even a thirty-percent discount, would get me to keep working at Holt’s.
CHAPTER 22
“Haley?” Priscilla called as I walked past her office door.
Here it was, first thing in the morning and Priscilla wanted something already? I’d just arrived and was on my way to the breakroom for my first cup of coffee. What the heck could be so important?
I stopped in her doorway and managed to pull off a pleasant smile, despite my serious lack of caffeine and sugar. Priscilla sat at her desk perusing shoes on the Macy’s Web site.
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