Shop Til You Drop Dead (A Hollis Brannigan Mystery)

by Dorothy Howell

  “Come on, let’s go,” I told her. She trotted ahead of me, as if it were her idea.

  As we headed for the elevator I dug my phone out of my tote and saw that the call I’d missed was from Brittany. I hadn’t heard much from her lately or had time to read her posts on Facebook. Right now I couldn’t face hearing about the fun things she and Toby and all my old friends had planned for the weekend back in KCK.

  I tapped my phone and looked again at the shopping list Louise had sent to me before I’d left my apartment this morning. My off-listers, it seemed, definitely intended to party-hearty over the next two days.

  The elevator doors parted and Gizmo rushed inside, sniffing the floor in a grid pattern as if she were a vacuum cleaner determined to cover every inch of the place. Just before we stopped on six, I scooped her up, praying she’d keep quiet so the receptionist wouldn’t notice her and ask questions.

  Fisher Joyce had dog walking, pet sitting, and boarding services for clients. Meredith had told me that the girls there had taken care of Gizmo yesterday. I hoped they’d be as accommodating today. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Gizmo alone in my apartment all day long, and not just because I was afraid she’d piddle on the carpet and I’d lose my security deposit. It wasn’t right and I couldn’t do it.

  When I arrived in the pet-sitting department the place was quiet. There were three play areas, each occupied by different-sized dogs, grooming stations, and shelves lined with a wide variety of dog and cat food, and an assortment of collars, leashes, toys, and sweaters. It smelled pretty good, considering.

  I spotted only one person in the room, a girl named Eve that I’d chatted with in the breakroom a few times. She looked to be a little older than me, with short, dark, no-nonsense hair, and a sturdy figure.

  “Hey, you’re back,” she exclaimed.

  It took me a second to realize she was talking to Gizmo, not me.

  Eve smiled and stuck out her hand. Gizmo licked her fingertips.

  “Thanks for taking such good care of her yesterday,” I said, juggling Gizmo as she squirmed in my arms.

  “I was happy to do it, just as happy as I could be.” Eve sang the words to Gizmo in a baby voice.

  “My client, her owner, is still out of town,” I explained, continuing the lie I’d started with Meredith yesterday.

  “Oh no, is your mommy gone? Is she still gone?” Eve made little kissy noises at Gizmo.

  “Would it be okay if she stayed here with you today?” I asked, and resisted the urge to look around for a clock. I should have checked in with Louise already and been out shopping.

  “Well, of course,” Eve exclaimed, looking at the dog, not me. “We’d love to have sweet little Gizmo with us today. Oh, yes we would. We sure would.”

  “Great. Thanks.” I dumped the dog into Eve’s arms and headed for the door.

  “Wait, you can’t leave yet.”

  I glanced over my shoulder as I inched away. “I already fed and walked her. She’s fine.”

  “No,” Eve insisted, catching up with me. “Dogs are very sensitive. They’re like children. You wouldn’t just drop your baby somewhere and rush away, would you?”

  I might, if it meant keeping my job.

  “Here, take her,” Eve insisted, and pressed Gizmo into my arms. “She’s been traumatized by getting lost and living in the shelter, so we don’t want her to experience any more separation anxiety. You want to return her to her real mommy in optimal mental health, don’t you?”

  “Well ….”

  “Hold her close. This way she’ll know you two are connected. It will strengthen your bond. She’ll feel better about your leaving.”

  Gizmo looked up at me and yawned.

  “Okay, that’s good,” I declared and passed Gizmo back to Eve.

  “See? Everything is fine.” Eve spoke to the dog, then looked at me again. “Now, once more.”

  “What? No. Really, I have to get to my desk—”

  “There you go,” Eve said and deposited Gizmo into my arms. “Passing her back and forth between us like this will assure her that you won’t abandon her.”

  Eve had no idea how appealing that idea was right now.

  I tamped down my impatience, cuddled the dog, and rocked back and forth a few times.

  “We have snack at mid-morning, lunch at noon, then we go outside for playtime. Then it’s back here for another snack and naps.” Eve nodded toward the other side of the room. “We have our own elevator to take our little sweeties outside.”

  “That sounds great,” I murmured.

  “And just so you know, we’re cage-free here. Every snack and meal is packed with proper nutrition,” Eve went on.

  “Yeah, okay—”

  “We give oral meds, if needed. There’s a play area for our daytime guests,” Eve said. “We also have private rooms for our overnight guests that include room service and two one-hour individual play sessions with our professionally trained handlers.”

  “Good to know,” I said, and handed Gizmo back to her.

  “Well, now, don’t you feel better getting cuddled between the two of us?” she crooned to Gizmo. She stroked the dog’s neck, then cradled her head and turned her toward me. “Just look at her. Doesn’t she look happier now, knowing you’ll come back soon?”

  “Yeah, great. Thanks,” I said, and rushed out of the room.

  I hurried through the hallway and into the hospitality department, then cut down one of the aisles. The event planners were all on their phones, the other shoppers were already out. Louise Thornton wasn’t at her desk so, hopefully, that meant I’d caught a break and she didn’t know I was late. I grabbed the credit card she’d left for me, signed the log, and took off.

  Trent was the only valet on duty when I got to the garage. Four men in expensive suits carrying briefcases were ahead of me, waiting for vehicles. Trent threw me an apologetic look as he hustled around; all I could do was stand there while more of my morning ticked by.

  My phone chimed with another order from Louise. I cringed realizing that meant she was back at her desk and had seen that I’d just signed for the corporate credit card. She knew exactly how late I was.

  The order was from one of my off-listers I seldom shopped for, a woman wanting a gown and accessories. Mentally, I fitted it into the growing list of things I had to buy, plus the other things I had to accomplish today.

  Usually, L.A. took Friday lite seriously—less traffic because so many people scheduled the day off and left town. Not today. When I finally got a BMW from Trent I headed for The Grove and crept along with traffic. I circled the lower levels of the parking garage before finally snagging a spot on the top floor, one farthest away from the elevators.

  The Grove was a retail and entertainment complex, one of the city’s most popular. It boasted a fashion-forward collection of stores and pop-up shops, and featured unexpected dining experiences, as well as a movie theater and bookstore. Everything was arranged in a loop around fountains, green belts, and specialty kiosks, and featured an old-time trolley with a uniformed driver and a clanging bell. At the far end of the complex was the Farmers Market, a crowded maze of eateries and shops that had been around for decades.

  On the ground floor I stopped by the concierge desk. I shopped here often so they knew me, but Eddie, the bellman who usually helped with my packages, wasn’t on duty. The guy at the desk said they were shorthanded; he’d do what he could. Not what I wanted to hear, with all the things I had to buy today.

  My phone chimed. I resisted the urge to mumble a curse, thinking it was another message from Louise with more purchases to add to my already long list. If all I had to do today was shop I wouldn’t have minded. But I had to go to Allison Garvey’s house and wrench some details from her about her assertion that there had been problems during Edith’s visits to Vista Village. I had to return Edith’s address book to Genevieve and ask if she knew anything about those upsetting visits.

  I dug my phone out of my tote and saw
that I’d missed another call from Brittany. That was the second time she’d called today. I guess she really wanted me to know about whatever big party she was going to—and I was missing—tonight. I couldn’t face hearing about it now.

  I checked my shopping list again and saw that I was buying for one of my few male off-listers, a guy named Jason. From the long list of items he needed I figured he was either attempting to apologize to his wife or impress his new girlfriend—or maybe both. I didn’t like it, but what could I do?

  I hurried down the walkway anxious to knock out this shopping trip and focus on Edith’s murder investigation. I weaved through crowds of tourists in I Love LA T-shirts, moms pushing strollers and trying to corral young kids, older couples, and groups of teenagers who’d probably skipped school. The sky was overcast, the breeze chilly.

  My first stop for Jason was the Coach store. He’d requested a handbag with a matching wallet and cosmetic case in their signature black fabric and pattern. He also wanted a knit hat, scarf, and umbrella in blue; men always asked for things in blue. I waited while the clerk found the wallet and cosmetic case in the stockroom, grabbed everything else from a display, then signed away about twelve hundred bucks and left the store wondering if this would make Jason’s wife happy.

  I knew the Coach merch was for his wife—I’d shopped for her before—because the other items on his list were yoga togs, size small. Definitely not for his wife.

  Outside the Coach store I texted the concierge service and got a message back right away. They’d get to me as soon as they had a bellman available. Great.

  Juggling the shopping bags, I hurried to the American Girl store and squeezed in between the throngs of giggling little girls and their moms who, apparently, had lots of time on their hands to chat, look at their phones, and indulge their demanding daughters.

  The off-lister behind this order was another man. Apparently, he didn’t want to brave the store himself to buy his daughter’s birthday presents. Couldn’t say I blamed him.

  Explaining that I was shopping for Fisher Joyce carried no weight here. The clerk, whose attention I finally got, glanced at the photo on my phone of the doll and accessories I needed, and disappeared. After getting jostled by kids, my heels hit by a stroller pushed by a three-year-old, and listening to a number of children crying, I considered barging into the stockroom and grabbing the items myself. The clerk finally appeared with the doll, accessories, and outfits I needed. I scrawled my name on the charge slip for almost four hundred dollars, and pushed my way out of that madhouse.

  No bellman waited outside for me. I grabbed my phone and sent another text message to the concierge. Before I put it away, it chimed. The message was from Eve telling me that Gizmo was upset and that I needed to come by and comfort her. She’d included a string of sad-face emojis.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered and put my phone away.

  I hit the See’s Candy store next and added a five-pound box of nuts and chews to my already heavy, cumbersome load, then went into Nordstrom. The yoga pants, top, and jacket for Jason’s girlfriend were a quick purchase.

  In the formal wear department I dumped my shopping bags on the floor and sank into one of the armchairs in the seating area amid displays of gorgeous evening gowns. Idelle, the clerk I’d worked with in the past, came over right away.

  “Here’s what I need,” I said, and showed her the photo my off-lister had sent of the navy blue trumpet gown. “Size six.”

  “Very nice,” Idelle said, nodding her approval.

  “And this,” I added, swiping my phone again.

  Her smile widened at the photo of a navy blue Prada bag, and she disappeared into the racks.

  I sank deeper into the chair. My feet hurt, I had a little headache going, but this would be my last stop here at The Grove, unless something else came up.

  As if on cue, my phone chimed. I hesitated, then checked the message. It was from Meredith, thankfully, not Louise. She’d sent the background report on Carlotta Cain I’d asked her for yesterday.

  I accessed the file, checked the preliminary information, then read, as reported in the initial info I’d received on her, that Carlotta had been an actress back in the day. A successful actress, it seemed. Her career had started off with a bang when she was only eighteen years old, according to the list of television shows and movies she’d appeared in. One project on the heels of another for several years, and then a year off. I guess she needed some downtime.

  Her career was slow to get going again. Roles were scarce, smaller. Still, she must have focused solely on her career since she had no children and had never married. There were no relatives listed.

  When I swiped to the next page of the report I saw that Carlotta had a high, six-figure balance in her bank account. Obviously, she’d made some wise investments. Her house had been paid for decades ago. She had no credit cards, no car payment.

  I tucked my phone away and heaved a sigh. None of this information assuaged my concern over Carlotta’s wellbeing and future. I’d been concerned that she was alone, with no one to help her. Seems I’d been right.

  I flashed on the mental image of Carlotta arriving in Hollywood on the bus from Iowa, barely out of high school, full of hope and the excitement of making her dreams come true. Brittany and I had felt that same way when we’d gotten here, cheering when we’d driven past the Hollywood sign, seen the Capital Records building, and the gorgeous homes in Beverly Hills.

  Now Brittany was gone, Carlotta’s mental state was questionable, and me … well, that was still to be determined.

  Idelle swept in front of me displaying the gown and evening bag, showing them off as if I were the one who would wear them.

  “Perfect,” I told her.

  While she tallied the sale, and with Carlotta on my mind, I ventured into a rack of gowns set off by itself near the dressing rooms. Could I be so lucky?

  “Be there … be there—yes!”

  I yanked the gown off of the rack, a black, beaded, cocktail length, long-sleeved, size four, perfect for Carlotta. And better yet, it was marked down to one-fifty.

  A questioning grimace crossed Idelle’s face when I told her I wanted it, but she recovered quickly and zipped it into a garment bag. I left Nordstrom loaded down like a pack mule, a little over five grand spent to make my off-listers’ weekend better.

  As I struggled toward the parking garage, my phone chimed. I managed to slide it out of my pocket and read a text from Louise telling me to see her when I returned to the office. I really hoped this wasn’t about the dog.

  Checking the time I saw that I was running behind. But I could still eke out a few minutes to talk to Allison and Genevieve, if everything went smoothly, very smoothly, and nothing went wrong.

  Chapter 16

  I swung into Carlotta Cain’s driveway, grabbed the garment bag out of the back, and hurried up the sidewalk determined to make this quick. If I pushed hard I could get to Allison’s house, then Genevieve’s. Barbara was going to call soon and I absolutely had to have some concrete information for her about Edith’s death. Then I could make it back to the office and package my off-listers’ items for the afternoon delivery.

  The front door was closed and locked this time, so I knocked and rang the bell twice. A few minutes dragged by and finally the door opened a crack. Half of Carlotta’s face peered out at me.

  “I have your gown,” I told her, and held up the garment bag. I put some enthusiasm into my voice, hoping it would speed things along. “It’s perfect. Just what you wanted.”

  She glared at me for a few more seconds, then her gaze darted around as if someone was lurking behind me. Finally she opened the door and stepped back. She had on the same caftan and jewelry I’d seen her in on my previous visits.

  “Here you are running around, taking your own sweet time, doing to suit yourself,” she said, shaking her head in disgust.

  I fought off the urge to be annoyed by her attitude. Carlotta, after all, ha
d always lived alone with no family to break up her day, drop by, or intrude on her. She wasn’t used to accommodating anyone else’s schedule.

  “You’re going to love this,” I said, holding the garment bag a little higher and hoping to distract her—and get this visit over with.

  “You young girls,” Carlotta grumbled, as I followed her through the foyer and into the living room. A musty gloom clouded the dim room. The television was on; the figure of a young woman was frozen on the screen.

  “That’s you,” I realized, pointing at the TV.

  The image was of Carlotta as a much younger woman, probably in her early twenties. Her hair and makeup were done to perfection and she wore a slinky dress and stiletto shoes.

  Carlotta glanced at the screen, then turned to me. “You young girls these days, you don’t know what it used to be like. How things were. What we had to deal with.”

  It was a party scene. Her head was thrown back, her smile wide, her eyes alive with laughter.

  “Always at the mercy for studio heads, producers, directors, casting agents,” she said, her voice rising a little. “Sweep things under the rug. Pretend they didn’t happen—that they didn’t matter. Do what they said—or else. Do it—and still they’re not happy.”

  I’d been down memory lane with Carlotta and her back-in-my-day tirades on my previous visits. This time my annoyance edged toward sadness. How could that lovely, successful young girl on the screen have turned into the bitter woman standing before me?

  “You never told me where you’re wearing the gown,” I said, unzipping the garment bag. “Some place awesome, I’ll bet.”

  Carlotta, lost in the image of herself on the television, slowly turned to me. “I told you.”

  “No, you never did,” I said, pulling the gown from the bag. “See? Black, beaded, long sleeves, cocktail length, size four. And it’s even under your budget. What do you think?”

  She took the gown and held it up, turning her head right, then left. After a long moment she pursed her lips and nodded.

  “Yes. Yes, this will do quite nicely,” she said.