Shop Til You Drop Dead (A Hollis Brannigan Mystery)

by Dorothy Howell

  I pulled into the parking garage at The Grove and found a spot on the first level, but didn’t get out of the car. Since I’d first realized that Edith had actually been murdered, I’d been trying to mentally visualize the big picture of her murder. I’d looked for a motive but, other than Darren’s attempt to get more money out of his aunt, I’d come up with nothing.

  I had to change my thinking, go at it from a different direction. That meant that maybe the solution was in the details, the series of small things that had coalesced into the one big thing. Maybe that’s where I should be looking.

  I got out of my car and headed for Nordstrom. Not many shoppers were there, mostly a few moms pushing strollers. Two women with dogs trotting along beside them passed me, making me think of Gizmo, and that made me think of Saturday when Dan had showed up at my apartment.

  He’d said something that I’d kind of blown off, but now it came back to me, probably because I was desperate for a new direction to go in. Most problems start in the past, he’d said.

  My footsteps slowed as the thought took full form in my head. Maybe Dan was right. Maybe I’d been looking in the wrong place all along.

  I had to go back, way back, to the people who’d known Edith the longest. Names popped into my head. I picked the one I figured I could talk to the quickest.

  Dropping onto a bench beside the fountain, I pulled out my phone and called the car service Ike Meador worked for. He was out on a run I was told so I left my name and number for a call back.

  I had to talk to Sadie again. I also wanted to speak with anyone else who’d known Edith back in the day. Genevieve had mentioned that Edith paid for the care of other people at Vista Village. I’d have to find out who they were and talk to them, too.

  Excitement hummed through me as this new plan for investigating Edith’s murder continued to unfurl in my mind. I had a direction now and I felt good about it.

  As I headed for Nordstrom my phone chimed. I grabbed it, thinking it was Ike calling back. Meredith’s name appeared on the screen.

  “I need to ask you something,” she said when I answered.

  My thoughts, mired in Edith’s past, didn’t make the connection.

  “About what?” I asked.

  “Your sister,” Meredith said.

  I stopped in my tracks. This morning when Meredith had insisted she absolutely had to do something to make up for hurting my feelings about the shopping trip, I’d asked her to see if she could find anything on Quinn. With my continued employment at Fisher Joyce in serious question, there was a definite possibility that I’d never make it to the investigations department to search for her myself. I’d given Meredith the info and she’d promised to get on it as soon as she could.

  “You found her?” I gulped hard, trying to hold my emotions in check.

  “No. I’ve found nothing on her.”

  My spirits fell. “What about her boyfriend?”

  “I’ve searched all the usual databases but haven’t come up with anything,” Meredith said. “I was hoping you had more info for me. Another lead, or something.”

  “I gave you everything I had, everything I knew,” I said. “And you can’t find anything on her? Anywhere? How is that possible?”

  Meredith didn’t answer, but I was sure she was thinking the same thing I’d thought all along. Quinn was dead. Dead in a way that left no official record, no police report, no death certificate.

  “I’ll keep looking,” Meredith said, forcing some enthusiasm into her voice. “She has to be somewhere. I’ll find her.”

  “Thanks, Meredith,” I said. “I appreciate it. Really.”

  “I’ll keep you updated.”

  I thanked her again, and ended the call.

  Images of Quinn and what might have happened to her filled my head. Ugly scenarios and terrible events that all ended with me visualizing attacking that loser housepainter boyfriend of hers for causing her suffering and death.

  I gave myself a mental shake, clearing my head. Maybe I wasn’t ready to know what happened to Quinn. Maybe I’d never be ready.

  For a moment I considered telling Meredith to stop looking, that I would be better off never knowing the truth. But I couldn’t do it. I had to know.

  Chapter 20

  My phone chimed with a message from Louise giving me an order from one of my off-listers. I had to get moving. I had a lot to accomplish today. I’d deal with whatever Meredith discovered about Quinn when—and if—she found something.

  When I made it inside Nordstrom and into the sleepwear department I made quick work of finding matching pajamas for my off-list family of six. According to the totally unnecessary notes they’d provided, they were heading to a family reunion in Mammoth Lakes and thought it would be a cute idea to dress alike. Of course, they could have ordered the items off of the internet, but why waste the clicks when I could do it for them? Plus, it would be a nice addition to the we’re-better-than-you story they would tell their out-of-town relatives at bedtime.

  Piling up the mountain of items at the register—pajamas, robes, and slippers times six—I texted the concierge for package assistance. By the time I’d signed away about two thousand bucks, the bellman appeared and relieved me of the burden.

  Too bad nobody could relieve me of my pressing emotional burden—my off-listers in matching pajamas at a luxury mountain retreat for a family reunion, when my own mom was too absorbed in her art to remember to call me, my sister had disappeared with no thought of how it would affect me, and my dad hadn’t bothered to contact me in forever.

  I gave myself a mental shake and silently vowed to not let it bother me, then glanced at the shopping list on my phone. Clothes for a baby shower. Somebody, who wasn’t me, had a happy family, a new baby on the way, and a great life. I renewed my vow to stay positive.

  In the infants department I selected an armload of tiny outfits, all with matching shoes, ruffled socks, and hair accessories, all in pink. I threw in a stuffed bunny, also in pink, because it was too cute to resist. All for the adorable price of nearly six hundred dollars.

  The mother-to-be couldn’t be left out so I found the earrings and bracelet her husband had requested. They were on sale. Even so, that was another six hundred dollars gone. Again, someone who wasn’t me was being attended to, cared for, and showered with thoughtful, expensive items to demonstrate that love.

  That same wave of anxiety, stress, and anger that I’d been fighting off for a while now hit me like a fresh blow. I grabbed my purchases, silently fuming and growing more annoyed by the moment.

  I didn’t want to wait around for the bellman to find me and help with my packages, so I left the store loaded down with shopping bags and headed for the concierge desk. As soon as I stepped outside, I glimpsed a familiar face among the shoppers.

  Detective Mitch Sullivan.

  I did a double take to make sure it was really him.

  It was.

  I was already upset, beyond annoyed and hurt. Seeing him sent absolute fury rolling through me.

  Our gazes locked. I headed toward him.

  He backed up a step.

  “You again? Look, I told you I don’t know when that info will be available! And I don’t know how many ways you expect me to say it!”

  He patted the air between us, as if that might actually calm me.

  “I thought I’d try a different approach this time.” He nodded toward the string of restaurants that lined the walkway. “Are you up for a coffee?”

  I glanced at him, the restaurants, then him again. “What?”

  “Maybe wine instead?”

  “How did you know where to find me?” I demanded, then realized he must have gone upstairs to the office and Louise had told him. Great. Now she knew a homicide detective was on my trail.

  Mitch seemed to read my thoughts. “I told your supervisor you were a witness to a car accident.”

  I should have thanked him, but I was still so mad I could hardly think straight.

 
I guess that showed in my expression because he looked closer at me and shook his head. “No, wine won’t do. I’m thinking a margarita.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “A shot of bourbon?”

  I huffed, my anger winding down a little. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want to share some news with you. Good news.”

  “Good for who? You, or me?”

  “Both of us. We’ve uncovered evidence in Allison Garvey’s death that puts you in the clear.”

  A few seconds passed while I stared at him, trying to absorb what he’d said.

  “You—what?”

  He repeated the news.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He took the shopping bags from my hands.

  I turned this information over in my brain searching for a different angle, one that might reveal an ulterior motive.

  “And you went to all the trouble of tracking me down, driving all the way here, finding me, just to tell me that?” I asked. “Is this some new police policy I’m not aware of?”

  Mitch smiled, and something absolutely unofficial passed between us. Or was I imaging things?

  “Is that something you do for every suspect?” I asked.

  “No.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or more suspicious.

  I gave up trying to figure it out.

  “I could really use that drink now,” I told him.

  We dropped off my shopping bags at the concierge desk and walked to the closest restaurant.

  “This is off the record, right?” I asked, as we waited at the hostess stand.

  “It is.”

  “Nothing to do with your investigation?”

  “Nothing.”

  “This isn’t some kind of sting operation, is it?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not wearing a wire, are you?”

  Mitch gave me a half-smile. “I’m not.”

  “Well, okay. I just want to make sure.”

  Mitch nodded. “This is strictly social.”

  The hostess appeared. “Would you like patio seating?”

  “Sure,” he told her.

  She picked up two menus. “This way, please.”

  I turned to follow her, then another thought flew into my head. I stopped; Mitch bumped into me.

  “You’re not married, are you?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “In a committed relationship?”

  “No.”

  I guess I should have known that by the shirt, tie, and jacket he wore in three different shades of blue that barely went together.

  Mitch drew in a breath, as if gathering his patience. I remembered that he’d talked to Dan about me, and Dan had told him I could be difficult—difficult. He’d actually said that—which, I suppose, was true. Still, he didn’t have to go around saying it. And Mitch didn’t have to keep thinking it.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “That’s all,” I said. “For now.”

  We followed the hostess and settled at a small round table that was set with fresh flowers and linens in bright shades of yellow. A server approached.

  “What can I get you to drink?” she asked.

  I could have gone with the wine, the margarita, or the shot of bourbon that Mitch had suggested earlier—or maybe all three—but pounding down any of those, then jumping in my car and driving away in full view of a LAPD detective didn’t seem like a smart move, even if this was a social occasion as he claimed. I ordered coffee; Mitch did the same.

  “You’re from Kansas City?” he asked.

  First Dan and now Mitch. Had everybody done a background check on me?

  “I am,” I said. “How about you?”

  “A California native.”

  Most everyone I’d met since arriving in Los Angeles had migrated from elsewhere. I wondered what it felt like to have been born and raised here, to fit in.

  “A rare breed,” I said. “What made you want to be a cop?”

  He shrugged. “I like justice, righting wrongs.”

  We had that in common.

  The server brought our coffee and asked if we wanted to order lunch. I didn’t have time and apparently, Mitch didn’t either. She left obviously slightly miffed that a large tip wouldn’t be forthcoming.

  “I’m really in the clear in Allison’s murder?” I asked. “What happened? What did you find?”

  I doubted he’d tell me much, since it was an ongoing investigation and really, I had no need to know. But he’d thought enough to hunt me down and tell me I wasn’t a suspect, so maybe he’d be more forthcoming than usual. Besides, I’d like to know how solid the evidence was that had allowed him to mark my name off his list of possible suspects.

  “Surveillance tape from one of the homes in the area,” Mitch explained and sipped his coffee.

  “It caught the whole thing?” The image that popped into my head made me cringe.

  “And it put you in the clear,” Mitch said. “I checked the time stamp on the tape against the receipts for the purchases you made that day.”

  My efforts to stall hadn’t accomplished anything. He’d gotten the information he wanted directly from Louise, probably after I’d blown him off in the parking garage this morning. I hoped he’d really done it under the guise of my witnessing a traffic accident as he’d told me earlier. I didn’t want Louise to have another reason to scrutinize my every move, question what I was doing on company time, note it in my personnel file, and add it to the heap of reasons to fire me.

  I drank a little of my coffee, trying not to look as desperate as I felt for more of the information he’d come up with that had cleared my name.

  “So you found the murderer? He’s in custody?” I asked. “Case closed?”

  Mitch took his time drinking more of his coffee then said, “Not exactly.”

  I stayed quiet, giving him a chance to go on until I couldn’t stand it another second.

  “Why not?”

  Mitch drank more of his coffee. I didn’t know if he was stalling, trying to decide how much info he should divulge, or deliberately trying to antagonize me. I decided to think the best of him so I remained patient and waited him out.

  “The owner of the vehicle is an elderly woman, disabled. Had a stroke,” he said. “She didn’t even realize her car was gone. Seems some of her relatives, even her neighbors, routinely borrow it. The key was always left in the garage. Anybody could walk in and take it, which they usually did so they didn’t interrupt her naps. She’s okay with it, since she can’t drive anymore.”

  “Was the car there, in the garage?”

  “Gone.”

  “Did she give you names?”

  “She’s working on a list.”

  “It could be anybody,” I realized. “A friend of a friend. A friend of a relative. A neighbor. Anybody who had heard about the arrangement could have taken it.”

  The list the owner was making didn’t sound promising, and from the look on Mitch’s face I could see he felt the same.

  “Have you turned up a motive for Allison’s death?” I asked.

  “We’re following a number of leads.”

  I figured that was a standard answer given by all detectives, especially when they really hadn’t uncovered much. To me, it would be the most crucial discovery. Who had wanted to silence Allison, and why?

  A troubling thought flashed in my head. Allison had been killed soon after my visit to her house. Was it a coincidence? Had my presence, my questions somehow led to her murder?

  My phone chimed, reminding me that Louise was monitoring my actions and I had to get back to work.

  “I have to go,” I said. “Thanks for going to the trouble to track me down and let me know I’m in the clear.”

  Something in his expression made me pause.

  “You really know I wasn’t involved in Allison’s death, right?” I said. “You don’t suspect me of anything?”

  Mitc
h spent a few seconds looking at me, as if considering how to respond. Finally, he said, “I still think you’re hiding something.”

  I stared at him, trying to keep my expression neutral.

  “And I’ll find out about it sooner or later,” he said.

  Chapter 21

  Thoughts of Detective Mitch Sullivan had been rambling around in my head since I left the restaurant where we’d had coffee. I was glad to know I’d been officially cleared as a suspect in the homicide of Allison Garvey. But he still thought I was hiding something from him. I was, of course. I guess that’s one of the things that made him a good detective.

  Those weren’t the only reasons I kept thinking about Mitch. He’d said our visit was social, not part of the official investigation since he wasn’t obligated to share the news with me, particularly over coffee. I’d picked up on some sort of vibe between us. But he hadn’t acted on it. When we left the restaurant he hadn’t suggested we see each other again. So what did it mean? Anything? Nothing?

  I wished Brittany still lived here so we could talk about it over wine or chocolate, or maybe both.

  The bellman from the concierge desk showed up just as I was finishing a purchase for one of my newest off-listers. UGG boots. Six identical pair. I had no idea why anyone would need that many pairs of boots that were all exactly alike—there was a number of things I still didn’t understand about living in Los Angeles and this was one of them—but I bought them, marked them off my shopping list, and kept going.

  My phone chimed reminding me that I needed to keep my job and couldn’t get sidetracked thinking about Mitch—or anything else—right now.

  The message was from Louise with an addition to my shopping list. Gloria Wyatt, the owner of the chain of nail salons, had seen a business suit online at Nordstrom and wanted me to take a look at it and make sure it was right for her. I clicked on the link and, yes, the suit would look great on her. But Gloria was particular about fabric and wanted me to check it out myself.

  The crowd at The Grove had grown, more moms with strollers and young women who apparently weren’t worried about keeping a job right now. I headed for Crate & Barrel. One of my regulars needed wine glasses, replacements, actually, for the half dozen that had gotten broken during a party at her Hollywood Hills home that she’d gone into great detail to explain. My uncles always said that anyone who was going to a lot of trouble to explain something was most likely spinning a lie. So I figured the wild party story was cover for something worse—or better, depending on which end of the flying wine glasses you were on.